OK. I realized today… I am genuinely terrified of rats. Folks, I mean frozen petrified scared.
I remember when I realized there was a rat in my car that first time. I had to take the boys to soccer; it was Son#2’s final soccer game. I was driving down the road, driving stiff…. Like a crash test dummy. I called my sister, of course, and as I was telling her, I started to laugh.
But it wasn’t a normal laugh. It started out as kind of a normal laugh, but quickly moved into something bordering on mania… she couldn’t understand me anymore. And then it became a combination of laughing and crying at the same time and I couldn’t even speak.
All while driving. Lovely. Luckily it was a secluded road… as looking back I was for sure having some sort of temporary breakdown.
I knew he was still in my van, so I was afraid to move, half expecting him to leap out of a seat and bite me. If he had, I’m telling you, we’d be dead. I would have had a flippin’ heart attack right then and there. No doubt.
So this morning when I got in my car, and the trap had been tripped, but there was no rat, a flood of memories came back. And as I was driving the kids to school, I kept looking around the floor board, looking for any indication it had crawled in my car. I could feel a flush of anxiety at the prospect.
I told my husband he has to check the motor to see if its nesting in there. I can’t look. I can’t even touch the hood of my car it has gotten that bad.
I’ve become a rat phobe. I’m seriously seriously damn near deathly afraid of them now.
But I'm OK with Hamsters. I think a shrink would have a field day with me!
We’re still having behavioral problems with Bones in school. It’s the too much energy very impulsive thing. The teacher asked me to think about what we were doing before Christmas as opposed to now.
For weeks, I have made myself sick over it, going over his diet, what we do after school… everything. His reading is fine, he's moved into a higher reading group. It’s his impulsiveness that’s killing us. We’re noticing it at home too.
And then it hit me. I was taking him swimming for an hour EVERY night before Christmas. I stopped at Thanksgiving. It just fell out of our schedule.
The pool I take the kids to is heated, so at 5:15, I loaded them into the car and took them swimming. It was cool out… I’d bundled up in a sweat shirt and towels… a frigid 62 degrees! Heh! Seriously, it was cool and I was chilly, but I can say these things because in 4 months, hurricane season starts. Don’t think for a minute we’re not counting down. I can already feel myself reverberating at the thought! Ack!
So it was a beautiful evening, I had a book, the kids were laughing and carrying on, the water was warm and I’m hoping that we notice a difference tomorrow in school. I’ll keep it up either way… as it was a nice nice way to end the day and clear my head. Cool air clears the cobwebs. For sure.
Early blogging tonight because... 24 is on!!! Yahooo!
Will Chole get to blow Spencer's brains out?
Will the President's wife finally get a clue that he's a weasel and punch him in the face for being a condescending patronizing SOB towards her? (I frickin' hate that in a man. Blech.) The First Lady NEEDS to meet Chloe...
Will someone save the USA and finally assassinate the President?
Will Jack Bauer come to West Palm Beach and rescue me from the insanity that is my life...? Oh wait. 24 is fiction. Got a bit carried away there. Heh.
Anyway, I am way behind in my blog reading, way behind, and will be catching up over the next few days. Things have not calmed down here that much as January and February are busy for me. So please be patient with me. I'm trying to get it together!
And of course... there will be live blogging during commercials. It's become habit. That's a warning shot for CTG!
**Update: Oh man. That totally sucks that Jack is choosing Audrey over the new chick. I mean, I know the new chick isn't exactly high class, but she was a nice person. Aubrey is icky.**
**Update 2: I can't stand Audrey. What a whiney wimp. She actually called him and asked him if he loved her during a National Emergency? Good Grief. He needs to dump her. Why didn't she just send him a note saying, "Do you love me, Yes or No, please check one." Bah!**
**Update 3: Whoo hoooo! I'm LOVIN' Aaron! Aaron and Jack... the red headed men save the world. Yahooo!
I hate the President. A lot.
And, boy, I was scared The Hobbit was going to let me down. Thank God for Buchanon... who is day pass material, by the way.**
**Last Update- Forget the nerve gas. I'm awaiting revenge from the 1st Lady. Did you see her strut? Oh yeaaaah, babbeeeeee, the balls in her court now! Yeeee haaaa! **
I'm thinking that this Florida Squirrel may not be the kind he gets up in Tennessee, and the e-mail I got said this Squirrel is also seen in California and Arizona. I'm diggin' those squirrel slippers...
**Update- OOPS. This can't be the guy since this is a girl squirrel! I just noticed her pearl necklace..."
It would appear we have a rat in my garage. It's not in my car this time. Good Grief.
I think all my readers know my Rat in my van story. If not, they're all listed HERE.
I cannot relive that nightmare. I'm damaged from it. DAMAGED!
At the Carnival, Bones evidently wanted to ride something called 1001 Arabian Knights or some variation thereof. I do believe it was a ride with a large axis and on either end was a carriage holding people, strapped in. The carriages rotated on each end as the axis itself rotated. Quickly. There were all sorts of centrifugal forces and Gs involved.
What possesses people to go on such rides, I shall never know. I don't do spin. I can do roller coasters all day long, but spinning? I can't even do the Tea Cups at Disney World. I don't do dizzy well. Ick.
And for some reason, he thought this looked like a thrill a minute. Meanwhile, my 2nd son, Mr. Actuary who was probably calculating the probability of the event he might die on such a ride, deemed it 'not fun' and opted out. Son#1 was gung ho.
So my soon to be 11 year old and my full of himself "I'm as big as everyone else" 6 year old climbed aboard.
Keep in mind, I'm not there. I'm in the windowless room called 'The Pit" feeling like some sort of vampire, that should I emerge from The Pit during the light of day, I might surely burn up in the sun. And herein lies the difference between Dads and Moms.
Moms hear little 6 year olds say they want to do something foolish like ride this Arabian Knight Double Spinny ride and the chalk it up to utter foolishness and say, "No. It will make you sick. You're not going and its not up for discussion."
Dads say, "OK", figuring they'll learn from experience.
And who had the kids? Dad. So, off the two of them went to ride this wonky awful ride.
Evidently first go round, my Better Half watched them come around and Bones was happy and laughing. Second go round, there was a grin. Third go round, no smile, something bordering on a grimace. Fourth go? Crying. Full out "LET ME OFF OF HERE!!!!"
And to make it worse, my eldest is now freaking for his brother and yelling, "STOP THE RIDE!!! STOP THE RIDE!!!"
At which point, the carnival man promptly did, letting my kids off and then restarting the ride.
I heard this story from a few people. As my Better Half tells it, in front of Bones, Bones was very very brave in trying this new ride and made it through 4 go rounds before they had to stop, and he was so proud of him for trying something new.
I'm listening to the story with a raised eyebrow thinking, "Holy crap. We're going to be in frickin' therapy for this in 20 years."
Well, I was wrong. The next morning, as I was packing my stuff to get back to The Pit, Bones gave me a big hug and said, "The only thing I want to do today is try that ride again!!!!"
As I walked out the door I shot a parting glance at my Better Half that said, "Let's not, but say we did..." Luckily they didn't.
Bones. He has some serious boundary issues.
It’s done. Over. It went well, but I’m beat.
I work back in the money room, 14-15 hour days, counting, running, and helping things run smoothly with a team of dedicated and great parents. It wears all of us out.
Tonight one of the women I work with came up to me and started rubbing my back. Her daughter is in high school and has been in and out hanging with us all weekend. Evidently this evening her daughter came up to her and said, “Mom, you know the woman with the black hair?” (Yeah, I’m LOVING that NUTMEG!!! YEEEHAAA!)
Her Mom said she was unsure which woman she meant as there were three of us with dark hair and the daughter described what I was wearing. So her Mom replied, “Oh, Bou. Yes. I know her” and her daughter said, “Mom, she looks REALLY REAAAALLY tired. It’s time for this to be over.”
And I had to laugh. You know its bad when a teenager says you look tired. Teenagers are the experts on sleep!
So in the money pit as its been called (or as one of the Dad’s said to me today when he saw me out amongst the crowds at the Carnival as opposed to the windowless room I usually work, “So they let you out of your cage today?”) there is a woman from Brooklyn. This woman is a trip and for this story, I shall call her Mona Lisa as she sounds JUST LIKE Marisa Tomei from My Cousin Vinny.
Now Mona Lisa is a HUGE extrovert too… very loud. Last year I think I was shell shocked by her. This year, I just sat back and took it in… she’s an enormous entertainment factor. People pay good money to laugh as hard as I do when Mona Lisa is present.
Working in the money pit, or the cage as the Dad calls it, we have to have security guards all weekend and we hire out off duty police officers from the local police department. We’ve gotten to know a couple of them, but every now and then, we get a new officer that we’ve never met. And this year… folks… we got a man so young I couldn’t believe he was old enough to be on the police force.
How young was he? He was so young that when he escorted me to my destination, as I was speaking with him, I spent most of my time looking for whiskers. I do not think the young man shaves.
I didn’t want him to feel self conscious; I mean I’m sure the kid gets ribbed for his age as I thought he could not be past 20 years old. I figured if you were 18 for the police academy, he could very well have just graduated.
So I figured subtlety. As we were making small talk during our jaunt I casually asked, “So how long have you been with this police department? Is this your first job?” And his reply was a very polite, “Oh no M’am. I worked at such and such a place for a couple years.” I know the place and it’s a hell hole, so it gave me the opportunity to tell him how happy I was that he got in with this great force and the whole time I’m still thinking, “Holy crap. I am old enough to be this kid’s Mom and I don’t even think I would have been a teenage pregnancy!”
I was really disturbed by that.
And the longer we talked and walked, the more motherly I felt towards him and even though he was the capable person with the gun, I felt this need to ask him what he had for dinner and to make sure he ate from the four basic food groups! Ack!
I got back to the pit and behind the closed doors I said, “Girls. Good God. I’m old enough to be that boy’s Mama and I’m having a whole heapin’ lotto issues with that. I feel like telling him not to stay out too late…surely he must have a curfew.”
And Mona Lisa chimes in, in HEAVY HEAVY Brooklyn accent, “Oh no. He’s 23. You’re not quite that old.”
I replied, “How do you know he’s 23?”
And she looked at me like I was an idiot and said in her brassy voice, “I asked him! He showed up to escort me and I said, “Yo! How OLD are YOU!” He said 23.”
Good Grief. I would never have done that. Poor kid. But that was the low light of the weekend, a good low light at that, realizing that the young man sent to protect me was young enough to be my son. I’m still finding that a bit troubling.
I was terribly impressed with this carnival company. I got to know the owner and he is a good man. I know, it is odd to say that about someone you’ve just met, but there were good vibes and a sincerity. We sat down with him at the end and went over numbers and not once did he question us. No shell games. No weasleness.
His personnel was clean and looked cared for. The rides were well maintained and clean as well. I watched the entire set up this time, walking the grounds as the carnival prepared to open. The staff was busy bleaching and polishing every ride. The workers rode each ride for an hour to make sure it was all fine.
I watched as carnival workers saw small children get scared on a ride and immediately stop it so the kid could get off. They had no desire to terrify children. Everyone was there to have fun.
It was a really really good experience. Lots of laughing. Music in the backroom where I worked was all music from when I was in high school… Pink Floyd, The Who, and the Eagles. I’ve never smoked a joint in my life, but this morning as they’re blaring Floyd as I’m getting money ready I finally said, “I’m just having this surreal urge to get stoned…”
I got to understand why people LOVE to work this carnival. I fully understand their reasonings. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not a convert, but I get it. It’s still too much light, noise, and motion for me. I still go into sensory overload.
But the kids had a great time and the weather was beautiful. It’s done. Only 362 days left until I do it again…
Ack. It’s late.
One more day.
The women I’m working with are some of the funniest women I’ve ever met. Good grief. They must surely keep their husbands on their toes and their kids must think they’re lunatics! I really really like them. A lot.
One of the women is a runner. Music has been on in the backroom all weekend and every now and then one of us will look up from our job and say, “Oh! I could run to this!” Or “This would be the warm up part of a run!” And I realized:
I could run to Heart.
I could run to The Who.
I could not run to “Stairway to Heaven.” Can you guess what kind of music we’re listening to?
I was really really beat this morning. I hurt so badly after I got home last night, crawling into bed at nearly midnight, literally pulling myself into bed aching the entire way, and this morning at 8:15 when I realized I had to get up and leave by 9, my body rebelled in a bad way. I was tempted to go in wearing my favorite oversized men’s rugby shirt (I love it… I don’t have to wear a bra), ratty jeans, my sandals I call my “Jesus shoes”, no make up, hair in a pony tail and a ball cap. Then I realized… ‘Wait. I might scare the carnival workers, and this is the best group we’ve ever had. We need them to come back next year…” So I upped my dress code, but still wore my ball cap. In the ladies room, I scared some woman… in her peripheral she thought I was a small man coming into the ladies’ room, due to the black ball cap.
Wow. Being mistaken for a man will do wonders for your self esteem, in particular as I was wearing a tight gray sweater. I know I have not much shape and resemble a small oak tree, but Sheesh. No complexes here…
Did you know Chex makes a mix that is chocolate? I’ve renamed it, “Better than Sex Chex.” I ate too much of that today. I have to run tomorrow before I go back. Blech.
One more day. It’s for the kids. It’s for the school. It’s worth it, but I’ll be glad when this is over. I’m dead dog tired.
Son#2 is on a liquid Cefzil for his sinus infection, that evidently is of the most foul taste. He will only take it now if he can eat directly afterwards as that’s the best way to rid his mouth of the taste. The following conversation took place a dinner, to the best of my recollection:
Son#2: I hate this stuff.
Me: I know.
Son#1: The white stuff tastes worse than that pink stuff.
Son#2: I know. But this pink stuff is bad. It tastes like Llama.
Son#2: It tastes like Llama.
Son#2: Llama? What?
Me: It tastes like Llama?
Son#2 *scrunching up his face*: NOoooo. It tastes like VOMIT.
Me: Oh. I was wondering how you knew what llama tasted like…
Do you ever have one of those days where you just CANNOT get warm? That would be me today. I woke up cold. I got dressed and was still cold. I figured it was just one of those days.
Then I got in my car and saw it was 63 degrees! Sheesh! No wonder! It was frickin’ frigid! Arctic blast and all that, it all became clear. We had a cold front come through and I didn’t even know it.
But then, I was over at Eric’s and saw these pictures of him when he was in the Marines doing his thing in Alaska, having been snowed in on some mountain and folks, I started shivering in my chair. A virtual Earthquake right here at my blog desk.
First, I’d never have gotten out of that sleeping bag. I’d have decided to hibernate right then and there. Holy crap. I’m sorry, I think I’m damaged from looking at those pictures. I might need therapy. The thought of being that cold is more than this bod and brain can take.
Second, any place I have to use an ice pick… yeah, that’s not for me. The closest I want to an ice pick is to chop up ice from my freezer maybe to make margueritas, but I don’t need an ice pick for that… I can use my blender.
Third, looking at those pix, I'm channeling Sam Mcgee.
Holy crap. And I was freezing at 63.
So I go dark tomorrow. I know many are wondering why I say this will not be a blog fodder ridden weekend. Hey, I could be wrong. It could be a laugh a minute and I could come back in the wee hours of the morning, sore from having laughed so hard, barely able to control the urge to blog.
It could happen.
But probably won’t.
I remember the first year I worked our Carnival, complete with rides, funnel cakes… and carnies. I was required to work the Kindergarten booth as all parents are required to work. They built the booths on our grounds and I do believe hay or something was laid down before the wooden fencing was posted. I came home that night, and stood in the steamy hot shower, scrubbing my flesh until it was pink and my sinuses drained black.
I remember thinking, “If this is in my sinuses, what in the hell did I breathe? What’s in my lungs?” And being prone to lingering respiratory infections, I counted myself lucky I didn’t get sick. Every year following was not much better.
So last year, being the School Treasurer, brought new responsibility to me, responsibility in learning the inner workings of our fundraiser. I am perfectly capable of handling it, actually more than capable, but I find it stressful.
See, unlike the kids and average parent that are wowed by the fun lights and the loud music and the general goings on of this carnival, I spend a good portion of my time watching the rides and wondering about their structural integrity. I wonder how many times they’ve been taken apart and put back together. When the last time they’ve been inspected. Wondering where the stress points might be for some high cycle fatique as these rides go whirling and the kids are screaming.
It makes me nuts.
I know I’m not the only one. A couple years ago I stood at the base of the Ferris Wheel with an engineer I used to work with at Company X. He and I stood at the base, as our kids rode to the top, and went through support by support talking about the various stresses this Ferris Wheel endures and finally I said, “I can’t stand here with you anymore. I’m bad enough on my own. I’m gonna have flippin’ breakdown…” and I walked away. It’s a joke with us now.
But it all makes me nuts.
And the carnies. I wonder what has gone on in their lives that they have chosen this. Or did it choose them as they could find nothing else? Some look like they just came out of detox while others look like they need a visit. Most are losing teeth and almost all look like they need a good bath. Or two. Or three. Sometimes I sense a great sadness among them that is more than I can bear. Not all of them. Just some. I’ve spoken to a few, I try to always be kind, and some I can tell have low intelligence and I wonder if they were born that way or if it is the after effect of a bad drug binge.
The kids go nuts of course. They feel like they’re safe as they’re on school campus. But they aren’t. Children tugging from the parents and wanting to run rampant and do their thing with their friends. Most of us watch our kids like a hawk. Every now and then, however, I see kids unattended and I find myself shaking my head at the naivete of the parents. With so many strangers, so much activity, so much light, motion and noise, vigilance should be on the uppermost part of everyone’s mind. But it is not.
I am typically able to see both sides of every situation, both the light and the dark. I prefer to focus on the light, but just be very aware of the dark. But this carnival, it puts me in a dark place. It is too fraught with stress for me to truly enjoy and now that I’m at the center of the arena, an integral part in keeping it running, I look at it as just something to get through.
I can do anything for three days.
And the light side of this? It’s for the kids. They love it. It keeps our school running. We have a new Carnival company where the rides seem very well maintained, they’re clean and the carnival workers seem a better than in the past. Much better.
So I’m focusing on the positive.
Feel free to pray for blog fodder. I am.
I decided it was time for a change, so since Son#2 was home sick again (sinus infection) while I was at the pharmacist picking up his script, I purchased a new hair color.
Now I can’t go any way out colors like my sister, Morrigan. She has a great skin and eye color that allows her to go red, brown, and blonde and she’s even gone black… although that was an accident. Naturally, she has auburn hair. She has had the most striking mahogany color and she even looked good as a blonde. Wow.
Not me. First, I’ve never wanted to go blonde. Second, I can’t do red. My hair gets brassy. It just does NOT look good on me. And third, I prefer to go darker and although I struggle with the temptation to go jet black, I do realize it wouldn’t look good on me. I’d look like Morticia Adams, except… short… and not shapely… or sexy… or anything. My hair dresser has talked me down off that jet black precipice way too many times for her to be able to count. And Mo has convinced me it would really look bad, so I haven’t.
So I’m stuck with going with dark shades of brown, today’s color being Nutmeg, although one time in the late 80s I went eggplant. Yup, in the light, I had shades of dark purple in my hair. I loved it. When I get really really old, I’m dying my hair purple again.
OK, so I’m in the store with Son#2, I’ve picked up this Nutmeg hair color and I look at him and clowning around I say, “Whatcha think? This should be good. Do you think this color will look good on me?” and I’m holding the box to my face giving him this cheesy smile.
And in all seriousness he said to me, my sweet 9 year old, “Oh Mom, who can tell? That’s not you on the box. That’s some woman I don’t know. It looks good on her, but I don’t know if it’ll look good on you. Like your hair color looks good on you, it may not look good on her…”
Wow. The whole analysis made me laugh. It was so sweet.
Nutmeg it is.
From blogdaughter Caltechgirl, I got this quiz. I think it's wrong. I mean, I might think you suck, but I won't think its sad. Really. If you suck, I just stay away. I don't hang with sucky people! Just sayin'...
Although, I have been called Blunt and Insensitive by a certain person *ahem Mo* I know.
I was over at Eric's and saw THIS. So... I had to do it.
Perhaps that dealy with Neil is why I'm so short.
And it would appear that I'm some sort of Hazardous Material...
Oh and I'm not the smallest Mammal. I had a grandmother that was 4'10!
I’ll be going dark this weekend, starting Friday night and returning perhaps on Monday night. I’m the Treasurer for our school and we have our big annual carnival fundraiser this weekend, which requires me to live at the school from 10AM Friday until midnight on Sunday with my coming home only to sleep.
It’s an absolutely exhausting weekend and although the people I work with are great, it is intense and long. It’s extraordinarily loud (I go into audio sensory overload easily), with many people, and I find it to be rather dirty to be honest. I’m not a clean freak, but the carnival is a bit too dirty for me to hang at for the three days that I’m required to be there. I come home and end up scrubbing my body down three fold over before I can crawl into bed.
So come Monday, my brain will probably be fried. And unfortunately, there probably won’t be blog fodder. What a bummer.
All three boys decided they want to play baseball this season. Just shoot me.
I hate baseball. HATE IT.
GRRR. I hope I’m getting some major ticket punched for heaven on this one. Seriously.
Bones. Today the kid walked out for school and all his hair was pushed forward to a point. He looked like a reddish blonde, blue eyed, child vampire. He had brushed the sides forward too.
I said, “Bones. You look like a dweeb. You can’t go to school like that.”
My eldest walked in, saw him, raised his eyebrows and walked out.
Bones was emphatic that he could. I let it drop while searching for another approach. He has now fluffed out the sides so he looks like some freaked out version of Red Skelton’s Clem Kadiddlehopper.
New approach. “Bones. You look like a clown fish. You look like Nemo. You don’t want to wear your hair like that…” to which he grinned, which meant STRIKE TWO!
Breakfast continued and finally I threw my Hail Mary and said, “Bones. The girls are NOT going to think you are cute. They will want nothing to do with you.”
TOUCH DOWN! SCORE! THE CROWD GOES WILD!!! WAAAAAA! He went in and brushed his hair into something more normal.
Holy crap. This kid is going to make me insane.
*And yes, I fully realize I put both baseball and football references in this post.*
Some things just seem so right in my head… and then, good grief. Me and the cub scouts. My brilliant ideas. Sheesh.
So we had a meeting today and I decided we ‘needed’ to build cars. I bought each kid a wooden kit, not like the Pinewood Derby. Not all the kids got to participate in that and some of them, evidently their father’s did most of the work. So I thought this is ‘their’ car, they can paint it anyway they want and after they dry, the next meeting we’ll put them together.
And so, I had 5 cubs and my 2 other boys, painting their cars. I’d bought assorted colors of acrylic paints, metallic and such. For a half hour the boys painted and let me tell you, there is some serious paint. One boy’s paint is so thick, I’m wondering if it’s going to dry. I’m all about them doing their thing. It’s their creativity; I had no desire to stifle it. The variation is staggering.
Keeping the paint off of them as nobody brought smocks although I had asked, was a feat in itself. Finding a place to put them in my asexual Mom-mobile so they could dry, was a miracle in itself.
I now have 7 race cars drying on my counter. Next time, we put them together, which requires the use of a hammer. I have no idea what I was thinking when I started this project with them.
But it gets better… oh yes it does. Because last night I had this frickin’ brainstorm that I should have all my cubs over and we should camp in tents in my backyard.
So I decided to tell my husband about this today, after he arrived home from work. And to the best of my recollection, the conversation went something like this:
Me: I think I’m going to have all the cubs over to the house and we’re going to camp in the backyard. I’ll get another tent and I’ll sleep out there with them. The 5 cubs, plus our two other boys can be in the big tent and I can sleep in another that I can borrow from a cub Mom.
Me: This should be fun! Can you help me cook hotdogs and hamburgers? And you have to turn off the sprinklers.
Me: And I’ll do a movie night with them. It’ll be like a slumber party, but we’ll all sleep outside.
Husband: *long pause* Have you lost your mind?
And it pretty much went from there, with pointing out all I have on my plate and how I must truly be half insane to want cub scouts camping out in my backyard which means I have to sleep out there as well.
So I pointed out that all the really bad stuff I do is over the end of this month and that I’ll have just oodles of free time and hence, the cubs need to come camp in my backyard. And since I’m the leader for a couple more years, we can make this an annual tradition. Except… I didn’t really tell him about the annual tradition part. That’s still a secret… Shhhh.
He just kind of shook his head and walked out. I sent out the e-mail to the Moms tonight.
Let the planning begin!
It came to my attention today that I have somehow bonded with Alpha Male at work. Do not ask me how. I realized at first it might be happening when I made him laugh a few weeks ago. I thought for sure the man had no sense of humor. And when I was being a complete goof and he laughed I was stunned.
And now he laughs all the time.
And today, good grief, today he was in my cube teasing me about something and Mr. Magoo walked up. They were talking about some manager they thought was a jerk and I just said, “Hey. I have no complaints. He’s always been good to me…” and Alpha Male said, “I’ve had a couple run ins with him” and Mr. Magoo replied, “Who HAVEN’T you had a run in with?” and Alpha Male said, “Her.”
With that, Mr. Magoo raised his eyebrow and said, “Just you wait…” and he quietly chuckled and walked away.
Mr. Magoo and I have history. Luckily we’ve always been on the same team. But he was there on that fateful day at work 13 year ago, where I so completely lost it… I cannot even believe I’m going to blog this story.
I can have a very short fuse and a biting tongue. I have mellowed! I have mellowed. (My family is probably laughing as they read this and the thought of my mellowing and my girlfriend, DK, from work that reads is wondering if she remembers this story…) But there was a point where I could just so totally lose it, I’m surprised I wasn’t signed up for some anger management class. Instead they sent me to Assertiveness Training, which I promptly failed for being too aggressive. Sometimes a threat was thrown out that I might be forced to retake it, but luckily I never let anyone get under my skin like I did the day of ‘the incident’.
Anyway, we were in this meeting with the biggest loser of all time, from an opposing department. Everyone knows this guy. Every workplace has one. The liar. The cheat. The snake. And he always got away with it as his management on the Dark Side loved him. So Mr. Magoo, my boss, and I were in this meeting and this total lying, cheating, loser, snake, was in the same meeting, trying to cheat our customer, which really really pissed me off. I am and will always be incredibly loyal to our customer.
Actually, I was beyond lit.
And then he started accusing our group and Mr. Magoo’s group of things that not only did not happen, but it appeared he was doctoring numbers.
I don’t remember all of it. I do remember finally having had enough and jumping up and getting in his face about what a lying sack of crap he was. And that is the nice way of putting it, as it was really littered with so many four letter words, a sailor would blush. Real ladylike, huh? And then we went at it and I think I may have almost lunged at him, except I remember my boss holding me back as the guy left the room.
I would have totally laid that guy out flat. No doubt.
Ahhhh… good memories. I know, y’all who read me every day are thinking that surely this cannot be me. But it is. Everyone WANTED to do what I’d done, just nobody had actually ever acted on it. And as we left the room my boss looked at me and said, “You can cuss. You can scream. I will back you. I know what happened. But if you hit someone, we have to fire you.”
It was never brought up again. And I got a damn good pay raise.
I don’t regret any of it. I don’t. It felt too damn good for me to ever regret it. No remorse. And he always watched his step with me. He probably thought I was a livewire loose cannon, which I can be. And to tell you how much I truly despised that guy, he died a few years later. Someone actually called me to see if I was going to the funeral. I laughed and said, “Hell no. I don’t give a crap he’s dead. I’m apathetic towards him.”
Meanwhile, shortly after ‘the incident’ I heard Mr. Magoo say to a co-worker, “Don’t piss Bou off. Holy shit.”
So I know all that came rushing back when Mr. Magoo was talking to Alpha Male today. Makes me laugh. Luckily… I’ve mellowed… some.
Today’s run was a good run. Thankfully. I ran on the elliptical and about ¾ mile into it, I hit the endorphin rush which is really really early for me and could have run forever, but stopped at just under 4 miles as I’d already biked 5 and my legs were starting to tire. Actually, it felt so good, I cranked up the ramp and the resistance and pushed it harder half way through, doing wind sprints.
I’m thinking Teresa was right in her comment. Less jarring is good. I hadn’t really given any great thought to the fact that all my organs kind of have to find a new spot. Not a big shift mind you as what they removed was not big, but some sort of shift.
I’m telling you, during that run yesterday I could pretty much identify every organ. I’d run and think, “Yup. I have ovaries.” A little further, “Blech. My stomach.” A little farther, “Wow. What was that one?” Yeah, not so good. And then of course since I’ve not been running, at some point every muscle group below the waist started to scream in unison, cursing me with pain at every step. The whole thing just really sucked.
But I think I said that. Just a few times.
Today was good though. One of the best runs I’ve had in a long time, actually. It felt really really good. And today’s musical selection? Boxcar Racers.
While in the gym today, squinting at the TVs they have hanging from the walls as I don’t wear my glasses when I run, they had snow boarding. They were racing down some hill.
Now, how fun is that? It looked like a frickin’ BLAST! Surfers on snow. I can’t even imagine the adrenaline rush that would give.
Then I thought, “But not for me. I’d break my neck.” Yeah, coordination is seriously lacking here. In a big way. So, fun to watch… not to do. I kind of like my neck.
When going for outpatient surgery and they tell you not to bring anything, but you think you may need your drivers license and your insurance card, so you hand them to your spouse for safe keeping, do not accept them back when you are under the heavy influence of narcotics, such as loracet, as you will never know what you did with them… ever again.
Cal Tech Girl - Do not read this!
OK, I hate the President, he is a slime and I hope he's assassinated.
I guessed who the mole is in CTU and I am really looking forward to seeing Chloe blow him away. Heh heh heh. And as if she doesn't have enough trust issues. Holy crap.
So I never thought about assassins being married. How odd. Did anyone else notice that wedding band?
OK, yeah, Jack Bauer is definitely daypass material.
That cracked rib? That's nothing. He was fine after hours of torture a two seasons ago.
Spencer has no idea what its like to be interrogated by Bauer. Gooodddbyyyeee, Spenncer!
I like Buchanon... which means... kiss of death. The guy's gonna die.
Man, Spencer got off easy. Bah!
I got tagged by my Blog Daughter Sissy with a Meme of Fours. I read through it and it didn't ask me to list my favorite 4 letter words, which I think is what I was exclaiming when I realized I'd been taggged!
Four Jobs I’ve Had In My Life:
Waitress at a Steakhouse (college)
Waitress at a coffee shop (college)
Waitress at a Chinese restaurant (college)
Engineer in the aerospace industry
Four Movies I Could Watch Over and Over and Have:
When Harry Met Sally
Last of the Mohicans
The Princess Bride
Gone with the Wind
Four Places I have Lived:
Four TV Shows I love to Watch
24 (I don’t watch any other TV, but sometimes I catch Monk.)
Four Places I have been on Vacation
Hawaii (all the islands)
Four Websites I visit Daily
I’m stuck… there isn’t another other than my blogroll.
Four Favorite Foods:
Cheese Fondue (Swiss cheese, my Mom’s recipe)
Any Chocolate dessert (flourless chocolate torte ranks high)
Sushi (must be cooked unless it’s Salmon. I still have issues with eating bait, although I’m trying)
Baked Brie with pear
Four Places I would rather be right now:
In the Mountains
In the Mountains
In the Mountains
Oh wait… did I say… in the Mountains?
Four People I’m going to Tag
Ack! None. I can’t remember whose been tagged and who hasn’t.
I had one of the worst runs today I’ve ever had in my life. This is the 2nd time in a row I’ve received no endorphin rush, but this run truly sucked on every plane. It had no redeeming qualities. None. I started with James Taylor in my headphones, keeping it slow and easy since I’ve not been running in 3 weeks. I ended up listening to Green Day (how’s that for a combination?) and hearing the lyrics, “I’m not growing up, I’m just burning out and stepped in line to walk amongst the dead” and I thought, “holy crap! They wrote this song for me! For this run!”
At 1 ½ miles I thought I might as well go to the canal I run along and feed the gators my digested breakfast. I’m talking a seriously sucky run.
Many more of those and I’m hanging up my running shoes and swimming instead. I don’t get a rush from swimming but at least every single part of my body doesn’t scream when I swim. I’m telling you, every part hurt today. I have no frickin’ need to be reminded where my ovaries are located. I am pretty well aware about twice a month. Damn.
Anyway, speaking of music, I walked in the music store yesterday looking for Vivaldi amongst other things and ended up walking out with Vivaldi, Nanci Griffith, Johnny Cash, the Cowboy Junkies and Enya. (Am I the only one who didn’t know she had a new CD? I now own all her stuff). How’s that for musical diversity?
And as I was listening to Margo Timmins’ sultry voice in the car today I wondered, do the men these women with amazing voices are with appreciate their voices or do they think, “Oh great. There she goes again. Enough already!”?
I can’t sing, but I think if I could, I would sing all the time. The only place I sing is in church. There is something really comforting about singing in church with a hymnal in hand. And I sing loud in church. Good thing I don’t go very often…
Son#4 spent the night last night. (For new readers it is my eldest’s best friend.) I got up this morning, hoping my husband would fix them breakfast. And why would I hope it would be he? Because I brought many positive attributes into this holy matrimony, but breakfast cooking would not be one. I have not and will never be known for my great prowess with the griddle. I suck at cooking breakfast. Cereal and cold milk just about test the boundaries of my breakfast skills.
But alas, today was our Pinewood Derby for Scouts, so he was busy working on three cars, putting the finishing touches on wheels, weights and décor the boys could not manage on their own. That left the breakfast fixin’ to me and the boys wanted pancakes. The horror of it all!
I can bake up a Chocolate Ganache Bombe fit for the finest table. I have people request my Chicken Pot Pie. My sister in law called me the other day asking if I had a recipe for stuffed peppers. When I replied, “Sweetie, YOU’RE the Italian. You know your Mom’s recipe”, her reply was, “Yeah, but you’re such a GREAT cook and my kids LOVE everything you make, I figured I’d check. Maybe you had a better recipe.”
So I can cook, I can bake, but I cannot make breakfast. My eggs are runny, my omelets flat and my pancakes… just not right. Too big or too small, sometimes raw inside and overdone on the outside (heat control problems on the griddle… all user issues I assure you), the whole ‘cooking pancakes’ thing stresses me out.
Of course I had to overanalyze this situation to the nth degree, because, you know, I’m an engineer and that’s what I do… analyze… over and over.
I have come to one of two conclusions, or perhaps it is a combo. First, I must psychologically think that breakfast is a man’s job. After all, I grew up visiting my grandparents with my grandfather waking at the wee hours to cook these gargantuan cholesterol laden southern breakfasts that would surely have sent the American Heart Association to our doorsteps had they caught wind of the bacon grease being used to scramble up those eggs… with the grits, cheese, butter, bacon, and eggs all mixed together in the middle of the plate with a little salt and pepper. Ahhh… my favorite breakfast in the world. Comfort food for sure. I loved eating his breakfasts.
And now, TGOO does the same for my boys as his father did for us. He is renowned for his breakfasts, sausage, eggs, biscuits, omelets. My boys talk about it all the time.
So that could be one. Maybe I think it’s a man thing.
Then again, maybe it boils down to the second, which is I should have been promiscuous in my college and adult life. See, I think if I’d slept around, picking up men in bars, I could have used that line, “Why don’t you come back to my place; I’ll cook you breakfast in the morning.” That would have forced my hand in the ways of the short order breakfast cook! But no, that was not me and now look at me. I can’t cook a breakfast to save my life.
Sheesh, classic case of the choices we make in our youth and how they affect us in the future!
It probably wouldn’t have mattered anyway, however. I remember in college I went to a formal with a guy who I was sweet on and since he asked me, he may have been sweet on me too. (We'd been friends for years when he asked me out.) We were both kind of shy though, so our relationship was short lived. Anyway, we partied all night and he brought me back to my flat at what must’ve been 3AM. As he took me to the door he said, “Are you hungry?” and I said, “Actually, I am.” He said, “Well, let me come in. I’ll cook us breakfast…”
And he did! He set me up on the counter in my formal dress, took off his jacket, and in his tux, fixed us breakfast. It was one of the best dates I’ve ever had. We laughed all through breakfast. Afterwards, he simply kissed me goodnight and left.
I’m back to thinking in my head it’s a man’s thing. The mark of delineation… breakfast is not woman’s work. Pinewood Derby and breakfast… man’s work. It goes with killing bugs and opening jars.
Today was my 2nd son’s 9th birthday. I just can’t believe he’s 9. And I can’t believe he’s reading, and speaking, and has so much on the ball.
In particular speaking. He developed a speech problem early on. At about 6 months of age, he quit babbling. I started to call him my Marcel Marceau. No Mama. No Dada. No nothing.
By 18 months I knew something was really wrong. I changed pediatricians and was prepared for a fight. I knew I’d get blown off as some silly over reactive Mom. Instead I found this amazingly compassionate man who listened to my list of concerns and in turn he said, “You’re right. Let’s get him tested.”
My son ended up in speech therapy by 19 months, but by then, in his own frustration in not being able to speak, he had developed his own sign language. He was in therapy until he was 4. He said his very first word around his 2nd birthday.
There were some pretty dark days there, truth be told. Eventually I ended up with a baby, a 2 year old and a 4 year old… my 4 year old had asthma and my 2 year old was struggling to learn to speak and I was researching autism and apraxia of speech. No sleep was involved on any level and it was just not a good place to me… in my skin.
But to hear my son speak, it brought such joy. I was forever worried it would affect his schooling and his ability to read. He did learn to read at a slower rate than the other children, hell, he’d been speaking a full year or two less than most of those kids, but by the middle of first grade, he was top tier.
And now I listen to him and am completely amazed. He is my big hearted boy. The one that digs into his piggy bank to give whatever money he has to the poor when he hears the school is collecting.
He is my boy that tells me he LOVES girls and how they smell.
He is my boy, that at age 9, still wants to crawl in my lap and snuggle.
My boy that loves to be kissed on.
My boy that has his feelings hurt easily.
My boy that I think may grow up to be an actuary as he spends all his time mentally calculating what jobs are dangerous.
My boy that could also do something creative as he loves to create.
My boy that has an amazing way with numbers and their concepts.
My boy that I will worry about as he will readily give his heart away… and I want him to protect himself. I want to protect him from the pain of unrequited love, rejection, and all hurt that comes with being a teenager and a man. But I can’t.
I’ve posted this of him before… this was 2 years ago. My 2nd son. My Knight. My sweet boy.
(Click to Enlarge)
Oh! And he's my boy that crashes any time he's tired, no question. This is one of my favorites from when he took Karate. I was training and he was waiting on me.
After an hour and a half today, looking at blueprints, computer screens and the likes, I had had it. There was no spacer to be found, yet it was on the parts list. I don’t have the luxury of having the parts in hand. I write everything looking at specs and different computer systems.
So finally, I called my Tech Lead and said, “You have to come over and help. I’m done. I’m fried. I suck. I need help.” I think he was afraid I was going to slit my wrists because he was there in seconds… and he sits pretty far away.
Anyway, after a long time, he solved the riddle. I still have no idea how he found it. I am chalking it up to his vast field experience because it sure as hell wasn’t on any of my prints or on my damn radar.
By the end, both of us were cross eyed and finally I said, “This is like some really bad joke. How many engineers does it take to find a spacer?” He laughed and deadpanned, “Evidently more than two..."
We were in the car this morning as I took the kids to school and from the back of the asexual Mom-mobile I heard Bones’ voice say to his brothers, “You know, when you get married and have babies, I’m going to be Uncle Bones. I think that sounds kind of stupid.”
His nickname really is Bones. I didn’t make that up for this blog. It really is. To the point that when we go to my folk’s home, we all have plastic cups we write our names on so we don’t go through a gajillion cups while there. The Great Omnipotent One’s, whom the kids call Big Daddy, usually has it shortened to ‘Big’ on his cup. My Mom, who goes by Mimie, hers gets shortened to ‘Mim’. I may have even seen ‘Mimster’ written on it. You never know. Bones? His cup usually has a skull and cross bones on it or a skeleton.
And what is even funnier about this story this morning, is he was remembering back to July when TGOO wrote on Bones’ cup, “Unca Bones”. Unca as in “Unca Donald” from Donald Duck.
So after making his proclamation this morning as to how stupid he thinks its going to be, being called “Uncle Bones” by future nieces and nephews, Son#2 says, “Just remember, it’s not UNCLE Bones. It’s UNCA… UNCA. UNCA Bones.”
And on a different topic, Bones informed me the other day that he has looked under TGOO’s kilt before. Upon speaking to TGOO about this, he was completely unaware. The best I can gather was as he was walking through the house, getting ready for a piping gig, Bones just went behind him and, being low enough to the ground, decided to get lower and take a peek.
I can’t help but laugh. I knew what the answer was already, just because I KNOW TGOO! Physical modesty is not one of his attributes. Now Bones knows too…
Yet another rendition of an engineer in the aerospace industry…
Evidently something has been ‘upgraded’ on the aircraft on which I work and I was tasked to put together the task for the guys on the flight line to be able to change it out when the time came.
So I went through blue prints and systems and looked at drawings at every angle and counted nuts, bolts, spacer, bits and pieces, and created what needed to be done, based on the 3D drawing that I finally found access to.
And when I was finished, I had an extra spacer.
This is akin to your working in your driveway on the motor of your car, reassembling and finding an extra bolt at the end of the day, except your motor is more complicated then what I was working with.
Yeah, well, at the end of the day, YOU might be able to hurl the bolt into the trash and think, “no biggy”, but in aerospace, that’s a BIG NO NO.
So tomorrow I get to spend my day trying to figure out from where in the hell this extra spacer came.
Yet another day where I won’t exactly be going Mach 3 with my hair on fire.
So today I had my two week post-op, except it’s been three weeks. I have to tell you, I love my surgeon. He is the greatest guy. He’s probably about 5 years older than I and obviously very dedicated to his profession. Case in point:
It was the morning of my surgery, I was lying on the bed with God only knows what dripping into my veins. (I didn’t want to know.) He came in to talk to me to make sure I was cool, which I was. At the end of our talk he took out a sheet of paper and wrote down his PERSONAL cell phone number, gave it to my husband and said, “If the slightest thing seems wrong, CALL ME.” And then he added, “Don’t worry, I don’t have a life anyway.”
I hate hearing things like that. So of course I brought it to his attention today. I wasn’t going to lecture him or anything, but this whole “I don’t have a life” thing really bothered me. After I got in the exam room today, the first thing I said was, “So, did you acquire a life in the 3 weeks since we last met?” I explained the reference.
And his reply to me was, “No, no, no, this IS my life. I made the conscious choice. I knew this is what I wanted to do. I enjoy it. And I wanted you to call me if something went wrong because I didn’t want someone else handling it. I didn’t want to hear about it through an ER. It’s MY job, you’re MY patient.”
Sorry, but I don’t think you hear that a lot anymore from any profession.
He asked me how I felt it went and I told him I thought it was the best sleep I’d had in 11 years and worth every bit of it. Somehow we ended up on some philosophical discussion on life and how we live it and… he’s just a great guy. He’s got a brilliant mind and he’s fun to talk to.
Eventually he asked me what I thought of the entire procedure and I carried on about how I loved his staff, him, the anesthesiologist, his head nurse at the hospital (whose name I remembered as I liked her so much), the general staff and cleanliness of the hospital and of course… my pain management and all the positive attributes of the glorious drugs he bestowed upon me.
And, this is where I cannot quit laughing, keep in mind, he has a very dry way about him, he’s not bubbling over with enthusiasm, just very matter of fact, very funny, but matter of fact, he says to me, “Good. My fantasy was that this would be a perfect experience for you.”
Hunh. It was the choice of words that continue to make me laugh.
So this is what surgeons fantasize about? The perfect surgical experience for someone. I so wanted to take him by the arm and say, “OK. We need to work on your fantasies… you oh so need a life…” But I kept my mouth shut.
I have surrounded myself with some awesome doctors, but I do think he may very well be my favorite, and that’s a compliment because I know some really really great doctors.
From Blogdaughter Caltechgirl, I got this quiz. Phew. Thankfully I picked the right major and the right profession. Whodathunkit?
And to all those who doubt I have damn close to zero creativity, just look at the bottom... all the art stuff.
| You scored as Mathematics. You should be a Math major! Like Pythagoras, you are analytical, rational, and when are always ready to tackle the problem head-on!|
What is your Perfect Major? (PLEASE RATE ME!!<3)
created with QuizFarm.com
Musical selection of the day? Well when not jamming to They Might Be Giants with Son#2, who is still sick, it was Enya. Very haunting. It’s windy and somewhat gloomy here. Not a bad thing, just different. You can’t appreciate the beautiful days, without the dark.
She just seemed fitting for the day.
Yesterday’s musical selection most of the day was Son#2’s choice, They Might Be Giants. And then for the next few hours following, I heard myself singing over and over,
The sun is a mass of incandescent gas,
A gigantic nuclear furnace.
Where Hydrogen is built into Helium
At a temperature of millions of degrees
Heh. You can here part of it here on Amazon... #4.
I so suck at lyrics, as in remembering them. My brain doesn’t work that way. I have to really connect to a song and even then, I may only remember parts.
Just seems kinda sorta fitting that I ended up singing this one, one with a scientific tilt. I’m such a geek. It truly is scary sometimes.
Today I found, via my sitemeter, that I am #1 for Googling Hamster Stew.
Folks, I am here to tell you, I really do have a Pet Cemetery in my back yard. I know, it seems rather quick that we had two hamsters meet their unfortunate demise in such a short time span, but I promise you, they really were natural deaths. I wasn’t wandering through the house thinking, ‘Damn. What to make, what to make, what do make for dinner?” and then noticed a hamster and thought, “Eureka! Hamster stew!”
Yeah. That didn’t happen.
And if you’re the reader that stumbled upon me looking for it, if you read this, there does not appear to be a lot of meat on hamsters. I say jack it up and go for rabbit or squirrel. Just sayin’…
By the way, they were from the UK. Is hamster some sort of delicacy over in our allied country of Great Britain?
Son#2 has been sick, as I said, so in between snuggling close to him (praying I don’t catch it), I’ve been doing some data analysis I haven’t had time to get to for an organization I’m involved with.
So yesterday, essentially I took a shower, brushed my teeth, grabbed a bowl of cereal, hung with my kid and stayed on the computer crunching and analyzing numbers… all day. Which means… I looked like hell.
At 1:50 I did the big “OhShit!” and realized I had 10 minutes to leave to get the older boys. Son#2 got dressed and I decided that the least I could do was put a damn rake through my hair.
So just to set the picture, I had my hair up in a pony tail, decided that although I was wearing NOT a STITCH of make up, my glasses hid the worst of it (the bonus of wearing glasses), I’m wearing a man’s rugby shirt without a bra and a pair of shorts completely hidden by the oversized man’s shirt (which is mine, btw, I love wearing men’s shirts) and a pair of clogs.
Death warmed over didn’t have an inch on me.
And I figured that I was just going to get the boys, staying in my asexual mom-mobile, what’s the big deal? I would never actually go OUT, like to the grocery store. I mean, I do have a certain amount of vanity. I joke about shunning fashion although I am not the disaster that Bones is, but there is something called ‘dignity’ and that I have plenty of.
My eldest got in the car and said in a near shriek, ‘MOM! WE HAVE TO GO THE LIBRARY TODAY! I HAVE A BOOK REPORT DUE ON FRIDAY AND IT’S A BIOGRAPHY AND I DON’T HAVE A BOOK!’
I am now looking down at myself, not daring to look in the mirror and thinking “Yeah, that’s not happening” and I deadpanned back at him that there was no way we were going to the library and he started to reverberate at such a level I was starting to be concerned about the structural integrity of his molecular structure, I heard myself saying to him:
“Young man, poor planning on YOUR part, does NOT constitute an emergency on mine! Have I made myself clear?”
And I suspect that although that was the first time I have said that to him (a motto of mine at work, fyi) it will not be the last. Knowing this boy, it will probably be repeated by the end of the school year…
Is it just me or does Ukrainian politics seem like something out of a nighttime soap opera?
And I’m having a devil of a time keeping up with all those names. They need to pick some last names that don’t begin with odd letters like “Y” and “W”. I’m telling you, I’ve got a weird last name, but mine has some vowels in it and is missing those odd ball letters that by themselves are fine, but together just seem funky, ‘k’, ‘y’, ‘w’, ‘v’, ‘z’… can we buy an ‘x’?
Warning shot, this is not a happy post and contains opinions of mine that I do not waver upon. It is not up for debate. I'm a highly intelligent woman who thinks things through, my thoughts are based upon my own personal experiences. You have issues with what I'm putting up, I have no problem with your stating you don't agree... but don't try to debate me. I don't debate on my blog. Period.
I had a meeting to attend tonight put on by our local police department at our school on internet safety for kids as well as the awareness of sexual predators and offenders.
Depressing stuff. Scary and depressing. Much I was aware of, but any extra piece of information gleened is a good thing.
I could not do the jobs of the people that work with this scum. I could not.
But here is something I could do... I COULD very well, execute this scum if it were legal and it was a public lottery as to who got to pull the trigger.
You question the thought of that? Ask my husband. He'll tell you flat out he's seen me speak of this issue of people who prey on children and how passionate I am about what should be legal. He will tell you... I am dead on serious.
And I could sleep at night too.
As they were giving the presentation, they showed a father and a son, the father an offender who just got out and the son... a predator. They said the son is more dangerous than the father ever was.
And that's when I said to the woman who was sitting next to me, someone I know really well, "There is a solution to that. They have no kidding proof this guy molested a child. Execution. No question. Exterminate him and its NO LONGER a problem..."
And she looked at me in horror and said, "OH NO! You don't know what happened in his childhood! He can't be held responsible... his parents may have started it!"
Oh. Oh. Oh. Oh No. I am here to tell you folks, if you are an adult and you commit a heinous crime against a child, I don't give a crap what happened in your childhood. If Boudicca were Queen... you would die. No passing go, no collecting 200 dollars. Just BAM! one single bullet in the head. End of story.
I kid you not.
I am an open minded person and am capable of great compassion. I have issues with how our prison system works. I have issues with who goes to jail at times. I try to see both sides of every story...
But... when it comes to the children and these crimes, I go stone cold. In my world it would be legal for these predators to be executed.
The entire meeting tonight was sickening. It was a necessary evil. We needed to hear it, but it made me sick and I found at one point that I had lifted my legs into my seat and I was sitting with my arms wrapped completely around my body, in a big ball. If that isn't body language, I don't know what is.
Hear Ye! Hear Ye! I have a new blog niece! My dear friend Tammi has spawned. And not only that, but her spawn is the spouse of Contagion! (I’m hearing some Jimmy Buffet here… a twisted version of Son of a Son of a Sailor. Anyone?)
OK, so… although that makes her my blog niece, since Contagion is my blog son, that makes me her Blog Mom in law. But because she is my niece and Contagion is my son, that makes them 1st cousins. And they’re married.
Which reminds me of a story. Surprise!
About 18 years ago, a friend of mine’s sister was getting married. Lived in the deep deep South she and her betrothed did and one day they traveled to the local court house to get the paperwork to make their love legal in the eyes of the government, you know… shared taxes, health insurance, and all that is good that comes with holy matrimony.
Upon completing the paperwork, they got down to the bottom and there was a one word, “Relation” and next to it was written, “Y/N”.
Hmm. So said my friend’s sister, “Excuse me, please, could you tell me what this means?”
To which the clerk replied in her deepest southern accent, “‘r Ya Kiiiiin?”
I guess the blog answer to that for Contagion and Ktreva would be Y. Heh.
Anyway, please go over and welcome Ktreva at The Reality Ranch. We’re glad to have her!
So my blogbro, That1Guy, decides to try to make me feel better HERE after Bones and his brothers and the whole ‘hitting in the nuts thing while wearing 20 pairs of underwear”.
Let me make it perfectly clear right here and now folks, T1G's stories DO NOT HELP THE CAUSE! Oh no. Anything involving boyhood experiences with knife throwing and hatchets and rocks in the head… they do not help. Instead I sit here, reading, mouth agape, thinking to myself, “Breathe! Don’t forget to Breathe!”
Oh and then the comments in that post, like Ogre’s about closing their eyes while shooting each other with BB guns so they didn’t poke their eyes out… ACK!!!
And… ANd… AND!!!... Laughing Wolf’s contribution on using tampon tubes to assist in shooting off bottle rockets…. Good Lord Have Mercy! NO! I was so frickin’ dying!
I’m telling you now, as God is my witness, if I find my boys outside playing with tampon tubes, I’m going to have a damn heart attack. Cross my heart, hope to die. I’ve kept this little ‘once a month thing’ a secret for this long… it can stay a secret until they MUST know, which according to the school is this year for my eldest. Blech. I’m sure how I tackle that will be total blog fodder like when I had THE sex talk with him. (HERE, if you missed that most excellent post.) Anyway, since I’m not a PMS kinda gal, the boys are in the dark. No quiet murmurings from My Man to them once a month like, “Just lay low… it’ll be OK… just try to blend… bleeeend with the floor and you’re cool.” Yeah, none of that. What you see on this blog, is pretty much me, 24/7.
Good grief. It was bad enough when I found my eldest one day when he was three years old, traipsing through my home with a panty liner stuck to his head like it was a sweat band. He’d pulled off the back tape and just stuck it to his forehead. Walking through my house… like this was oh so right. I died 3 deaths right then. I quickly put them in a better spot where they have not been found since.
I have this sign on my piano that says “There's a special place in Heaven for the Mother of three sons.” Holy crap. There better be.
Son#2 is home sick today, which means it’s been declared a “Mommy and Son#2” day. He hangs on the couch all day, wrapped in a blanket, lamenting that all day time TV is for pre-schoolers, but feeling better when I snuggle in close. He’s my snuggly guy. I love to run my hand over his forehead, lift up his hair and kiss him on his hairline. I’ll play that game for hours and I’m always amazed that he lets me. He just sits there while I snuggle and kiss all over his hair.
Anyway, so he fit his little body into the curves of mine and he was watching the Cartoon Network when a commercial came on for some Chocolate Factory. No. Not the movie. You too for $19.95 can buy this Chocolate Factory complete with dipping chocolate instructions!
It looked like chocolate fondue! I CANNOT start my day that way. I’m going to end up craving chocolate all day!
Which reminds me, who out there likes that squishy fruity stuff in their box of chocolates? Do people eat that stuff? No offense if you do, but I gotta know that it’s made for someone.
I’ll do nuts in my chocolate, nougat, caramel and just plain chocolate. As much as I do like coconut, and I LOVE Mounds bars (my fave), I can’t do that chocolate box coconut filled chocolates. They’re too sweet. Blech. I feel like I’m going to go into sugar shock. It’s the whole squint my left eye, move my head to the left, shudder look.
If I don’t have a ‘guide’ to go with a box of chocolates, I’ve been known to just eat the bottom off the chocolate and put it back should I find fruity crap.
And these chocolates filled with cherries and syrup? Absolutely… NOT. Chocolate is NOT supposed to squirt in your mouth. No gushy stuff. It’s supposed to be a solid. Actually no liquid in my chocolate at all. My Mom will attest to this. After my surgery, a friend of mine sent home a few chocolate truffles with my son for me. They were on the counter and as I was standing at the sink, Mom by my side, I bit into one. Blech. White runny stuff came out, so I quickly split it in half and dumped out the innards saying, “I can’t eat the crap in the middle”. It must’ve melted. Ick. I ate the outer part.
So who does this fruity solid stuff in their chocolates? Anyone?
Early blogging tonight as 24, my addiction, is on for two hours again.
And according to comments in last night's post, Kim is coming back. And as my sister said, she'd wished she'd been eaten by that Puma, beating me to it I might add. I hope the Puma makes another show this year and takes her out once and for all.
They've killed off Palmer, they need to take out Kim now. Puma feed. It could happen!
Oh and from reader Cin, something I saw in this morning's paper that I think all 24 fans will find funny, HERE.
*update* Oh My GOOOOD! She took that passkey out of that man's hands after he'd just used the bathroom and he hadn't washed his hands! Then she put it in her mouth!!! ACK!!!***
**Update... manoman, I'm thinkin' this First Lady is gonna buy the farm. You know the first rule of watching 24, don't get attached to a character... they're gonna die.***
*Update... when Jack left the boy and said, "Take care of your mother" he should have said, "Take care of your mother, wash your hair and get a damn haircut". Just sayin'...**
***Updata again- Oh Yeah. Jack Bauer is soo Day Pass material. Oh yes.***
OK- Chloe has always been annoying too, but yesterday had the all time best Chloe moment when she told that guy to just get up and get out of her bed. That was so funny.
And since Kim didn't show yet, there was no reason for the Puma to make a grand reappearance. I'm telling you, the writers could find some way to bring that Puma back and take her out once and for all. It could be done!
I don’t understand. I quit asking questions.
But I do believe…
That Bones thinks or did think that…
MLK invented swiss cheese.
Y’all should be so lucky as to live my life.
The Mood of the Day is Mellooooow.
Coldplay being the musical selection of the day, streaming through the house as I putzed, doing laundry, cleaning, keeping the boys from killing each other. The last one always the most important part of my job as Mistress of this Home.
Windows are open and it’s beautiful outside, something most of you will experience in another four months. There is a cool crispness in the air that renders the memories of the stifling hot humid six months of summer a far distant past, nearly unmemorable.
Days like today are why people live down here. Paradise. Forget the hurricanes, the power outages and air so pregnant with water it is nearly asphyxiating.
Today, days like today are the reasons people move to South Florida.
Can’t ask for a better day than today…
Yesterday was the first run since my surgery. I just couldn’t take it anymore. I felt certain the surgeon would have given me the two thumbs up at my 2 week post-op… if it were scheduled at the two week point. But alas, I had to schedule at the 3 week and my head could not bear to wait that extra week.
So yesterday I dug into the bowels of my closet in search of my running shoes and went to the gym. The craving for that endorphin rush was just more than I could take.
Blech. Three weeks it had been, two weeks post op and the week before Christmas. Good Lord. 12 minutes into it, jamming to the musical selection of the day, Evanescence, I realized that not only was the much coveted endorphin rush going to be ever so elusive, but I just prayed I didn’t vomit.
I’d been down to nearly 8 minute miles, now I’m pushing at 10. I know it’ll come back, but it was rather disheartening and even 10 minutes felt punishing.
Anyway, so I’m looking at the clock, a total clock watching run, not the worst, but by far not the best, and I’m people watching, trying to keep my mind off the fact I really really want to vomit, and hurling in a gym is never an option, I start to crank back on the speed, that was slow anyway, telling myself that I’m still in rehab mode.
And that’s when the guy running next to me lets one loose. I never heard it coming, probably because I was so jammed into my headphones or maybe because I was trying to zone out. The smell permeated the air and I thought to myself, “My God. I’m on the verge of vomiting as it is, I’m gonna lose it…”
But thankfully, I kept it together.
I’m a firm believer that everything happens for a reason, our paths cross each others in a pre-woven tapestry. It is not by accident, but for the big picture. And perhaps I was given my 2nd son, who can pass gas of the most foul, gas that can peel paint off the walls and make one’s eyes water, gas that leaves one’s lungs burning, gasping for clean air, so I can tolerate the times like yesterday in the gym.
I may very well have found the reason for his putrid pungent gas. And I do believe I have developed a cast iron stomach.
I was very close with my Mom’s Mom., my maternal grandmother. She died unexpectedly seven years ago and there are times its still difficult. I always felt like I could talk to her about anything… when times were hard in what seems like such a closed world in the mind of a teenager, I always viewed her as a safe haven.
She loved movies. She would come stay with us and she’d sleep in my room and we’d stay up late at night watching old black and whites and movies made way before my time. The Ghost and Mrs. Muir, The Moon is Blue, Of Wine and Roses, Some Like it Hot, to name just a few. Some of them I remember well, others not so much, I may remember just a scene or two.
What I did not get from her, however, was her uncanny ability to know all the movies and the actors and actresses. To this day I cannot be relied on to tell you which actor was in what movie. I get them all confused. I got this extraordinary ability to botch up stars and movies from The Great Omnipotent One.
OK, so something has been nagging me and I’m wondering if someone out there might readily know the answer.
Black and White movie… I think, but maybe not. I was young, so I remember only one scene or a composite of a few. A couple is together and they are beautiful. I thought it was Cary Grant, but… I may be wrong. Actually, feel free to bank on my being wrong.
Anyway, beautiful couple… but in reality, they are not. In reality they are really unattractive, maybe ugly. They only see each other this way as they’re so in love. The rest of the world sees them as they are truly are, totally unattractive.
Kind of a beauty in the eyes of the beholder film.
I don’t remember the plot at all. That whole ‘love someone so much that they are beautiful in your eyes’ theme just really stuck with me.
I am a 24 addict. I watch literally no TV as I can’t sit that long without my brain functioning. Yeah, that’s not something I’m real proud of. If I’m at home and the TV is on, I feel like I should be doing something else… something either productive or I should be reading or writing. Anything. In a movie theater is the only way I can get my brain dormant.
Except for this show 24.
I LOVE THIS SHOW! They’re not afraid to kill anyone off! Main character? Blammo! Dead. Main character for three seasons? Blammo! Dead. Nobody is immune, well, except Jack Bauer.
I got Morrigan hooked a couple years ago. We call each other at every commercial. Tonight was the season premier.
So in the first 5 minutes tonight, a major main character gets killed. First thing Mo does is call me and say, “CAN YOU BELIEVE THIS?!!! THEY KILLED HIM OFF!!!”
Meanwhile, her boyfriend really doesn’t know about this addiction/connection Mo and I have with this show. It’s something the men in our life just have to tolerate. Once a week, for an hour, every 15 minutes we call each other. He knows now!
Every year Mo laments to me, ‘I CANNOT believe you got me addicted to this show! I cannot believe I am WASTING YET ANOTHER 24 HOURS of my life!”
And my reply is almost always, “This is just 24 hours you KNOW about! You watch plenty of TV. This one just tells you how many hours you’re wasting!”
Heh. 22 hours to go!!!
I got this from over at Blog son Contagion's, who got this from over at Caltechgirl's, who by the way, is now evidently an adopted blog daughter of mine. Contagion goes and starts drunk blogging and next thing I know the family expanded. Holy crap! I asked him if this is the blog equivalent of bringing home a stray except... CTG is NO STRAY. She's AWESOME. Brilliant neuroscientist and all that... I'm kind of strugging with the fact she's might call me... Mom. I feel so unworthy! Heh.
Then again... she may not want in this crazy family...
And Contagion needs to lay off the booze, before his Blog Mama beats his ass... This time we got LUCKY. Next time... I shudder!
OK, back to the quizzy stuff. Nice. I'm a Melancholic Temperament. Parts of this are true, although I am hesitant to think I am 'wise'.
|You Have a Melancholic Temperament|
You are a soft-hearted daydreamer. You long for your ideal life.
You love silence and solitude. Everyday life is usually too chaotic for you.
Given enough time alone, it's easy for you to find inner peace.
You tend to be spiritual, having found your own meaning of life.
Wise and patient, you can help people through difficult times.
At your worst, you brood and sulk. Your negative thoughts can trap you.
You are reserved and withdrawn. This makes it hard to connect to others.
You tend to over think small things, making decisions difficult.
Today the boys informed me they were going to have Bones put on his Hulk costume and then shoot nerf stuff at his butt to see if he could feel it. Nice. The crap they come up with amazes me.
So I’m in the kitchen making a salad and I hear, “Let’s punch him now and see if he feels it…”
Yeah, that’s never a good thing to hear.
I was in that room within fractions of a second to find my youngest standing in the middle of the room, but almost looking bow legged. I shouted, “STOP! There WILL BE NO PUNCHING!”
They know the rules… the Be No’s of this home. There will be no punching. There will be no kicking. There will be no spitting. Or typically as I say it, “There will be no punching, kicking, hitting, spitting or beating of each other…”
All three of them looked at me blank faced like, “Are YOU talking TO ME?” Like they were innocent. I heard them. I HEARD THEM!
Finally one of the eldest said, “Mom, we’re going to hit him in the weenie… he can’t feel it. He’s wearing 20 pairs of underwear…”
Hence the looking kind of bow legged.
I look down and the boy is bloated around the… well… the less than mid-section. Round. The child is round. Like an innertube has been shoved in his pants.
Bones looked like the village idiot. Here he is, in Hulk costume, wearing 20 pairs of underwear underneath, and he starts banging on his ‘weenie’ saying, “See Mom? I can’t feel anything!!!”
Great. I thought I might come unhinged. I’ve got them all looking me in the eyes as I’m lecturing them again on ‘Good touch vs. Bad touch’ and how we don’t touch people certain places and we SURE AS HELL don’t HIT them there.
Let’s see… last week they were throwing rocks at each other, which I was frickin’ lovin’ the fact every male reader appeared and said, “Oh! We did that!” Great. This week, my youngest is packing on the underwear to see if he can feel it if his brothers punch him in the nuts.
And you should have seen the kid try to run through the house. Bowlegged would be kind! Finally after about 15 minutes I heard him say to my eldest, “I’m taking off 3 pairs of these underwear. They’re starting to hurt…”
I don’t talk about what I have named my children, nor will I typically, and I will not type them here, but this story is too funny for me to pass up. It will require a bit of research on your end, and I would greatly appreciate it when you realize his first name, if you do NOT type it in the comments. If you do, I will delete it.
So my 2nd son has an unusual name. I found it in a book when I was pregnant. It was between the name we gave him and the name Galen. I preferred Galen, my husband the name the boy has, but I figured that after doing the whole ‘natural child birth thing’, which by the way is highly overrated and I don’t recommend it as last I looked, I had no medals or anything for it, that my husband would be so amazed and impressed with the great effort put forth on my part that he would say, “Babe, you can name this child whatever you want…”
Instead, I was so frickin’ beat and beat up that when the boy was born I said, “Babe, I’m so tired. I just don’t care anymore. You can name him whatever you want…”
So he ended up with his name and I’m glad. I love his name and I can’t think of him with any other.
You may be wondering what it is… well, there is a new movie out. A movie that takes place in the middle ages. His name is in the title. And this is where the funny part starts, really. And keep in mind, I am not going to mention the movie name or the Opera, so if you don’t know by now, you may be lost.
When I found the name, I knew only that it was a Knight from King Arthur’s Round Table. It is Welsh and it had a nice ring, hence it made the finals in our name selection. When he was born, people would stop us as he has piercing blue eyes and they would ask his name. And when I told them, inevitably, the elder generation of people would ask if we named him after the lead in Wagner’s Opera. In the beginning I said no. But after the 3rd or 4th time, I decided, “what the hell? Let’s look artistically rounded…” so I started to say, “Why yes, we did!”
Heh. Too bad I never bothered to read the story. Not that it’s a bad story. Thank God it’s not like I named him Oedipus or something, but still…
When he decided to dress for the part on Halloween, remember his dressing as a Knight from the Round Table, I decided to do more research. By now I was aware there was some love story, but I was just unaware there was a LOVE TRIANGLE!
So this movie comes out and his teacher from last year says to me, “Hey! Bou! Did you see that there is a new movie out with Son#2’s name in it? It looks like a real bodice ripper!!!!”
Well, that’s… just… great. Fortunately he doesn’t know yet. Maybe this will work to his advantage as a man, that the story will precede him and women will swoon and think surely he must be some great lover. But until then, the kid is saddled with a name of man with quite a love story behind him... quite an old love story that precedes even that of Arthur and Guinevere. I’m just thankful it wasn’t R or X rated.
Last year a tax place opened on a major road up in our North County; one of those places where you can go in and they help you with your taxes. Now it was in one of those strip malls, hard to get to so they decided to put someone out on the street for advertisement.
The first few days it was this very very tall black man dressed… as Uncle Sam. I don’t know why I thought it was funny, but I did and if they wanted people’s attention, they surely got it.
Every now and then this woman dressed as the Statue of Liberty would stand a watch on the side, big sign in hand, bringing to the attention of others their existence. A most horrible costume, I could not imagine being so desperate as to wear this costume in public, let alone standing on a street corner. It had this big liberty foam hat and was some hideous green.
But, I figured, “Hey, its all about getting people to know they’re there. Good on them.”
This year, not only have “Uncle Sam” and “The Statue of Liberty” been out since the first of the year, but when I saw them today, their signs read, “Free Hot Dogs!”
Free Hot Dogs?
Off to the side, sure enough, was a man with a portable grill, grilling hot dogs as the Statue and Uncle advertised that we needed to stop by for Free Hot Dogs.
Now, folks, I know I joke about living under a rock, and being so left brained I walk with a list to the left, but tell me, am I the only person who does not select who does their taxes based on free food?
Granted we’ve had the same accountant for 17 years, but research was done on her selection and I have to say, the offering of free hot dogs never made the radar when considering who to hire.
I’m sorry. I’m just really scared for people who pick the folks that do their taxes because they got a free hot dog out of the deal…
And so it was Friday, and I went into work thinking, ‘Today, we shall not speak of magnifying glasses. Life will be good. But if anyone decides to dredge up run-on torque, I may have to scream or bitch slap them… may the choice be theirs.’
And I opened my e-mail and there sat a note from the great Wizard in CT saying “Verily verily, the Wizard in Seattle has spoken and he likes your work and thus blesses it.”
And life was good.
But in the engineering world, nothing goes into the fleet without every wizard, magician, warlock and the like having blessed it three fold.
And so it was, as the problem with the magnifying glass made it through all the great castles to get approved…
I got thrown under the bus by Mr. Magoo.
I could have frickin’ strangled him. Thrown into a tail spin by one of my own. My own teammate.
And as I sat in my cube as he came over and informed me he thought this was all a ‘crock of shit’ and could not believe I had been forced to waste THREE HOURS of my life that I can NEVER GET BACK, I wanted to scream, “YOU ARE GOING TO MAKE IT FOUR!!!”
But I kept my cool, smiled sweetly, explained what had occurred and off he went, pondering whether or not to bless it as I quietly wondered if I would have to banish him to some land far far away… or rip off his arm and beat him with it.
Luckily… I like him… a lot, so I spared him his life. He lives. GRRR.
My Man took my boys to a Panthers hockey game last night. Someone had given him tickets and so it was a guys night out, that was enjoyed immensely by all, except for Bones, from what I understand.
It would appear that Bones thinks the game is ‘stupid’. I was kind of surprised as I really enjoy hockey. There is action, it’s nice and cool in the arena (as opposed to any other sport in S. FL), and you have to pay attention.
Bones take today in the car: Mom, it’s a stupid game. All they do is chase a little circle thing on some ice.
Of course Son#2 had to reply with: You mean… the puck?
And I shouldn’t laugh at his lack of hockey terminology, because even though I enjoy the sport, I’m not into it enough to get fully acquainted with nomenclature. I still call it ‘quarters’ and My Man has to remind me it’s ‘periods’. Heh, you’d think that would be something easy for a woman to remember.
And he was running late last night from work to pick up the boys for the game and so on the phone I said to him, “Well, its no big deal, you’re just going to miss the ‘puck off’”, to which there was a long pause and then a “Puck off? I don’t think they call it that…”
Whatever. He knew what I meant and that’s all that matters, right?
Anyway, a good time was had and Son#2 came home telling me he wants to be a professional Hockey Player when he grows up. The kid is going to be 9 in a week and he doesn’t even ice skate. We live in frickin’ SOUTH FLORIDA. I thought Professional Hockey Players were born in the Great White North and were born with skates on their feet, you know… 'skating before they were walking' kind of thing.
I’m not about to burst his bubble, in particular because I’m happy he doesn’t really see his size as an issue. We’re not big people. But I have to think it a little odd that this is the kid who has this freaky actuarial mind, constantly trying to figure out death rates for professions. He’ll see a profession and say, “Oh. I don’t want to do that. That’s dangerous.” So of course we’ve ruled out Naval Aviator and hence… the Naval Academy, not that I was pushing it, but still, it was a good career for his grandfather. And anything that smacks of firefighting/police work is out. There is a list of things ruled out… like people who design and build bridges because one might fall off the bridge.
But Hockey playing was in. Go figure. And I hear there were A LOT of fights last night. And I also hear my introverted second son was jamming in the stands. We’ll see…
Oh Caltechgirl is EVIL! EEEEEVIL I say!
The Great Omnipotent One is going to hate this.
New to my sidebar, courtesy of the EVIL One is... mini-Sudoku! Heh. It changes daily. You can get yours HERE, should you so desire for your blog... Oh and there are different sizes and colors. And did I say it updates every day? Oh yes. It does.
Just click on the puzzle and it takes you to the puzzle of the day. You can blame Caltechgirl for this!
I had the funeral today. I wasn't sure how it would be. Funerals can be hit or miss for me. If the family holds it together... then so do I. If the family is a mess... then I am too. I can't take people grieving. I channel their grief, some cases magnified. For instance, when there was hope for all those miners, I watched the rescue on the TV. As soon as I heard they died, but one, I turned it off. I could not bear to watch the families grieve. It is more than I can take. Let them grieve in private with their families. Oh its awful.
So, I had some trepidation, but I had my tissues with me in case I was to become a puddle in the pew as its happened before. I left one funeral a few years ago, that I guess I should post on sometime as I was such a mess it was funny, that I would not have been surprised if someone yelled to the Church Custodian after, "Clean Up in Pew 52!!!!" I was a total Onion Head.
It was hard to see the casket draped in the flag at the altar.
It was hard knowing that he was lying in it, in his dress uniform, in which he still fit.
It was hard to watch my friend the new widow, walking down the aisle, leading her family.
It was hard when one of my buddies from my old Bagpipe band came down the aisle piping Amazing Grace. Upon his return from the altar at the casket, I focused on the floor, averting my gaze from him, trying to keep it together. I know him well and I sure as hell didn't need to do anything to make piping at this great man's funeral any harder than it already was. Tears were streaming down my face.
It was hard to hear some of the personal remarks I heard expressed by people... that are not blog fodder. I can never print it, but let me say, that as they spoke, I thought, "This one is leaving a mark". There is a mark in my heart. Faces I will not forget.
It was hard hearing the recounting of his 3 1/2 years as a Japanese POW that started with the Bataan Death March. I know the story well, as I heard it personally from him, but it was still difficult to hear. Such brutality is difficult to stomach. Such tenacity mixed with luck to live... astounding. The Death March, the captivity, the unmarked boats hauling them to Japan only to be bombed by our own, his ship taking a hit and his swimming to shore... all of it. It was hard.
It was hard to read the 23rd Psalm as it is what kept him alive. He was a man of great faith, enormous faith and he told us many times it is what saw him through. His faith in God kept him alive. And I will never again read without thinking of him:
Yea though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,
I will fear no evil;
for Thou art with me;
For he lived this every day for those 3 1/2 years. That is the part he clung to.
But it was hardest to see the Veterans who came from all around to pay their respects. Many wore uniforms from organizations they were in with him... POW organizations or the VFW. Hats in hand, as the casket rolled back down the aisle with the pallbearers at each side, they saluted his casket and some reached out and touched it.
And it took all I had to not completely lose it. Our Veterans from WWII are dying at an astounding rate. People who have had such an impact on our lives... who sacrificed so much. They are dying. And I'm afraid their stories are going to be forgotten.
We cannot forget. We cannot quit listening. They will all be gone soon... and all that will be left is a distant memory of great people who served our country. I see it coming, and that in itself is the hardest of all.
He will be buried at Arlington next week.
Some days... it feels like... all I do... is turn off lights.
From room to room, switching them all off. It is making me nuts.
I finally threatened yesterday that if they can't remember to turn the lights off, I won't let them turn them on. Don't think for a minute I'm not beyond throwing the circuit breakers to their bedrooms and the bathrooms.
Oh no. I'm not. I see it coming. Although I am a bit hesitant to throw the breakers to the bathroom. Boys peeing in the dark may have piss poor ramifications. Pun intended. Anyway, I see it as akin to the time when I was 16 and my room was a mess and in frustration The Great Omnipotent One took my door off the hinges. I posted on that... a classic family story.
Starbuck's makes really really crappy chocolate. If I was that desperate, I'd just eat baking chocolate... which I have... and it is far less expensive. Of that I am sure.
Don't do it.
Actually, this could be an observation of the day. This occurred while making our travels home in the asexual Mom-mobile today. It was spurred by something that happened in school.
"If you toot on a plastic or wooden chair, it is really loud.""
I was told that 'Evan really let one rip in school today, Mom', but fortunately Evan was not embarrassed and he, as well as the whole class, laughed.
Now, I suspect if Evan had been an Elizabeth or Elaine, the response of the child probably would not have been quite the same. Perhaps I am wrong... but I do think that mortification would have been more along those lines.
I was thinking of Jim of Parkway Rest Stop today. Boy, my mind has been stuck in the blogosphere today.
I KNOOOOW how much Jim loves alligators. He mentions it every now and then. (I'm being facitious. He listed it once as one of the few things he truly hates, I do believe.) And for these purposes, alligators = crocodiles.
My 2nd Son is studying Ancient Egypt in 3rd grade. He got in the asexual Mom-mobile today and said, "Mom, do you know what the most dangerous job in Egypt was?"
Now me? I'm thinking... oh, well, perhaps a servant because when the Pharoah dies and gets mummified, you get trapped in that pyramid with the King and his earthly possessions. Blech. How horrible is that?
Then I thought one of those Pyramid building slaves. They had to have people squished to death every single day. Blech.
But no. His answer was, "The people that had to clean the clothes. They would go into the Nile river and they would have to beat their clothes with rocks. And there were crocodiles in the river and sometimes people would just not come back from washing clothes. They would be looooost forever. Or sometimes they would come back badly injured."
I kid you not, that is probably a direct quote. He speaks very exactly.
So there you have it, doing laundry was the most dangerous job in Ancient Egypt. I'm thinking that maybe Jim is a reincarnated Ancient Egyptian who was killed by a hungry croc doing laundry one day... Just a thought.
In case any of you were thinking that engineering in the aerospace industry was just loads of fun, going Mach 3 with your hair on fire, please allow me to give you a bit of a reality check.
Yes, in fact, today, I spent THREE HOURS OF MY LIFE THAT I CAN NEVER GET BACK, on determining whether or not... a part number was needed for a magnifying glass for an inspection procedure on a part where it should be readily apparent if there is a crack or not, no matter the magnification level!
And!!!!, ANNNDDDD!!!!, AAAAANNNNNDDDD!!!!, to make it WORSE, this argument has been going on for YEARS! THEY KEEP WAFFLING!!!
JUST... FRICKIN'... SHOOOOOOT ME PLEASE.
Holy crap. I found myself with phone in hand on a frickin' call about it, with a plethora of e-mail streams on my computer about it from different organizations throughout the industry, slowly bending down and banging my head against my desk.
Some days, I just cannot adopt the attitude that 'the pay is the same either way'.
I'm glad I have off tomorrow. Crap like that drains the life out of me.
I was at work today and something was said and I knew I had to write this for David, my reader from the North Pole.
Mr. Magoo (he is a co-worker I love dearly and posted on here) came up to my cube today, and as we were commiserating about life and such he said, "Good God. There is a cold front coming through on Friday. I can't take the cold. I might die this go round..."
Now, we had a cold front come through last week and I nearly froze. See, when my A/C was on the fritz in November, my power bill was through the roof, nearly giving me a damn heart attack. For the month of December, it was literally over $100 less. The new bill was... $148. I couldn't believe it.
So... I've decided to play a bit of 'how loooooow can she goooooo' and see if I could get it way way down... oh say... below 100 bucks. So that means no A/C or heat or anything... for sure.
The lows were in the high 30s or low 40s and I refused to turn the heat on. Then finally this past weekend, the house thermostat read something like 65 degrees and my husband said, "That's IT. I'm DONE with this." and he cranked the heat to 68 or 69.
See, the problem was not that it was 65 at the thermostat. The problem was that in our bedroom it was something like 55-60 degrees and he was miserable.
I can't wait to see our power bill, though. Heh.
Anyway, so Mr. Magoo says he is going to die this go round with the cold front. Now I'm nervous because I actually can't take the cold and truth be told, I think I've been slighly anemic since my surgery and I can't get warm. The only reason I didn't turn the heat on, although I was cold was... I'm kind of stubborn and goal oriented.
So said I to Mr. Magoo, "A cold front? HOW COLD?"
And replied Mr. Magoo, "70. The high is going to be 70."
And that's when I thought of David in the North Pole who is probably thinking, "70? Good Grief! I'd die of heat stroke!!!"
By the way, it's currently -9 degrees in the North Pole. I had to check.
I should almost start a whole series on Bones the Fashion Czar.
I’m sorry, but none of you have anything on this kid and I don’t care how color blind and left brained you are… this kid has IT in spades. What it is, I do not know.
From New Years Eve, we have this: (Remember, Click to Enlarge, if you dare and by the way, that is a Pirates of the Caribbean shirt he is wearing under all those accessories. Just a nice final touch to the happiness that surrounds New Years Eve.)
On the way home from school today, I was begged to get a 2nd hamster. I guess one live one and two dead isn’t enough.
See, unbeknownst to me, last week, when I was all ‘recuperating’ and stuff, the boys somehow conned their father into buying ‘more cage’ for Cuddles, our hamster. So now, she lives in the MacDaddy Hamster Condo of them all. Oh a picture is needed for sure.
It would appear that they feel she is now lonely in her new digs. She needs companionship and from the backseat of the asexual Mom-mobile I haul my young men around in, I hear, “Mom! Can we get another?! Please! We really need two!”
We ‘Need’ two?
And while they are working their best on me, laying on thick all the good ‘kid logic’, like how she had so many friends before we got her and how they have a friend who has FOUR and they only want TWO… etcetra… etcetttttraaaaa…. Etecetttttttrraaahhhh,
I am doing Math and Probability, trying to figure out just what is the probability that I could actually bring yet another female hamster into our home that hasn’t been previously knocked up by some big balled male hamster, unbeknownst to any of us upon purchase?
I mean, really. Eventually I would think the odds would catch up with us, even though each event is truly mutually exclusive of each other.
So as we’re toodling down the road, boys asking for another hamster, someone in the back, ohhhhhhh, probably Bones, asking for a Male hamster so they can have a whole hamster family, to which I promptly said NO WAY, I started to think.
And I started to laugh.
I could not help but laugh at the thought of just… ohhhh… sayyyy, buying another hamster and just… hmmmm… ohhhh, waiting to see how long it would take my spouse to… notice.
Heh. And then I couldn’t quit laughing and was so damn tempted to go buy the new hamster, but then realized that it would never fly. He’d know immediately. He’d be greeted at the door by 3 little boys yelling, ‘Dad! Dad! DAD! Look what we got! We got another hamster!!!!’
That kinda took the fun out of it.
So we’ll see. They’re thinking of names. But I have to wonder about the possibility that we could bring another female hamster in and they could HATE each other. That would suck wet socks. Hamster Murder and Mayhem. Yeah. I don’t know. But, hey, its blog fodder and y’all know… I’m all about the blog fodder.
Oh and Son#2’s argument for a new hamster, the kid who now truly understands the whole cycle of hamster life said, “Mom. We may as well just get another now. This one will die before the end of the year anyway…” Oh yes, but I just as soon it be from natural causes as opposed to it getting into hamster fisticuffs with a new roommate…
I went back to work today, very happy I fit back into my clothes. I was really nervous that my jeans were going to hurt to wear all day. Even though I feel like I’m at 100% at 10 days post op, my abdominal muscles have still been bruised and the thought of wearing something like jeans seemed like an impossibility last week. Today… no sweat.
So anyway, I go into work, not having been there in three weeks and I find an e-mail from one of the head engineers that he is teaching a lunch and learn refresher course on thermodynamics. Actually, the title of the course is: Fundamental Aero-thermodynamics of the Gas Turbine Engine.
I saw this and thought, “Holy crap! I want to take this!!!”
I’m not kidding. I was really excited. So I fired off a note to my Tech Lead and the e-mail correspondence went something like this:
Me: Hey! Did you see this lunch and learn?! Are you going?
Tech Lead (who happens to be a mechanical engineer from a very good engineering school and has a brilliant engineering mind): Hell, no I’m not going. I hated Thermodynamics.
Me: I’m calling. I’m signing up.
TL: Thermo sucked, Bou. Don’t you remember?
Me: I didn’t have the same class you did. I need a refresher. This’ll be GREAT!
TL: It sucked. Thermo SUCKED!
Yeah well, I called and signed up. Yeah, I remember, Thermo Sucked, but this would be different. I’m all about more input. Gotta increase that mental stimulation, you know, ward off Alzheimer’s and all that stuff.
So the guy answers, and I’m talking to him about the e-mail and then I hit this really small part I hadn’t noticed before amongst the entropy, enthalpy, specific heat and cycle efficiency… this part that said something about there ‘might be a little homework’.
I said, “Wait. Forget the homework part. I’m just here to absorb this go round. I don’t do homework. I work part time, I have three kids, I’ve been out of the aerospace business for 4 years, I’m just looking for a refresher, just to bring things to the forefront I may have forgotten. You know, the whole ‘hop back on the bicycle’ thing.”
And he laughed and said he didn’t really mean there would be a lot of homework, just something for us to think on… for the next class.
Yeah, that’s a diplomatic way of saying there will be homework. This guy must be in management. Silver tongued devil is he.
So I figure I’ll sit in the first session and skip the 2nd if there’s homework. That’s right, how intense can a 2 hour seminar on aero-thermodynamics be?
I guess we’ll find out…
OK, so sometimes one of my family members will toss an e-mail to all of us and sometimes a few of us are logged on at the same time, and in those events, an enormous flurry of e-mail occur. Many many times, they are funny stuff.
This has been recreated with permission from my family.
So it started with THIS link from TN about this freaky family who lived in a house with someone dead in their attic and the following conversation ensued.
TN: *sends the link under the subject “creepy”*
Morrigan: Yuck! Don't get any ideas Mom. We're still not having a party with you in a chair when you’re dead.
TN: And I don't have an attic.
Bou: Air conditioning or not, it had to smell as she was decomposing. Blech. What a bunch of freaky weirdos.
Mom: If they'd just stuffed her there wouldn't be a problem.
Bou: I hereby NOT volunteer to stuff Mom or Dad. One of my sibs can do
TN: I know nothing about taxidermy.
Bou: I think it's like stuffing a turkey or chicken. I think Mo has done
TN: With like hamster cage stuff?
Bou: I don't know. Didn't the Egyptians use herbs? She can probably find all the shit she needs in her spice cabinet.
TN: Guess you could consult the Russians and see what they did with Lenin.
Bou: Know any Egyptians?
Mo: I think you have both the hamster stuff and the herbs. You've been to my house, cooking stuff is not a plenty. I believe the job's all yours Bou. And anyway you're the oldest, it's your duty!
Bou: Oh no no no, my job is only to clean the bones. It's the job of the youngest to prepare them. Of that I feel certain.
Mo: I think Lenin was waxed. He was in a big glass case and he looked like they had waxed him. Perhaps we can consult that German guy who peals back the skin so you can see the muscle tissue. Amazing preservation. Perhaps that can be TN's job. I stuff, TN preserves and Bou cleans the bones. I think I'm getting the shaft...which is par for the course since I'm the youngest and ALWAYS gets the short end...
Bou: Luckily, I may never have to really DO my job. Heh heh heh!
And at the end I sent an e-mail asking them if I could use this as blog fodder and Mo sent this response: No approval necessary. You might need to ask the stuff-ees though ;-)
Mom the ‘stuff-ee’ ended it with: Whaaaa you finally are bringing our poor dead carcasses into this disgusting discussion? The old vulture isn't here....he's at bagpipe practice.
And that ends today’s peek inside what goes on at the extended House of Bou. Thank you, thank you!!!
Sometimes in life, we are given a distinct honor and privilege of knowing someone… not someone rich and famous, but someone who has done something in their lives or shown such perseverance in the face of adversity that you know upon meeting them, you just KNOW, “I must remember every second of this.”
And that happened to me 4 years ago. I cannot print his name on my blog, out of respect for his family, it would be rude that I be googled or Yahooed for such greatness. I am so unworthy of doing him the honor he deserved, but you can read about him HERE.
Four years ago I met a man who was a survivor of the Bataan Death March. I was the Regent of my DAR Chapter and his wife is a member with me. I needed someone to speak on National Defense. She said he would love to and the women of my chapter who had heard him speak said he was marvelous. I jumped at the chance. I know many WWII veterans, many men who fought in Korea and Vietnam, POWs from various wars, warriors from Desert Storm and our current war, and I always consider it a distinct honor of mine to be able to hear what they have to say, whether it is about their experience or their thoughts on life in general.
And so this gentleman came to speak. He was 88 at the time and looked every year. He was frail and I wondered as he spoke if the hardship of the years in his youth when he was in the Death March had in fact caught up with his body in his later years. But now I look back and realize, even at 88 he had an enormous tenacity about him. He was a survivor.
He spoke to us for a half hour and I remember wishing I had it on tape so my children could hear it when they got older. The horrors of war. The horrors of the boats. He described with exactness the sounds, the smells, the death. We were riveted by all that he said, hanging on every word, begging for more.
Last I saw him was in October. I was afraid he wouldn’t remember me, as it had been well over a year since I'd seen him last, and I didn’t want to intrude on his space. He was 92 and didn’t get along very well. It was difficult for them both… he and his wife. Someone said to me, “Bou, So and So is here and he was asking for you!” I found him amongst all the ladies as the ladies of my Chapter loved to dote upon him. I think sometimes our favorite past time is hugging on the gentleman who come to visit with us, but this gentleman we all loved to hug on even more. I pulled up a chair and he took my hand and said, “It is so good to see you again, my dear. How have you been?”
And I wanted to cry. I wanted to cry because I was always so honored to be in his presence, yet he remembered me. He made us all feel that way. When he spoke to YOU he was speaking TO YOU. He was not distracted, but was a kind and gentle soul who knew how to treat people.
And he died on Friday, having spent the last week in Hospice care. And I will attend his funeral. I am awaiting arrangements, but suspect it will be on Thursday. It will be a tough funeral for me to attend, although he lived a good life into his 90s.
Tenacity. A sharp mind. A good man. A gentle soul. I will miss him and I hope that I can find the words to comfort his widow. I know there are none.
I have an announcement!!!
I have a blogson! Whoo hooo! Now dear Blogson Contagion has a brother to play with. And although his conception was not quite as… incestuous as Contagion’s, who I spawned with my two blog fathers (yeah, let’s not go there), it is still along those lines.
His blogfather is my blogfather, Harvey!
(I am really dreading what I get Googled for after this post, but not enough that I’m not posting it!)
So yet again, another incestuous relationship from Moi, yours truly, has begat another Son and I could NOT be prouder.
My blogson is BlueTige… and you can see him HERE. He’s currently active duty USAF out of Spokane. I’m excited to watch him find his voice. So go on over and welcome him, I’m sure he’ll be glad to hear from you.
I had dinner tonight with my husband, his brother and his wife, my father in law and the kids.
Now my sister in law and I have had our ups and downs and just so you know, it was just as much my fault as it was hers. Takes two to tango and all that jazz. For the most part she and I are on the same page now and we can be thick as thieves, which can be very dangerous for the men folk in our home. Very dangerous.
So today she and I are sitting at dinner at the opposite end of the table from Pop, who has started to kind of sort of see a woman, this being 6 years after Ma’s death, and I said to my sil quietly under my breath, “I pray to God that I never get so old and lonely and desperate that I would think that someone like Pop is someone I would want to hook up with…”
And she replied in an equally low murmur, “I wouldn’t let that happen. I’d stop you…”
To which I mumbled back, “Kill me. Overdose works.”
She quietly retorted, “Good drugs will do it… don’tchaknow.”
And I ended the conversation with a, “Or get me my gun. I can end it that way just as easily.”
Then the conversation went back to our normal banter with kids hollering for ketchup for their chicken fingers and my father in law ranting about how he doesn’t want to move to the top notch independent living facility we’re moving him to. Just the usual stuff.
*Update- I just reread this and realized I messed up the typing. I had dinner with my brother in law, NOT my brother. Wish it was my brother... not that I don't love my brother in law, I love him a lot, but my brother is way cool... and...you know... He's my BROTHER!"
Bones awoke us at 3AM this morning, informing us that he had peed in his bed. It is not a frequent occurrence, probably once a year at best, at this point. It was very frequent when he was 3.
Anyway, as I was trying to go back to sleep I started thinking how my perspective has changed. Rather than being uptight that he peed in his bed, instead I was thinking, “Thank God he didn’t pee in MY bed.”
It truly sucks to be awakened in the middle of the night in a puddle of pee from a little person whose crawled into your bed.
I hate it when that happens.
I got a call at 9:30AM from a girlfriend of mine who I have not heard from in a year. We used to train Karate together. She and I are as different as they come. She is sweet and feminine, working with autistic children during the day. She is such a touchy feely person and I mean that in the kindest way. She meditates and goes on special meditation retreats. She’s affectionate and just an all around good person. She is low key and… completely spontaneous.
And… she LOVES to tease me about how uptight I can be. (I know, as VW reads this she is thinking, “Bou? Uptight? Nahhhhhh…”) I have my days and weeks planned and my friend has NOTHING planned. She’s completely off the cuff, ‘let’s pick up and go NOW’, and she knows it really unnerves me.
I’m trying, really trying to be more mellow. I am.
So she called me this morning and said, “Hey! I’m going to the Morikami Museum and Japanese Gardens today, they’re having a festival. Wanna meet me there? Today. In a couple hours? Spontaneity?”
Heh. But the catch is… I frickin’ LOVE the Morikami Japanese Gardens. It’s a Japanese Museum and Gardens with a Koi fish pond, a Bonsai Garden, and the most beautiful various gardens that just drip serenity. I can be freaked out with the world and step through the doors into the gardens… and I am mush. I am mellow. I am serenity.
I said yes and I took the whole family with me and we had a marvelous time. I’m still on that mellow ride, which is saying a lot as just 1 hour later I was eating dinner with my father in law, but that’s a whole other story.
Moral of the story… if you are in S. Florida and you are near a little city called Delray Beach, put it on your agenda to see the Morikami Museum and Japanese Gardens. It’s worth the ride.
It's not been a banner day at the House of Boudicca, truth be told. Nothing bloggable, for sure as everyone is this house is brilliant, beautiful and athletically inclined. Perfection reigns in this home. For sure.
So to just mindlessly get my mind off the general utopic feelings in my home, I decided to go through my sitemeter and I came to some conclusions.
I'm not so happy that I rank so high when googling Girl's Butt Crack. Lovely. Really. But I did deserve it since I did make that post...
In Yahoo for 'showing buttcrack', I'm #7. Whoo hooo!
I am #1 for Voice of Sheep. Ummm... if you happened to google it, let me just share with you the answer: Baaaaaaaa!
I'm still #2 for bacon candles. I still don't understand that whole need to have one's home smell like burning pig fat, but hey, that's just me.
But even better, with Ask Jeeves, I am #1 in asking how to make a candle out of bacon. And here is the quick answer: I have no frickin' clue...
I'm #1 in 42 Triple D boobs. In case you are a new reader to this blog, that bra size is not mine. I think we decided I'm a 36C, which makes me sound all shapely and voluptuous, but I assure you, I am not.
I'm #5 for burping on command. Thank you, thank you. I accept this honor on behalf of all bloggers who have boys. I even taught my son how to burp. How cool am I? Yeah, feel free to remind him of that when he is 16 and asking for the keys to the car and I say 'No'.
And that rounds it out for today's game of 'Whose on Boudicca's Sitemeter'. Stay tuned next week when we may very well find that after this post, I may in fact be #1 for Girl's Butt Crack! Whoo hoooo! Oh to have such lofty goals...
Now... for the record... I do not dance. Nope. So stripping would be out. Completely and totally. I'd agree with the scary... not so much with the sexy. For sure.
|Your Stipper Song Is|
"You let me violate you, you let me desecrate you
You let me penetrate you, you let me complicate you
Help me I broke apart my insides, help me I?ve got no
Soul to tell"
When you dance, it's a little scary - and a lot sexy.
I was in the recovery room after my quick operation and I was so very ready to go home, but the nursing staff was pretty insistent I stay for an extra half hour just to make sure I really was as fine as I declared I was. I understood, so I started clicking through the channels on the ceiling TV, trying to find something to watch.
I had to be in some drug induced stupor to resort to daytime TV to pass the time.
Anyway, my husband was sitting next to me and we're listening to some life insurance commercial as I try to choke down graham crackers into my dry as the sahara parched throat. Finally he said, "He's just really gotten so old..."
I'm staring at the TV, but it is close enough I didn't need my glasses, and I'm seeing the guy on the TV but completely lost as to who it was... but his voice... his voice was so familiar!
Finally I said, "Who in the hell is that? Why do I know his voice?"
And my husband looks at me and laughs and says, "Babe, that's Ed McMahon."
Holy Crap! When did he get old? Have y'all seen him? He looks like he's lost about 100 pounds. Good Grief! I just remember him being so... robust.
Wow. Where have I been? It's that rock, isn't it?
Am I the only one who didn't know postage was going up? Please tell me I'm not the only one living under a rock...
I cannot leave tonight on a sad note, as much as the sadness permeates our thoughts today. My boys, they were unaware.
So... with that...
Tonight I was at dinner and was asked by my 2nd son, "Mom, can we eat Hippo one day?"
I replied, "Hippo? You mean as in hippotomus?"
He said, "Yup. Can we have hippo one day?"
Hippo. My brother is feeding me a plethora of information since hearing of this conversation. I asked him, TN, if he thought maybe it tasted like chicken. Perhaps one cooks Hippo like a Steak?!
One day we'll have to go to Africa and eat Hippo. I think we'll put that on our '100 things to do before I die' list. Of course this will not be anytime soon as my boys have never been on an airplane, seen snow, or traveled anywhere remotely exotic... unless you consider Newark, NJ exotic and hey, some might. So Africa will have to come later in life.
The craving for Hippo may subside by then. One never knows...
Update: Oh this is classic. From my brother, TN, who found this somewhere on the internet, the emphasis is mine:
The natives use [Odeaka cheese] as a seasoning in their cookery, stuffing fish and plantains with it and so on, using it also in the preparation of a sort of sea-pie they make with meat and fish. To make this, a thing well worth doing, particularly with hippo or other coarse meat, reduce the wood fire to embers, and make plantain leaves into a sort of bag, or cup; small pieces of the meat should then be packed in layers with red pepper and odeaka in between. The tops of the leaves are then tied together with fine tie-tie, and the bundle, without any saucepan of any kind, stood on the glowing embers, the cook taking care there is no flame. The meat is done, and a superb gravy formed, before the containing plantain leaves are burnt through--plantain leaves will stand an amazing lot in the way of fire. This dish is really excellent even when made with boa constrictor, hippo, or crocodile. It makes the former most palatable; but of course it does not remove the musky taste from crocodile; nothing I know of will.
Update again: Ack! It would appear that Hippo Meat is endangered. Scratch that off the list. I don't eat endangered animals... Maybe Crocodile... Maybe someone should start a hippo farm like cattle.
Six years today, the State of Florida declared my Mother in Law legally dead.
Six years and one day ago, she had a massive stroke, while leading the rosary on the altar at Mass.
As I am apt to tell people, “The probability of dying in church is much greater if you go every day.”
She was a devout good Catholic woman grounded in a peaceful spirituality. She had a deep unshakeable faith. Such a good woman she was, that when I am on the side of town where my in-laws used to reside, if someone meets me and hears my last name, they always ask if I am related to her. And when I reply yes, the answer is always a solemn, “She was a good woman” followed by some story of something she had done for them or their family…. something that had an impact.
Six years ago today, I held my youngest son, who was then 6 months old, while standing at the foot of the hospital bed, the room filled with my sisters in law and my husband, while my husband had the nurse pull the plug. Some family members couuld not bear the thought of watching... I could not bear the thought of not being there. The decision had been made to put her on life support just in case something could be done, but the massive hemorrhaging that had occurred in her brain was not repairable.
Six years ago today, I was asked to attend the family meeting as it was decided on what was best for her funeral plans as Pop was incapable. In-laws were included in the meeting as our input was wanted and valued… treated with equal weight to that of one of the children born to her. She never treated us as in-laws. We were her children too.
Six years ago today, I heard one of the saddest phrases I have ever heard and it still haunts me. My sister in law and my mother in law were best friends. The funeral plans had been discussed and the women folk were in the kitchen cooking, pulling things together making lists of things to be done. The men folk would come into the kitchen to check on things, but I think mostly to feel the stability of the women folk to know that all would be right with the world. All of us would keep it together. I think there is a simple reassurance hearing women’s voices, smelling home cooking and listening to the din of dinner preparation.
And in the midst of the putzing, the clattering of pots and pans, and the discussing in the kitchen, my sister in law stopped and we fell silent and she said in a choked voice, touching her heart, “I am so sad. I just went to pick up the phone to call my Mom and tell her, “I’m so sad”. I wanted to talk to her about this. But I can’t. Ever again.”
And that lives with me every time I think of Ma.
I miss her 6 years later. The day to day hurt is gone. It isn’t so gut wrenchingly painful on an hourly basis that you look for anything to quell the pain. But it still hurts on some days. I find myself when I am at my wits end with Bones at a level of sadness my sister in law experienced that day. Bones is the most like my husband and there have been days I have felt this urge to pick up the phone to call her… I want to say, “What did you do??? How did you manage?” But I can’t.
Six years ago today, was the first time I held someone’s hand as they lay dying.
It feels like yesterday.
TGOO and my Mom just left. They're making the 600 mile hike back to Pensacola where we hear the weather is in the freeze zone. Not so here.
Its hard when they leave. Forget that they were the reason I healed so quickly with all they did for this past week. Sometimes I don't know if people realize how blessed I really am.
My heart breaks.
I had a mother of a little girl across the street show up at my door today. Great. That never bodes well. She said, “I thought I should kind of tell you about a little incident that occurred yesterday.” My immediate response was, “What did Bones do?”
There was no question in my mind. None. She laughed and said, “How did you know?”
Please. How did I know? I’m his frickin’ Mom, that’s how I knew. He’s the boy that is turning me gray. He’s the boy that is aging me at an exponential rate. He’s the boy that needs to be saddled with me when I am old, gray, and crabby as hell as he’ll be the one that deserves me.
It would appear that yesterday he began throwing a hula hoop at the girl next door as she was riding her bike. She asked him to stop. He did not. He pegged her with it in the face, smashing her lip. No stitches or anything were required, but it had to hurt like hell. Fortunately, she can defend herself, she is 10, and she jumped off and evidently bit him and kicked him.
The mother doesn’t know that part. Not that I care, although it would be nice that she knows her daughter doesn’t take any crap off anyone. If I had a daughter she wouldn’t.
So when I confronted him, of course, he was the victim. Of course he was because in his head he is the one always being wronged, the child without empathy or a conscience. “But Mom! She bit me and kicked me!”, he wailed at which I replied, “AFTER YOU PEGGED HER WITH A HULA HOOP! One day you’re going to antagonize the wrong person and they’re going to beat the ever living snot out of you and I’m going to tell you, “I… TOLD… YOU… SO!””
Because, I will.
This just infuriates me. And to add salt to the wound, as the mother was telling me what happened, the boys were across the street playing in another neighbor’s yard and I found out that their game was… throwing rocks at each other.
That’s right. Someone got this great idea that they’d chuck rocks at one another, that this surely must be great fun. I called them over to find them with handfuls of rocks about 2-3 cm in diameter. They weren’t HUGE rocks, but they weren’t tiny stones either.
And when I said, “What are y’all thinking?! DO NOT THROW ROCKS AT EACH OTHER!” Bones had the audacity to say, “Why?”
Does my child actually NOT THINK or is there a possibility that he very well may suffer from low IQ? I’m really starting to lean on the low IQ dealy. Really.
I said to him, “Let us think WHY we WOULD NOT throw rocks at one another…”, hoping that if he actually used the logic tree to get to the answer, that he would not forget it.
And what do you know. The first answer was, “Because we might get hurt?” I wanted to scream, “BINGO, EINSTEIN!”
As I was walking back inside to finish baking my chocolate pie for tonight’s dessert, the mother started to laugh and said, “I do not know how you do it? I cannot believe they are still all alive and that you are sane…”
Well, stop right there. Yeah, they’re alive, but I do believe there may be some question as to my sanity. Live with me for a couple days and the question will surely arise in your head.
I just know that when she talks to her friends or when she reminisces about her life in 10 years, she says/will say, “I remember that family down the street with the three boys. Complete and utter chaos…” She cannot possibly identify. She has one daughter who is 10. I have three boys that definitely have that whole, “What one doesn’t think of, the other will” pack mentality.
You know that Lorcet I was given for my surgery? Yeah, well let me tell you, I slept like a frickin’ rock that one day I took it. I think I’m going to keep that stuff and once a year take one just to sleep. ONCE A YEAR I’ll get a full night’s sleep. I think it is occurring to me why I never sleep more than 1.5 hours at a time and why it’s so damn restless.
And if it just now is occurring to me, who really suffers from low IQ?
I take some solace in knowing that this isn't going on in the house across the street with one daughter. Humpf!
Forget renting Star Wars. I get my own Star Wars fights in the house. My sister got the boys a create your own light saber kit for Christmas. The boys turn off the lights and have massive light saber fights.
Things like that make it all worthwhile.
(Click to Enlarge to see all three light sabers)
Now, just so you know, I can talk football with the best of them if I'm in the mood and keeping up with 'things'. Any daughter of a Southern Man grows up talking football.
That said, this is more of a touchy feely post.
I'm not sure who to root for USC or UT. I dated an Aggie for a couple years. We were serious enough that marriage would not have been out of the question at some point if we'd stuck it out. So, of course, you have to hate UT if you're an Aggie fan. Or so I recollect.
So I figured, I was pulling for USC.
Then of course, TN, my bro, was always a USC fan... so there's that too.
But man, it is hard not to pull for those Longhorns... well that is... until I watched the pre-game show where they did this funny little thing with Will Ferrell and Matthew McConaughy (whose name I probably just butchered).
Folks, I'm here to tell you, that dear old Matthew looks like he needs a bath to me. That boy does NOTHING for me. NUUUUUTHINNNNG. Nada. I know, he seems to be every woman's heart throb, but I look at him and think, "Hot shower. Use soap. It works."
I think I'm pullin' for USC.
Also, during the pre-game they had three very large announcers. These men would for sure make me look like a Hobbit, in particular this very large man that was dressed in white, his name being Aaron Taylor. I think I'm supposed to know Mr. Taylor, but I don't as I don't watch pro-ball much and I'm out of touch with college ball. Bad girl.
And I have to put it out there, but Mr. Aaron Taylor in his white suit, looked very handsome, for sure, and very big... did I say he was big? But I could not get passed the fact he looked like an African American Mr. Clean.
Did anyone else think that? I mean... besides TGOO and I?
I’ve spent most of the day with the news on, watching the updates on the miners in West Virginia. I still tire easily and took a nap today, to the din of the news in the background, awaiting their update. I watched the news like that when the Pennsylvania miners were trapped three years ago.
I don’t know what it is about miners.
I look at the history of our country and the beginnings and other than militias and preachers, I think of three jobs: farmers, railroaders, and miners. Three jobs that were the backbone of this country… three jobs that were the most dangerous to hold.
My father’s family was comprised primarily of farmers, settling in through the Carolinas, Georgia and finally staying in Alabama. Birmingham and Montgomery are where most of my Dad’s kin decided to set roots. Looking through the family tree you find farmers and then in more modern times, electricians. There’s a church named for our family just outside of Birmingham, in a little town called Sandusky. Attached is a graveyard where as children we would run through the tombstones, looking at dates and names, finding kin and being told how the branches of the tree wove together while as much of their personal history was set before us… all of which I have forgotten. My father’s family came over in the 1700s, with 13 of my ancestors having participated in some way in the Revolutionary War.
Generation after generation, none of them miners. Ever. All of them hard working, God fearing people, but not miners.
I have another friend; her family came over at the same time as my fathers, her family settling in West Virginia. They’ve been miners as far back as she can remember. Miners and farmers.
I’ve been trying to call her all day today. It’s not that she knows any of those miners or those families personally. She and her husband settled down here in South Florida over 20 years ago. They aren’t from the area of the Sago Mine. But when you have miners in your family, I imagine you relate… the worst fears coming true to someone else; it’ll make your blood run cold, just as a military family relates when there is a military casualty.
I have always imagined miners’ communities being tight knit like a military community, except maybe tighter as they go back for generations. There is solace in my heart that they have one another for this.
But I am sickened and sad as the hours pass by… I’ve been counting the hours and the minutes as they’ve ticked. And with the passing time, it seems bleaker and bleaker.
I know what they found this morning in the air quality, but I still had hope. I had hope they had hunkered down somewhere.
I know how the rescuers have not heard responses as they’ve knocked on pipes. The silence must be deafening. But I had hope the men had hunkered down somewhere.
And where I still have hope, I know… it is nothing short of a miracle we need. And I keep telling myself, that miracles still happen. We just really need one now.
I have a special place in my heart for miners and I know not why. There are none in my family. But... I pray for them all.
I don't watch the news... but every time miners get stuck in a mine, I cannot step away. I hold my breath, watching. I don't know what it is. I just cannot rest until I know those men are home with their families... as if I quit watching they might all die. It is irrational.
I become the biggest prayer warrior. I have friends who grew up in mining towns, their fathers and brothers all miners. I am sick for everyone... the miners, the families, the community.
I am sick for these families and I pray for them.
Well, it would appear... that dear Tammi lost THE bet.
RedNeck has got the keys to her blog for 3 days.
Ohio State kicked Notre Dame.
I rooted for Notre Dame, much to the dismay of The Great Omnipotent One who informed me he roots for ANYONE playing AGAINST the Irish. It would appear that Notre Dame has routinely kicked Navy's ass... so... any enemy of the Irish is a friend of TGOOs.
But, damn. I'm askeered for her. Really.
That said... I'm looking forward to this... heh heh heh! I LOVE these spectator sports!!!!
Tomorrow is shower day. *shudder* That means I take off what the boys call, ‘The snowflakes”. I have these steri-strip things on each cut, and they put something like 8 strips on each incision, so it gives them a snowflake look.
I’m really kind of nervous about what I’m going to find under that navel incision. I realize there isn’t going to be some big gaping hole, but considering how bruised up and swollen I still am (I swear I look 5 months pregnant), I have to wonder. I’m glad I never wore 2 piece bathing suits as I have a feeling those days would have been over anyway.
Balance. It’s all about balance. This big high of being able to take a real shower, balanced by this big low of potentially seeing something really icky under that snowflake. Blech.
BTW, I’m at nearly 95% now. No advil, no nothing. I feel great. I had a dream I was with VW and we went running and about ¼ mile into it, I realized, “Hey. I’m not supposed to do this…” so I walked back home.
That’s not the first dream I’ve had over the last few days. I had some weird dream where I’d witnessed a mafia hit and my husband and I were running for our lives… by foot… to Orlando… with each of us having only one possession: a pillow.
And then there was the one where I dreamed that someone had replaced my Lorcet with old Oxycontin pills and rusted paperclips.
Feel free to interpret. I think they were just drug induced…
In honor of New Years, taken from blogson Contagion, we have this quiz....
And yup, this is why I don't drink... it nailed it.
|You're a Wild Drunk|
Good Lord. I had to sneeze today while running errands with my husband. I grabbed my side in anticipation of God only knows what. I think subconsciously I wondered if my guts would spew out upon the grocery store floor… spewing forth from a hole no bigger than an ice pick hole, I assume.
Anyway, he could see the horror in my face as I realized I had to sneeze, grabbing my side, and I seemed to control it… a controlled sneeze. It wasn’t so bad, but I noticed afterwards, he had stopped and was staring motionlessly as well, watching carefully. I’m wondering if he thought he may have to scrape me off the floor. After he said, “Wow. That had to hurt…”
Honestly, it wasn’t so bad. I started to think about what it must be like to have a C-section (never had one) or to have been any one of those folks who had their gall bladders out the old fashioned way with an 8 inch incision. I think, that if I had been them, there would have been some split second decision making:
“Do I allow myself to sneeze or just go ahead and put a bullet in my brain instead.”
It would have been a toss up. Good Grief.
My husband doesn’t take down the Christmas lights until the Day of the Epiphany. It’s time folks, it is time.
How do I know? I know its time when the kids come running in and inform us that the lights in ½ the house have gone off because the sprinklers came on at the same time as the Christmas lights… a first.
|Your New Year's Resolutions|
2) Eat less stale popcorn
3) Travel to Spain
4) Study human sexuality
5) Get in shape with ballet
I don't need a Pet Tasmanian Devil... I have Bones.
I can't do aerobics... so ballet is DEFINITELY out. Holy crap. I can't even imagine. Aren't you supposed to be graceful or something to do ballet? Did I ever mention I had an old boyfriend who used to call me 'Grace'? As in... I had none?
Heh... funny they should mention Spain. I was just talking about that.
I did the whole human sexuality thing already... note I have three kids. 'Nuff said.
And I don't do stale popcorn. I've done stale crackers within the last few days, but no stale popcorn...
My Top 10 People Post… this isn’t bloggers or family or someone doing their typical job. This is just little things people have done, that I thought was maybe out of the ordinary, that made someone’s life just a little bit easier.
GuyK who originated this has his post HERE. Thank you, Guy. I think this was a great idea.
2) Son#1’s Math and Science teacher. She is a stern woman of all of 25 years in age. I don’t know who told her that she had to be strict to be a Catholic School Teacher, but that’s the word she was obviously given and she veers from it never. I like her, a lot, but she is strict. Son#1 is one of three fifth graders who play in band and a couple weeks ago they had their evening band concert. His Math and Science teacher SHOWED UP on HER TIME, one of the only teachers in the entire school, sat unobtrusively in the back and listened. Afterwards, she came up to him and told him how proud she was of him. Evidently they are studying sound in Science and she used the band as an example in her lesson too. I was impressed with the whole thing… and it made my son feel 10 feet tall.
3) Bones’ First Grade teacher. We started off pretty rocky this year, wondering if he was not only dyslexic, but mildly ADD. She pulled us in to work as a team, having kept track of him in a small notebook… a daily log. We worked with a plan and the entire time she kept telling us how it was important to her that he realize he was a good kid and not get labeled. Since then, he’s gotten student of the week twice and has now been moved to the middle reading group… this the child that was the poorest reader in the class. She’s an awesome teacher and has really gone above and beyond for him and for us. And did I mention there are 29 kids in his class??? All getting this attention???
4) My husband was in a car wreck in February. (Blogged here.) He was thankful he lived through it, but devastated that his car, his hobby, was totaled by the recklessness of some uninsured jerkface. The tow truck driver was this great guy… every day Joe bag O’ doughnuts… as nice as the day is long and he told my husband that he had a car he LOVED and when he got called to ‘nam, his parents kept it for him in pristine condition until he returned. Not quite the same… getting called to ‘nam is a much BIGGER deal, but he was telling my husband he related to his love of cars. And so this guy, we had never met before, found a special place at the tow yard that was sheltered and at 2AM, he tarped my husband’s car and made sure there would be no water damage. He didn’t have to do that. When we called the next morning to see the car, my husband could see the special care this man had taken. (Yes, my husband had tipped him generously when he realized what the gentleman was going to do... for free. But the man even went above and beyond what he had offered and we could tell, its just the kind of guy he was.)
5) Same wreck, same instance, I was off the side of the road at 1AM with three kids in the back of the van. I don’t have family in town, so I had hauled all of us to go get their Dad. There were, of course, Florida Highway Patrol all over I-95 due to he wreck and it was rainy. I had pulled way off on the shoulder, the kids bundled in the back. One of the FHP opened my side door and talked to my boys to make sure they were OK and not scared. He also spent a lot of time talking to my husband to make sure he was OK. He didn’t have to do that either… I don’t think that’s in his job syllabus.
6) Same wreck… there was as Good Samaritan who saw it happen. He pulled off the side of the road and helped my spouse, who was disoriented and in shock, call 9-1-1, and made sure he stayed by his side so he wasn’t alone and so there was a witness for the FHP. We don’t know his name. It was 1AM and rainy. He had a family we know. The last place he wanted to be was on I-95, trust me on this… yet he stayed. Some nameless stranger.
7) I went to my surgeon’s office in October to get this whole gall bladder thing scheduled. I even did a post on it. But what I didn’t put was that as he got up to leave, he stopped, took his card out of a pocket and pressed it in my hand and said to me, “Bou, if you have an attack before our scheduled date, call me. Call me from any ER. I will take care of this right then and there. Just promise you’ll call me…” Docs get battered around by the press and people in general, people have bad experiences, but this guy, I thought he went above and beyond… and I still do.
8) I know this is going to sound like an odd one… but my water guy. We’ve used the same guy for our water (we’re on well water) for 10 years and he is the greatest guy. During the hurricane our well head got taken out by an errant swing set slide. I called and he showed up that day, in the event we got power to run our well. My water system has some serious serious issues and he’s been eeking it through for us until we’ve had the cash to fix it. I’ve been out of water at least 3 times in the last few months, and each time this guy comes out within hours and fixes it and sometimes there has been no charge. We’re replacing the part next week, but it was just nice that he knew we were saving and until then became our own personal water repairman… and never complained.
9) The FPL guys and all their cohorts who live throughout the US who found themselves down here... again... in October. I live in Florida. ‘Nuff said.
10) All my readers. No joke folks, y’all have more times than I can recollect been a real highlight in my day. Your comments are so daggum funny. Y’all are a real pleasure!
Have a Happy And Safe New Year!
Quote of the Day comes from The Great Omnipotent One last night. New Years was upon us, horns were being handed out and I realized I may have a hard time blowing mine as I can’t inhale or exhale very deeply. So I looked at it, looked at TGOO and said, “I don’t know if I can blow this…”
To which his reply was, “Don’t pop a stitch blowing your horn…”
And for some reason, that just seemed really funny to me. It's become my new saying.
Wow. Could I have picked a longer title?
No more drug induced posting. I know. Y’all are saddened by the news. I am so much more fun when under the influence!!! No wonder the greats like Poe sought out drugs like Opium. Not that I’m in the same league as Poe, who I am sure was spectacular without drugs, or my drug was like Opium, although I’ve never tried Opium or any other illegal substance for that matter… but you catch my drift.
Anyway, I’m doing Advil now and pretty much pain free.
I took a bath today. Good grief I could not wait. I can’t get my stomach wet yet, having this steri-tape or something or other on each of those X’s I drew out and I can’t take them off until Tuesday. That means I can’t take a shower… and I’m a shower kinda girl. I’m not a bath girl. Hot steamy shower, in and out, boom I’m done. I seem to be an aberration as most women like that whole big bubble bath soothing thing, but I can’t wrap my mind around that yet. I may in time, but I’m a shower girl.
But today, damn, I just really really had to shave. I’m a girl, for sure. I couldn’t take it anymore, my legs needed shaving. So I wrapped cellophane around my abs (there’s a pleasant vision for you) and got in a tub of 4 inches of water, just so I could shave my legs. And I realized why I hate taking a bath.
If you shave your legs in a bathtub, you end up bathing in all that stubble! Yuck! That kind of ruined it for me. I couldn’t wait to get out.
And just to show you what an obstinate pain in the neck I can be… yesterday I quit taking the Lorcet. It makes my body all wonky. Your digestive system quits working… you’re not hungry and even if you give it input, which you must as everyone needs to eat, there is no output, if you catch my drift. And I hate that. My body is very efficient and the fact that it was operating inefficiently was starting to bug me, so I decided around 2PM yesterday, “I’m done. No more narcotics. No nothing.” Just a wee bit extreme…
I could never be a drug addict.
So my husband comes home from the neighborhood New Years Eve party and I’m lying in bed, it’s like 1:30AM and he says, “You don’t look comfortable. Are you in pain?”
And my reply is a short, “I’m not comfortable. No, I’m not in pain.”
So he says, “Did you take anything?” and my very short reply was a, “No. And I’m not going to.”
Now, I don’t talk about what my husband does for a living and I’m not going to now, but just so you know, I’m married to someone who knows all about drugs, what they do, and how much should be taken… and I’ll leave it at that.
So he says, “You need to take Advil…” and I say, in a short curt tone, “No. I don’t. I’m fine.”
For the next ½ hour, I tossed and turned trying to find a position that I could tolerate and finally he got up, got me some pillows and made mention of Advil and I said, “NO.”
He left me alone.
I ended up sleeping sitting up in my reading chair in the corner of my room. By 6:30, I was really uncomfortable and shuffled off to my purse to get AN Advil and water. He was awake again and now he’s UP and at my bedside and I’ve evidently pegged his patience meter, and he’s quizzing me on how many I took, telling me I didn’t take enough, going through my purse finding more… and having me take more. And I slept GREAT. As he said I would.
No pain. Except for him… because I’m a total pain in the neck. I think any other guy probably would have shoved the Advil down my throat at the initial 1:30AM.
I’m a believer. And sometimes he is actually right…
Happy New Year to all who come here! It's been a helluva ride this year. It really has.
My post tomorrow will be my 10 Best People post. It'll be little things people have done. Not a major impact on my life... but little things they did that at that instance made something just a wee bit easier for me or someone I know.
Be safe tonight. No drinking and driving!