Today was the first time I got genuinely pissed at work over the company. A couple men kind of teased me as it happened… but others just sat quietly in their cubes.
I posted before that I sit at a table pushed against a wall in the middle of a room. No biggy. If you don’t work 20 hours you don’t get a cube. I don’t need a cube. I need a computer and a place to put the drawings of the parts I’m working. I need a place to store folders. The end.
But they were nice enough to get me a table and so I have a coffee mug with pens and highlighters and a ruler, and a small bin I picked up at Staples that holds my yellow stickies, stapler, tape, and crip crap like paper clips. It works.
Under my table I have my space heater as they keep the room at 65 and I can’t function at that temperature.
Next to me is a file cabinet that my co worker I job share with and I share. She is at a small plastic table at the front of the room.
She and I were cool.
Note the word… were.
Yesterday she gets rung up by some guy in charge of some program that we have to get certified for… telling her she didn’t label our filing cabinets properly. I came in and heard this and said testily to the guys, “Phht, he probably came over because he likes the way she smells.”
They all laughed. I was irritated that her time would be wasted by such foolishness.
I came in today and found that we are not allowed to work at our tables as they are non-compliant as well. We are working on getting our Gold Certification with Company X… so the tables had to go.
I had a fit. Its not that I love my table. I don’t give a crap if they give me a turned over cardboard box to work off of as long as I have my computer, place to put my drawings and space to store my pens, yellow stickies, and crip craps like paper clips. I.Do.Not.Care what I work off of.
What frickin’ pissed me off is that one of our IT guys, who also evidently double as furniture movers, had to go find a desk out of storage, have it hauled into our room, and pull my table off and put the desk up.
THAT pissed me off. Big.
Like he has nothing better to do? I have to hear a song and dance about overhead last week and they’re pulling an IT guy off his job to get me a stupid desk when the table was perfectly fine?
You MUST be kidding me.
I told my supervisor, “You can feel free to tell our Manager what I think about this f***ing waste of manpower.” He said, “OK.”
I am wondering if I will get called in. I don’t give a crap.
I am done with watching companies fritter away money on stupid crap like ‘every file drawer must be labeled exactly the same’ and ‘every picture must be exactly level’ and ‘everything must look exactly uniform’. It is like the obsessive compulsive anal retentive extremes have found a nitch and aren’t letting go.
They have drugs for that now people! Good Lord.
My dear friend from another company who did the same thing told me that when they were going for the Gold, she was on 11 teams. Holy crap. I told her I didn’t need the money that bad… I’d quit.
I’d have to find another job. Working with people who get wrapped up in this… it makes me nuts on a whole new level. There are people I work with who are totally getting off on going into places and telling people what they need to do to be compliant… and those people… I avoid like the plague.
I told my boss one of them could kiss my ass. He said, “He might enjoy it…”
Bah. They make me nuts…
I switched internists and yesterday was my first appointment. We shook hands, talked about families as I know him personally as well and then the following conversation took place, to the best of my recollection.
Dr: Bou, when was the last time you had a tetanus shot?
Me: Ummmm… thirty years ago.
Dr, looking over his glasses at me as he types away on his computer: Yeah, you’ll be getting one of those today.
I was at work today and I was telling the girl I job share with about this and she said, “The same thing happened to me 6 months ago when I switched doctors! And when I said no to the shot, they made me sign a release!”
I did not say no. Getting my Tetanus booster has been on my mind a lot... every time my kids get vaccinated.
But, there must be some issue with Tetanus lately. We get these shots as kids… but who of us goes back for our boosters? (Other than health care professionals) A lot of those shots don’t last forever.
I was telling my doctor, that is what bugs me about the mandatory chicken pox shot. Kids aren’t getting the chicken pox anymore… what if these vaccines wear off and then as an adult they are vulnerable? It’s pretty damn ugly to get the chicken pox as an adult. As a kid, its just frickin’ miserable. As an adult? Dangerous.
And so they decide maybe that the Chicken Pox vaccine needs a booster after… I don’t know… 20 years? How many are going to get it?
As adults, other than the flu shot or other than having an injury that requires a Tetanus shot, who keeps up with this stuff? I think not many… I really do.
Oh LOOK what I found when I googled The Day My Butt Went Psycho! A Butt Game!
Life is now complete…
Of course I felt inclined to play it while I showed it to Mr. T. My butts kept getting zapped and finally he said, 'Mom. You are making this too difficult. It's just like Frogger... but with Butts.'
Yes, but Frogger doesn't have a 'Butt hut'. Heh.
Did y’all see this? A big ‘ol hunk o’ ice fell on this guy’s car in Tampa and crushed it.
Of course instinctively we’re thinking, “airplane”. Nothing like something from an airplane lavatory to land on your car. Blech. Don’t eat blue tinted ice. That is akin to that don’t eat yellow snow thing.
But that is what I think most of us think, even though they are saying it isn’t that frozen urine fecal matter from the sky.
Oh no. But not those space people. They immediately checked to see if the Tampa weather conditions were such that they could have the formation of…
That’s right. There is a name for big ass chunks of ice that fall out of the sky. And although we Floridians have been feeling one heckuva cold snap that has pushed us to wear socks, sweaters, and think of parkas… the 40 degree weather we have is evidently not enough for the formation of a… m-eg-a-cry-o-meteor.
The new word of the week.
So do y’all get a lot of those mega-cry-o-meteors in the great white north?
I’m testing out the syllable divisions in the pronunciations of my new word. MEGAcryometeor. MEGacryometeor. megAcryometeor. megaCRYometeor.
Doesn’t matter… it all sounds pretty damn spooky!
Today I took the boys to the library. There must’ve been some baby reading group or music thing going on as there were all sorts of toddlers everywhere. My boys were off of school.
We were hunting for something for the boys to read… my eldest was starving for words. That thirst that cannot be quenched. And he insisted on getting some books about butts.
Nope, he is not thinking he wants to be a doctor of the lower regions, rather it is that boy humor. I can’t remember the titles but they’re something like “The Day my Butt Attacked Me” or “Butts Take Over the World” or some nonsense.
And so as I was waiting in line to check out the butt books, I heard my second son say, a bit too loudly “Are you getting Killer Butts from Uranus? Get it... butts... uranus? Heh.” (Title made up, but similar… I assure you.)
Ringo: No. I own that one.
Me: What? You OWN that book?
As I walked out the door I saw these three sweet blonde haired babies, perched on their Momma’s hips and I thought… “How in the hell did I get from THERE to talk of books about butts?” How. When did that happen?
One minute you’re reading The Very Hungry Caterpillar for the 100th time… and the next thing you know, you blink and suddenly you’re in the line at the library, finding out your eldest son owns butt books.
And thinks they’re hilarious.
And has probably read them 100 times.
And you know what? I am VERY well aware that if I blink again… it’ll be Playboy magazines and I’ll be yearning for the day my boys only wanted to read, “The Day My Butt Went Psycho.”
I’ve not been able to read blogs for about a week since the school festival. The week before, I was up late making deposits for ticket sales and it left me with limited reading time.
So I don’t know… but… am I the only one keeping up with this couple that went hiking in northern California only for the husband to get attacked by a mountain lion? The entire thing is horrific and the gentleman is evidently doing very poorly now and I’m really keeping him in my prayers.
Just a quick synopsis if you have not heard this story, but the couple, she is 65 and he 70, went hiking and a mountain lion attacked him. The wife, grabbed a log and started beating the lion, only for the husband, who remained talking to her through this entire mauling, to tell her that he had a pen in his pocket and to poke the lion’s eye out. The pen bent (you know with my eye phobe I got skeeved out at this part) and so she went back to beating the lion with the log until it let go.
This entire thing… it just frickin’ UNREAL.
And I keep picturing my folks in this situation. I can’t help it. Both my folks are very good outdoors. They have both done the roughing it thing, although, other than SERE School for TGOO, my Mom has roughed it far more than TGOO, believe it or not.
But still… I’m sorry, I’m having a tough time picturing my Mom picking up a frickin’ log and beating a mountain lion with it.
Or TGOO telling my Mom to grab his Pentel pen (that used to be the pen of choice) out of his pocket to poke its eye out.
Or my Mom doing it.
I’m not saying she couldn’t. Oh no. She could. I’m just saying I’m just blown away at the thought.
Actually… I’m telling you now, if a mountain lion had my husband by the head and he said, ‘Hun! Grab the pen out of my pocket and poke its eye out”, I probably would have thrown up first, being the eye phobe I am, and then said, “That’s OK! I’ll stick with the log!”
Good Lord. What an amazing woman. And I pray for her husband.
My husband is GREAT about the kids. It has always been a shared responsibility when he is home.
But when I have this carnival… I swear to you this house falls apart.
I left Friday morning at 9AM and got home at 11:15PM, peeled off my clothes and crawled into bed. I woke up the next morning, showered, changed, grabbed breakfast as I made my lunch, told my husband, “We’re running low on milk. We need milk…” and was out of the house by 9 again, getting home again at 11:15PM and once again, peeled off my clothes and crawled into bed.
I awoke this morning, bleary eyed and stumbled into the kitchen, looked over at the kitchen table to find an empty carton of milk and one empty bowl of cereal and… Girl Scout Cookies.
We had run out of milk, as my husband said they were too busy to get to the store, so my kids basically had Girl Scout Cookies for breakfast.
It was time for me to come home…
There was a ride at this year’s carnival… a new ride to us… called “The Fireball”. I found a picture on-line of this horrific ride.
What you see is a ‘claw’ where each finger holds seats. The claw spins and as it spins it swings on a pendulum. It eventually gets up to, while spinning, 135 degrees and then drops back down past 0 to -135 degrees and repeats the pendulum swing… over and over.
The kids took to calling it the Pink Mean Puke Machine.
I have a couple stories about this ride. First, I was talking to one of the Moms on Saturday and she said, “You see that hose by the ride? John (the dad who runs the grounds for us during the carnival) walked up to the carnival worker and said, ‘I keep rolling up that hose and you keep pulling it out. Do you have some sort of tank you have to keep filled to run that ride?’ and the carnival worker looked at him puzzled and said, “No, I have to hose it off every couple rides as someone always vomits in it…’”
Of course I was laughing as well. This ride was the one with the longest lines. I watched some little girl lurch off of it, get about 2 feet from one of the cops we had helping us out, and throw up… practically at his feet… as she managed to make her way back to our room, where she laid on the floor and then got up twice and barfed in a garbage can.
We found her Mom.
Later on I was talking to another Mom and she said, “You know, my daughter rode that ride and said she got flung with water!” I started to laugh.
At the beginning of the ride, the claw starts to spin and I’m going to say its akin to the spin cycle of the washing machine. All the water flings out.
So I told the Mom, ‘Well, that would be vomit wash off water…”
That ride was located right in my path as I walked the carnival, doing my job. I always made sure that damn claw was nowhere near me... as in not on the upswing of the pedulum so it would be 'over me' in any way shape or form. I was horrified of the thought of some kid hurling on me as I walked by.
But still… I could not quit laughing at the thought of all these kids WANTING to do this ride. I mean, just LOOKING at the ride, made my inner ear get all wonky.
Finally, one little boy I knew, that kept going on this ride over and over, making himself NEARLY sick, but never vomiting, I pulled aside and said, “Look, if you’re going to ride this ride and actually be sick, make it spectacular! Go eat pizza and fries and drink a big coke.”
He wasn’t up for it.
Meanwhile I watched as kids lurched off the ride, either grinning or pasty.
I was green just watching them.
I can’t even do the spinning tea cups at Disney. Roller coasters are GREAT… but I don’t do spin.
It starts in a couple hours. The weather is nice which means it will be a good carnival. I’m still on edge… feeling like all the nerves in my body have been scrubbed with a brillo pad.
The kids are excited. I feel for their teachers today. What a waste of a day, that fortunately ends at Noon for them. And I feel for my husband who will try to manage all this energy and keep an eye on them all weekend. My eldest is at the point where he wants to hang with his friends, his turning 12 in March. The problem is, that as a parent… I still see bad people. So it has my stomach in knots, knowing he’s a good kid and deserves to hang with his friends, but knowing also that there is a big bad world out there and hoping it doesn’t invade our little slice of America this weekend.
And of course the rides scare me. I keep taking a deep breath and forcing any thoughts of rides gone bad out of my head.
Yesterday I found out that the computer I use with our financial software crashed at some point this year and was replaced. Nice that nobody thought to tell me. Nicer that I thought to ask yesterday. It was a scramble for the people higher up the ladder than myself to find the software. I was going to go into the school at the wee hours of this morning and get it up and running… but someone in the school did it for me. I owe her a beer. I’m serious.
I’m pretty grateful.
So blogging will be light as I won’t be getting home until 11:00 each night. Last night I was up past midnight finishing deposit slips and counting money. My first stop this morning is the bank. I’ve gotten to know all the tellers there very well and going to the bank has become somewhat of a highlight for me. They’re real sweet women… very funny and warm.
On a funny note, I opened the newspaper this morning to find that a dear dear friend of mine had the Governor on her front porch yesterday! The Governor and the legislature have come up with some bill that will lower our homeowner insurance premiums. So he came to North Palm Beach and signed it on her front porch. Bonus for her daughter who got to sell Girl Scout Cookies to the crowd! That cracked me up.
Anyway, I am hoping that our premiums do go down. Last year I was called by my insurance company who informed me I was under insured. Even though I had called when we added the addition on our home, 3 years ago, someone didn’t punch it in. The cost of building a home here has over doubled in the last 3 years. So I gave her the specs on my home and my insurance bill came too… $9500. A year. I almost stroked. I did actually say to her, 'Holy crap! You've got to be kidding!!!'
I hired some inspector to come out and prove we met Dade County Building codes and it dropped to… $7000. Yes. I work my part time job to pay for insurance. That pisses me off. Our insurance had over doubled. So, I am hoping that this bill will drop it further. And did I say that with all this cash we outlay, that my deductible, should I take a hit from a hurricane is… ready? 15K. Or more. Love that.
So it was cool to see my friend in the paper and since she is working with me this weekend, I’m sure I’ll get to hear all about it. She’s got a great sense of humor so I know there will be great stories.
And for a Bones’ story, last night at supper he said to me, ‘Mom, the kids at school are going to think I’m so cool tomorrow. It’s a free dress day (my kids wear uniforms so ‘free dress days’ are big) and I’m wearing my jeans, my wave shirt, and my new shoes, with my new zip up sweat shirt. I will look very cool.’
I just kind of stared at him and then nodded my head in agreement. No doubt in my mind that Bones will be strutting at the carnival. Never have I seen a little boy so full of himself… God help the world when he’s a teenager. Or rather… God help me.
Insanity reigns right now at the House of Bou, but really, what’s new?
I’m in the process of getting ready for the school festival and that truly is INSANE. The carnival workers are at the school setting up, testing the rides. The kids are reverberating with excitement, to the point I wonder if it is possible to have some sort of cellular damage within those small bodies from the reverberations.
Meanwhile, as I watch the workers test the rides, I remember how much I pray during this damn carnival. And I remember my vow of three years ago that was along the lines of “Thou shalt never again stand under the Ferris wheel with other engineers and discuss stress, metal fatigue, and wear out modes.”
I got a note from my TL at work today… we don’t sit next to each other, but rather across the room, so sometimes we email to harass each other. He said something like, “I didn’t bring in cookies today so you couldn’t tell me I suck.” Heh. Yeah, I guess I said that too yesterday…
On our way home from school today, I had to stop at the grocery store. As I was taking a left onto the highway, I could hear sirens.
I hate that. I nearly jump out of my skin trying to figure out where they are so I can get out of the way.
I saw them behind me, two big white Police pick up trucks, or as the boys said, “Mom, I didn’t know the Police owned Monster trucks!” They were hauling ass, and I had my blinker on and was pulling off to the side as fast as I could.
As they passed Bones said, “Mom… they weren’t after you!”
Me: *blink* Umm. No. they weren’t… you thought they were?
Bones: Yeah. I thought they were! And you pulled over like they were! But I’m really really glad they weren’t chasing you.
That just cracked me up…
(No, I’m not really in a crabby mood. I’m not. I’m just feeling… flippant.)
I almost named this I hate Girl Scouts, but that sounded so… ugly. And to hate Girl Scouts is almost akin to hating apple pie, baseball, and burning the flag.
Oh wait. I hate baseball…
Anyway, as the Great Wedding of 2007 approaches, I have been diligently watching what I eat. I have:
Quit eating after 7.
Cut out all snacking that is not healthy.
Eaten a good turkey sandwich or salad or vegetable soup for lunch
Made sure I’ve drank 8 cups of water a day
Eaten a big salad at dinner if I did not at lunch
Eaten a handful of nuts and a small piece of fruit for my mid morning snack
Done cardio in some form nearly every day.
Weight is not peeling off of me like it has my husband. No. It is crumbling off in something akin to pebble size. It’s frickin’ killing me. KILLING ME. ¼ pound here… a ½ pound there. A week.
And I have been patient as I realize to take it off slowly is easier to keep it off.
Let me say, I will probably never eat another drop of vegetable soup and I am starting to REALLY REALLY hate lettuce. REALLY. A lot.
Last week, I busted my butt to watch what I ate, my husband’s family unexpectedly came in town, so I ate two meals after 7, had 1 small piece of cake for T’s birthday, and ate 3 cookies, and not only did I NOT lose even a ¼ pound… I gained a ½.
I nearly screamed.
I’m still nearly screaming.
Meanwhile, the frickin’ Girl Scouts are out in full force selling their cookies. Thin Mints. Oh.My.God.
I bought two boxes and put one in the back of the freezer for after the Great Wedding of 2007, and opened the other, eating 3 cookies and pawning the rest off on my kids.
I figured I was fine.
Then to add to the complete aggravation, my father in law comes in the house the other day and says, “Bou! Look what I did! I bought EACH of the boys their OWN box of Girl Scout cookies! Each a different flavor. I’m sure you’ll like them all.”
I nearly screamed! AGAIN! I muffled it through a clenched smile and a kiss and thanked him profusely for his thoughtfulness the entire time thinking, “CRAP!”
I am so sick of drinking water. Do you know how much 8 cups of water a day is? And I’m GOOD about drinking water. I usually drink 4-6 a day.
OK… let’s talk here. If you drink one cup before every meal, that’s 3 cups. If you drink one in between at each ‘snack’, that’s 5 cups. That means you still have to fit 3 more cups in.
Add one before bed, which of course means I have to pee by 3AM. That leaves me 2… which I manage to fit, but Good Lord, I swear on my sweet boys, that not only are my kidneys functioning perfectly, but I will NEVER get diverticulitis. NEVER.
And I’m really sick of peeing.
Fast forward to today. My tech lead brought in Girl Scout chocolate covered peanut butter cookies to work. He brought them in because he only wanted one or two and he knew they’d get eaten. Have I ever said that my tech lead is EXACTLY the same damn size as the day I met him in 1988? Yes.
All the men in my office are the SAME EXACT SIZE THEY WERE WHEN I FIRST MET THEM in 1988-1990.
I just want to lose one dress size for this wedding, folks. That’s it. Just enough so I don’t look like the mother of three that I am while I stand next to Morrigan who looks like one of those Elf/Faery people from Lord of the Rings. That’s it. One. Dress. Size.
In my mind, that is not a lot to ask.
So I am with the guys and my TL pulls the cookies out and puts them on the ledge and I looked at him and said, ‘Oh I so hate you so very very much…’ to which they all laughed.
Everyone grabbed one and I said, “I… Can’t… do… it” and I took one. I sat in my chair and slowly ate it and someone somewhere mentioned the word orgasmic… it may have been me… it was a good cookie.
Then the guys, who are the same damn size for the last 20 years, finished them off at which point I cursed them all and said, “I hate all of you! I ate that one cookie and will gain 5 frickin’ pounds and you all will not only burn that cookie off just in breathing, you’ll walk to the bathroom and burn another pound in the walk!”
And they thought it was funny and someone mentioned that my eyes appeared to glaze over when I ate the chocolate covered peanut butter cookie…
…and… I hate men and Girl Scouts. I do. Dammit.
After the Great Wedding of 2007, I am breaking that box of Thin Mints out of the freezer and sitting down with the newspaper, reading it cover to cover, while doing the Sudoku puzzle and eating an entire roll… or maybe the entire daggum box… in one sitting.
I was on the committee to plan my 20 year reunion in 2003. I was in charge of finding people. So I joined classmates.com, put information on there, we put stuff in the newspaper, and I went through our class list and we called everybody we could try… trying to find as many as we could.
You just aren’t going to find everyone.
So I get an email from a buddy of mine today saying in his classmates in box he found the following email (names changed to be polite).
June Jerface (view profile)
December 29, 2006 05:11:19 PM
High School Class of 1983 Reunion
Brian Duckling (whoever you are) You did a lousy job getting out the news about the 2003 reunion....I heard about it after the fact. Maybe the next one I might hear about in time to attend!
June Jerkface(now BiggerJerkface).
Being the ever politically correct and polite person that I am… I sent him the following in reply:
Dear June, you ignorant slut,
Please feel free to f*** off and next time you can plan it yourself.
Hugs and Kisses,
That should do it. We only put a notice on Classmates and called every number we had. She can kiss my ass and I’ll make sure I don’t invite her if I’m on that committee next time.
I bet he doesn’t send it… Too bad. I haven’t heard from him yet. I don’t even mind if he said I told him to put it out there.
People piss me off…
From Caltechgirl, I got tagged! Here I go:
This one's easy, since it's all about you and since it requires you to write the very first answer that comes to mind. Simply copy and paste the following three questions then answer them on your blog or, if you don't have a blog of your own, answer them in the comments here. Bloggers should then tag three other people to answer the questions as well, and be sure they know who to blame (Me!).
1. My: You've heard the saying "I'd give my right arm for". So, what would you give your right arm for?
2. Me: What's one word that describes how you want people to see you?
3. Meme: If you could be any blogger, which blogger would you be? and why?
1) The life and health of my children if it were required.
3) None. I like me. I’ve never been the type of person to want to be someone else and that includes blogging.
Tagging… OK. I’m stepping out here and I’m going to tag my blogless readers Shawn out of New Jersey, my loyal reader George who works for our local paper, and my brother, TN.
Shawn, George, and TN, feel free to answer in my comments. Heh. Nothing like sharing the pain!!!
This week is our school carnival. A true carnival in every sense of the word. I’ve been blogging on it every year since I started blogging. As the school treasurer… I will live at the school from 9AM Friday morning until 10PM on Sunday night. I will see my kids on Sunday morning before they go to Mass. They will come by at night to say good night before they leave for home. But that’s it.
I will be shut in a room the most of the weekend, counting money and running the ticket booths. It is an odd feeling to be sequestered like that. Luckily I work with great women. We are picky who we get to work with us. But as one of them put it, by the late Friday night, it feels… seedy. We all feel like we should be wearing visors, smoking cigars, with a glass of scotch while throwing poker chips into a pile.
We feel like dealers at a casino or something.
Every night I leave, I cannot wait to get home and bathe.
Carnivals. Rides. Carnival workers. Lights. Noise. The smell of Carnival Food.
I’ve gotten to know the gentleman who owns the company and he is an up and up kind of guy. I’ve been impressed. I’m not kidding. And last year I got to hear his life story, how he got into the Carnival business and it was absolutely fascinating.
He is more comfortable now. We’re not out to screw him and he is laid back.
Knock on wood. But I like him. Even though we’re all business. We’ve been dealing with him for a number of years. It’s a good business relationship.
But I am anxious. Two years ago when I realized it was part of my job to run the money of this three day BIG frickin’ event, I was reluctant. I just watched from afar as it was being planned. Now, I’m the money. There was question the other day about what was to happen, and I flat out told the planning group, “I’m the money. Come to me.”
I guess I’m not such the reluctant leader now. I hope they know what they're in for. Afterall, I suspect I have another 6 years to go.
But as I said, I am anxious. I know what is coming down the pike. The lack of sleep, the stress of going into sensory overload. I have police protection, so I don’t worry for my safety. It’s… the sensory input.
Every time I walk out from the quiet of our little room, which I must do frequently, I walk into the lights, the blaring music, the smells, the crowds. It literally offends every one of my five senses in some way, repeatedly.
It is too much.
So by Sunday, I am a zombie. I am numb. I want to sleep. I want some sort of sensory deprivation tank.
Don’t talk to me. Don’t touch me. Don’t make me smell you. Don’t make me eat. Don’t make me open my eyes.
But this week… it is the anxiety, if you will, of knowing what is coming. The Good and the Bad.
Luckily… the Good outweighs the Bad tenfold. My kids have the best time and THAT makes it all worthwhile.
Mr. T turns 10 today. I have spent most of the day lost in thought. I’d look at the clock and think, “What was I doing 10 years ago today?”
10 years ago, right now as I right this at 3:44PM, EST, I had been holding my new baby boy for a half hour. My 2nd son.
He was not a beautiful baby, but Good Lord Have Mercy, he was a beautiful toddler. I remember when he was a baby my Mother in Law said to my husband, “You know, he’s not a very cute baby…” My husband was horrified and said, “MOM! Yes he is!”
Heh. She replied, “NO. He’s not. But he’s ours. And we love him.”
He came out just kind of squished. My Mom said it looked like he’d been in a boxing match and the caption of one of his one day old pictures is, “You should see the other guy.”
But he was a sweet baby. Yummy as babies are. In love with his older brother from the minute he set eyes on him. Pictures of him as a baby and toddler have him giving the worship look to his brother who is 22 months older. It is still that way.
Brotherly love is a wonderful thing.
He’s a beautiful boy. In so many ways. Head strong and self motivated. Compassionate but not to be run over. One minute he’s helping the mentally disabled girl in his class, telling me how she needs the help and likes him to help her best and how he doesn’t understand how people are mean to her as she is who she is and she has no control over her being different, and on the other hand he is telling me how he is going to beat the ever living snot out of some kid who bugs the crap out of him.
Kids don’t mess with him. He’s not big, but they know he can be mean. He’s fast as hell. Last year in baseball, his nickname was Jack rabbit.
He is lactose intolerant, but only wanted an ice cream machine for Christmas. His favorite food is oreo ice cream or oreos and lactaid milk.
He makes his ice cream with heavy cream and whole milk and says it’s worth it to endure any side effects as he loves it so much. The side effect is gas and I think he loves that best.
He’s my cautious child, yet the only one who has broken a bone.
He is athletic and sure of his capabilities… but refused to play baseball this spring as he said he’s tired of getting hit by the pitcher with the ball. So instead he plays basketball in the back yard, catch with his Dad, and runs on Tuesdays and Thursdays at school. He may end up running track in middle school.
He is smart as hell, a straight A student, but I can’t get the kid to read to save my life. His teacher and I email constantly now as she has a high school son who won’t read and we’re swapping suggestions and book ideas.
Some days I think he’ll grow up to be a school teacher. Other days… I think he will be a surgeon. He wants to be an inventor as of now and own his own company. He wants to own a video game company. He can do anything he wants to do… he just has to decide.
He is extraordinarily logical and his thought is very concrete, yet he is terrified of heights. We have no idea why. If he drove today, I think he’d avoid most bridges and overpasses. I was afraid we’d have a problem on his first airplane trip, but instead he embraced it and enjoyed it the entire time. Go figure.
He fights with his brothers as brothers do, but will defend them against all others. Last month he took up for his older brother in an after school skirmish. No question in his mind. Someone was saying bad things about his brother and he didn’t tolerate it. They won't make that mistake again.
He is my only boy to say he wants to wear a kilt at Mo’s wedding. Everyone else be damned, he is an individual and cares not what you think.
So Mr. T is 10. This picture was taken from this year's calendar, the month of January. It is a compilation of pictures taken throughout last year…
Happy Birthday, Mr. T. May God continue to Bless you and hold you in the palms of his hands. You walk amongst the Blessed… may you always realize so and remain forever grateful.
First, I don’t do snack cakes. I can’t. I like to bake too much, I love to bake too much, and I love the taste of homemade. But also, most of those snack cakes have this white goop in the middle that is just… nasty. Its half life must be 10,000 years (to exaggerate as Bones might) and as most of you know, I don’t do whipped cream. That crap in the middle of the snack cakes is a distant cousin to whipped cream, therefore my body will not ingest.
My kids don’t do snack cakes either, although all of them love whipped cream. They have just been amazingly spoiled by my baking, I guess. Trust me, I tried to be the good Mom and let them eat those preservative laden treats in their lunches, just so they could be like the other kids. Even I, who hate all that is filled with crème, remember kids at school being excited that their Moms had packed them Moon Pies or Ding Dongs or Snoballs, the 2nd most disgusting thing I’ve ever eaten in my life, or… Twinkies, the single most horrific thing I’ve taken a bite of in my entire life… beating out the Rocky Road ice cream my dear old grandmother accidentally scarred me with when I was but a wee lass, turning me off permanently to marshmallows, whipped cream, and all that is white and squishes. So keeping OTHER children’s love in mind, I have bought treats for my children only to hear, “Um, Mom, can you bake brownies instead?” or “Mom, don’t pack those anymore please” or “Mom… can I have a fruit roll up instead?”
They choose the plastic preservative fake fruit over the cream filled delicacies of most people’s youth.
I don’t do gummy anything or fruit roll ups either. It doesn’t invoke the gag reflex… I just think they taste nasty and I hate how they stick in my teeth. And I don’t eat rubber.
So I have two cake-ish stories for you. The first happened just this past Thanksgiving. As Elisson pointed out in his post, if you go to Philly, Tastykakes are what they’re called.
And he’s right.
When we were in Philly this past Thanksgiving, we saw those signs everywhere. We were in the van, on our way to their GREAT zoo, my 12 year old nephew in the back with my boys, and I was reading billboards when I said to no one in particular,
“What in the world is a Tasty… kahhh… keeeh? Tastykahkeh?”
As if it were Hawaiian. Or if I didn’t really know how to read. Or perhaps they don’t know how to frickin’ spell.
My nephew replied, “That would be… Tasty CAKE.”
I’m telling you, I have never in my life seen snack treats advertised like the Philadelphians advertise their Tastykahkeh. Never. Drive through the south and you don’t see big old honkin’ billboards saying, “MOON PIES!” or better yet, “BUBBA LOVES MOON PIES, MOON PIES, MOON PIES, BUBBA LOVES MOON PIES!”
(Inside joke or does everyone know that song?)
Anyway, you don’t. And if you come down here where we don’t have TastyKahkeh, instead we have Entenmanns… you know that only because as you walk through Publix to get to the fruits and vegetable section, you know, the section without the preservatives, you have to walk WAYYYYY AROUND the Entenmann section.
That’s the only way you know.
And all this brings me to my best memory of these commercial mass produced treats, the treats that if you eat enough, I strongly suspect you can forgo embalming upon your death. I’m hoping my best buddy from high school, PFB, is reading this. I’m wondering if she will remember this story.
PFB and I were in band together. And before any of you think, “Band Geek”, step off. We WERE THE best band in the Nation, marching band that is, and marched over 200 strong. Close to 250 if I recall. Drum and Bugle Corp (DCI) instructors would come and help our color guard and drum lines in their off seasons… we ate doses of tapes of Phantom Regiment, Madison Scouts, and the Blue Devils. When we weren’t practicing, that’s what our band director was watching.
We were good, very good, and we slept ate and breathed with our instruments, practicing in the summers and for 3 hours a day after school… every day… even with football games on Fridays. As our band director used to say, ‘We are NOT a hot dog band!” meaning, people didn’t get up to get a hot dog during half time when we came on.
There were people who would come to our football games to watch our band. “The Show Band of the South” we were called and in our 5A high school, band reigned damn near hand in hand with football, which is a big thing considering in the South, football rules.
I played flute and my senior year piccolo, which was great as I carried it in my back pocket. PFB played Alto Sax. She didn’t carry hers in her pocket.
Now every now and then, things got rowdy. We’re talking high school kids here, and even though our band director put the fear of frickin’ GOD into all of us, hearing him shout your name would make one’s knees weak and feel the bile rise in one’s throat in cold fear, and even though he ruled also with a very big paddle he had no problems using on the very active high school boys, when he wasn’t around… we were still kids and kids will be kids.
I just remember being in the band hall. We were in regular clothes, so it was a band practice. Our band director wasn’t out yet, holed up in his office, and we were cleaning the hall. As I said, we were kids, so the hall occasionally got trashed and every now and then he’d step out and tell us we had to clean up… usually on a day off.
I remember we were all laughing and screwing around, the drummers being drummers, which if you were in band, you know what I’m talking about, and the girls were laughing and carrying on and the tubas… well… they were their normal hysterical boisterous selves.
Our buddy Tommy, who stood 6’4 at least, tall lean wiry country boy, as sweet as the day is long, was our lead Tuba… I believe probably from our sophomore year on… he was good, decided the tubas had to be cleaned. Come to think of it, I think it was a Monday after a football game and band season was over.
He picked up that tuba, as only Tommy could, and tipped it over and out fell coins, candy, M&Ms.
Of course that stopped many of us to watch.
He picked up the next one and out fell the same… coins, candy… M&Ms.
And then he picked up the last one. Damn. It must’ve been spring. It had to have been… Concert season, which was why were so relaxed. We must’ve been coming off of a parade that weekend. (Love how I blog and think out loud?)
He picked up the last tuba, dumped it over and out fell… coins, candy, M&Ms and… a frickin’ Moon Pie.
Of course we were all singing “Bubba loves Moon Pies” after that. No clue how that moon pie ended up there, but I strongly suspected the drum line had something to do with it.
So now whenever someone mentions any type of commercial cakes, I think of Moon Pies, a hit during Mardi Gras in the South, and in turn I immediately envision Tommy deftly picking up that last Tuba, tipping it over… only to see a Moon pie drop out.
I miss those days.
Last Monday I was at the gym, and I noticed one of the personal trainers was limping. Her knee looked reddened. I was on the elliptical and said down to her, “What in the heck did you do now?”
She pulled a muscle not to long ago.
She said to me, “Oh this. I got this cut on my knee while at the pool and now it doesn’t look so good. It hurts.”
My eyes got big and I stopped running on the machine and said, “Wait. When did this happen? Have you set your knee on one of those mats while stretching your clients?”
She confirmed it had been but two days and she had in fact.
I asked if it was bandaged when she was on the mats and she said nope.
I was very alarmed and said, “I need you to listen to me carefully. You may have a staph infection and that’s pretty damn serious stuff. You need to call the doctor NOW.”
She kind of looked at me oddly and I continued, ‘Listen to me. If you notice it is in the least bit redder or more inflamed tonight, or if you start running a fever, you go directly to the ER. Do you hear me?”
She nodded as if appeasing me. I know that face. I get it from my kids. So I went to her boss.
I told her boss what I knew to have happened. Her boss is a friend of mine. I told her, “She does not know me. She does not know my past. She does not know what my husband does for a living. But YOU do. She is not going to listen to me, but she will to you. I’m telling you… this is not good.”
A week went by and I saw her again. She had her arm wrapped. I said, “OK. What in the heck did you do to your arm?”
She looked at me wide eyed and said, “Oh! You don’t know! I went to the doctor that afternoon and they admitted me! They said I was two days away from losing MY LEG. I had a nasty staph infection and was on IV antibiotics for FOUR days in the hospital.”
That wrap on her arm? It was an IV line they weren't ready to take out.
Holy crap. She’s a believer now…
And the scary part is, I work out in a ‘clean’ gym. They have employees wiping down the mats and equipment constantly. All the people in the gym use towels. We all use the wipes. There is antibiotic disinfectant that people use on their hands constantly after working out. The place SMELLS clean… not sweaty.
That staph is everywhere. Everywhere. Scary stuff.
On Tuesdays and Thursdays my kids’ school has an after school program where the kids sign up and walk or run from 2:45 until 4:00. All children from ages K-3 must have a parent there as its not a baby sitting service. Many many Moms walk or run, me being one.
When each parent or kid hits 5 miles, they get a yellow tshirt with the name of our team on the front. When the parent or kid hits 20 miles, they get footprints stamped on the back with a 20 on it. At 26 miles, “Marathon Runner” is stamped. At every increment of 10, from 30 on, there are the footprints with the mileages stamped in. The kids also get plastic charms for their backpacks showing what mileage they achieved.
Over 210 kids and Moms (one Dad) are participating… and it’s mostly kids.
I’m at 30 miles. Bones and Ringo are at 26, and Mr. T is at 50 miles. T runs the entire hour and 15 minutes.
I started it initially because Bones has a bit of a bounce back effect as his Ritalin wears off. But after the first day, I was sold. And as a bigger motivation for the kids, this year we’re ‘walking the equator.’ In the school clinic is a poster of the world and as you check out each day with your mileage, the coach adds the mileage for the group and the kids can see how far we’ve around the equator we’ve traveled. It’s been very educational.
And for the record, the equator is BIG around and we think we won’t make it this year… and maybe not even next, but the kids are digging it. (Previous years we walked all around the USA, touching every state.)
Anyway, last night was hectic. My husband had a meeting, there was homework and my eldest is struggling in Math. He and I ended up fighting over it while I was trying to help Bones with his reading and spelling and trying to get everyone ready for bed as well.
Frazzled. It’s been a tough couple days and last night I was frazzled.
I was still helping my eldest, he was sitting at the kitchen table grinding his teeth over proportions and solving for X when I went in to kiss Bones.
I’d still not showered from our after school event, where I’d walked 4 miles. Whereas most of the country appears to be doing some bitter cold nasty snowy icy horrible weather stuff… we’re still at 80 degrees. And I sweat. A lot.
I went in to kiss Bones and he said to me, “Mom, will you snuggle with me? *pause* *speaking quickly as he is anticipating me saying no* It’s OK. I LOVE how you stink!”
Heh. I still said no, but that cracked me up.
My husband has been working a lot. This is the season where he is not home much.
Last night he had a meeting, so I made tacos for the boys, as my husband does not like Mexican food.
Tonight he had another meeting, and I said to the boys, “We’re keeping it simple. I’m making corn dogs and macaroni and cheese.”
Note the absence of all that is green in that meal.
Bones said, “Can you make cheese fries too?”
I replied, “mmm. Sure.”
So they essentially had a yellow/orange dinner. They were happy.
(I had vegetable soup. The great wedding of 2007 is bearing down on me… )
My ISP is up for now. It is going to be touch and go. We had Adelphia Cable, which is the ENRON of cable companies, they filed for bankruptcy and got bought out by Comcast.
I do not foresee a pleasant experience during this transition. At all. The kids are all freaked out that the channels changed today and my internet is hit or miss.
I'd completely forgotten I'd ever posted a picture of myself on my blog. Heh.
Boudicca asked me to post for her tonight. Her ISP is down for awhile, hopefully for just a short time. Apparently her cable company went bankrupt and was bought out by Comcast, which just stopped working. There's nothing like a reliable cable company. */;-).
We had the Pinewood Derby today. The boys entered three cars, one for Wolves, one for Webelos and a family car.
Bones came in 2nd for the Wolves.
The Family car came in 4th.
Mr. T came in 1st for Webelos for both craftsmanship and speed and 3rd overall within the entire Pack.
Needless to say, there was MUCH excitement. They’ve spent the last week painting their own cars (well... Bones had help) and then my husband spent last night weighing, adding weights, and tweaking. There is only so much the boys can do. Decorating is one. Getting a car to run is not one.
Bones with his car.
Mr. T with his car.
The Family Car
I won't be live blogging 24, but I do have my lap top and am watching it and IMing my sister.
Just some observations...
They did a good job making that Mr. Ally McBeal actor the new weasel in the White House. I hope he dies at the end of the season. He's a funny actor, but he does a good job playing a creep.
I love Buchanon. He's my favorite character.
Keifer Sutherland has lost some weight. He was never fat, but he is really lean now. Really lean. And I have to think it was natural and not because of the show, because if it was because of the show, he'd be SKINNY as he's been a prisoner for 2 years in China. Please. He'd be bones.
The question is... who dies this season?!! I'm thinking weasel boy (eventually), either Buchanon or Karen... and? I don't know. One more...
When you have boys, after awhile you just expect a couple ER visits a year. I don’t have those quiet boys who just sit and read. Well, one does. The other two? No.
Hmm. Let me see. We’ve been to the ER for stitches, a broken arm, asthma attacks, a concussion and… oh. We did an emergency visit to a friend’s office who is an ENT because we thought someone broke a nose.
I’ve called 911 three times… two for breathing episodes that resulted in ambulance rides to the local ER and once because a baby was choking and I couldn’t get it to stop. I’ve called poison control twice. They are very nice.
It is what it is. I’ve always kept a great eye on my kids, but boys are boys and it is exactly why I never had a pool in my yard. Bad things happen to good people and it only takes the blink of an eye.
So of course I feel awful for VW over at One Happy Dog Speaks, who has two boys 13 months apart, ages 4 and 3.
This month her boys have had the croup, broken a clavicle, gotten an eyeball poked rendering the actual eyeball swollen (that one made me gag) and as of yesterday, the obligatory split lip due to a fall… head hits floor, tooth goes through lip, or tries rather.
I really really want to tell her this all ends. And to some degree it does, as I’m not at the doctors near as much as I used to be. But. Not all of it.
My sister in law buys THE WORST gifts for kids. When my kids were toddlers, she bought them this horrible plastic electronic saxophone that made mechanical noises, it was the Devil’s sax and there was only off… and on.
And the volume was always LOUD. Sometimes it would just come on. That toy had NO redeeming qualities and quickly ended up on the top shelf of a closet until it disappeared.
Then one year she got them this bounce thing that was like a trampoline. It stayed blown up in my living room. My kids would jump in and out of it, like maniacs. Finally we let the air out for fear someone was going to get hurt. Sure enough, my husband blew up an inflatable pool, and Mr. T, remembering the bounce thing, started doing the same thing, jumping in and out, and before we could stop him, he fell and snapped his arm in half.
This year… she got them Socker Boppers. My kids asked for them, remember? I said NO. I thought it was a bad idea.
But suddenly they were in my home and they’ve been bopping each other ever since.
I’m about to put a knife through that awful toy. I’m not joking.
Two days ago, Mr. T and Bones broke them out, Bones had his hand in front of his face, Mr. T took a face shot and Bam! Busted lip and blood.
I heard the shriek, ran in to find blood starting to trickle from the corner of his mouth and immediately said, “GET OFF MY CARPET!”
I have so much compassion. I even scare myself sometimes.
His lip is still busted up and I’m glad it’s not his nose. What a mess.
So, I’d love to tell VW it gets better, but I don't think it really does. I think it comes and goes in spurts. My fear is it really gets... worse!
I was balancing the school checkbook today (Yes, I'm still the school treasurer)when Bones walked in, thrust a sheet of paper at me and ran.
I looked down and it was a prayer he’d written… a prayer of petition and it read as follows, on that really big 2nd grade paper where each line is cut in half by a dotted line:
Prayer of Petition
God our Father,
God, you love us. Help me to
Remember to ONLY say kind words.
(Suzie Q.) Amen,
I called him back, “Bones! What is this and why?!” It required my signature.
In he walked shuffling his feet and looking at the ground, refusing to make eye contact.
Bones: I don’t want you to yell at me. I feel bad enough.
Me: For what? What did you call her?
He didn’t answer.
Holy crap. My mind started working over time. I could feel my pulse quicken, my throat constrict as it became difficult to breathe and my face redden in the blushed state of embarrassment towards having to see his teacher over what must be something pretty awful if he won’t answer me.
Me: Bones. I’m not yelling. What did you call her.
Bones: I’m sorry!
Holy crap. I know nothing of this girl. All the little girls look alike. It is an odd phenomena when you have only boys… you don’t know any of the girls or their Moms, you only know boys and boy Moms. All the little girls are short with straight hair either blonde or dark. They’re like little clones.
Did he call her “You big fathead?!” or “You’re ugly and your Mom is too?” or…
Good Lord. Did he cuss? Did he step out of the box and say, “You little bitch?”
Ack! Could he have?! Could he have dropped the F bomb for the first time ever and called her an “f-ing bitch”?
Good God. I started wondering as my face reddened more if maybe I was…
…having a stroke.
I was starting to quietly freak now.
He was shuffling his feet.
Me: (attempting to take a deep breathe) Bones. I need to know what you called her. Look at me. Tell me.
Bones: I called her… Pregnant. OK? I said it.
I sat there thinking I heard wrong.
Bitch doesn’t rhyme with pregnant. Ppppppp… no words that were ugly started with ‘preg’ let alone… rhyme with preeeeggggnaaant. Nothing.
Me: You called her… pregnant?
Bones in an exasperated state: YES! I did! But Chase called her that like 17 times! And then she got mad when *I* did it!
Me: I don’t care what Chase does. Just don’t call anyone names. OK?
Me: No names. It hurts people’s feelings.
Pregnant. That word is going to get him in so much trouble one day. Whoda thunk it would start in 2nd grade? There is one more rule he’ll need to know with that word, other than, “Don’t call girls pregnant” which is a directly related to “Don’t call people names” and that would be for when he’s older, “Don’t ask a woman if she’s pregnant unless you see the head crowning.”
Who in the hell calls a girl pregnant as an insult? In 2nd grade?
And I’m so daggum thankful…
I’m cramming as much into work as I can. I’m trying to get as much accomplished as possible… finish any open project, trying to start and finish those that have been slowly accumulating.
The type of work I do on the military aircraft I work on is winding down. The aircraft is settled into the fleet and performing well.
I found out yesterday that the money didn’t really come in as not so much is needed anymore... working ourselves into obsolescence, so March may be furlough time. I told my Tech Lead, ‘No guilt, it is what it is.’
And it is.
There are days I really hate my job, but love the guys I work with. There are days my job is OK, but I love the guys I work with. I’ve burned no bridges so if money comes in later, I know they’ll call me back.
And it is not my job so much that I hate, but the chaos of some days. 100 email and 20 phone calls and "what happened here? Why did this not run? Can you tell me about this project you worked 6 months ago... I'm getting to my part? Can you work this instead? We need to reprioritize, THIS is now the most important... so drop that and work this." And on and on. The chaos frustrates me... no fault of anyone's, it can be the nature of the business.
I had my performance appraisal last month. The only thing I got dinged on was something along the lines of taking initiative. I had to laugh as I’m all about taking initiative. I’m a self motivator and I must stay busy. I hate people trying to motivate me. But… I don’t want to lead anymore. I’ve put that here on my blog before. I don’t want to worry about people, finagle budget, or think about work when I’m at home. I’m done with all that… I don’t want to lead.
And so when I did the self assessment prior to my appraisal, when it asked me for my goals, I put ‘I’m content.’ When it asked me where I saw myself with the company, I put, ‘I’m content’.
Because it’s true. I’m not going to put crap down to make myself look better. I am what I am.
And so for that section, I got dinged and I laughed to myself. I take initiative to get the work done I have… but beyond that, leave me alone. I got high marks on the quality of my work and customer satisfaction. That more than made up for it. Heh. And the bonus too.
Life is temporary. Relationships come and go. Jobs don’t last forever. I may want to hang on, but sometimes it’s not an option. It always sucks.
I’ve been thinking about what I want to do with myself if I do get furloughed. I have some big projects I am working in my philanthropic life that should be finished by end of March. A big conference I’m helping to plan, seating for a fashion show benefit, the quilt for the 2nd graders and a few other things… all of it ends in March.
If I do get furloughed, I think my house will be really clean in April. I’ll walk or run or swim every day. I may get in better shape. I might look at volunteering at Hospice one day a week, if they need it. Maybe the VA hospital here in town. More than likely Hospice. It is quieter.
I’m not sure. I know I’ll never have another job like the one I have now, with a boss who is so flexible and men who are so damn appreciative. Never in my life have I worked with a group of people, from the people who work at my company, to those at Company X that we subcontract for, to the Great Wizards in Seattle, who are as appreciative as this group of men.
They always thank me. For everything I do. Always. Even for coming in. And they’re sincere. Even this BIG Wizard in Seattle. Every email I send him on a status for something I’m working he ends with, “Bou. I appreciate what you’re doing for us. I know you have a family and it means a lot to us that you’re so dedicated.” One of them even sent something in for my performance appraisal. Unasked.
And THAT is what I will miss… appreciation. It is lacking in this world.
So I had this weird dream the other night. I was missing 5 of my front 6 lower teeth. I was all freaked out as I thought I'd have to get implants. My gums were SMOOOOOTH. I went to THIS site and found the following:
These dreams may stem from a fear of your sexual impotence or the consequences of getting old. Teeth are an important feature of our attractiveness and presentation to others.
Or this one: In the latest research, it has been shown that women in menopause have frequent dreams about teeth. This may be related to getting older and/or feeling unattractive and less feminine.
Love that one too.
Or hey, it could be just because I completely SUCK at being the Tooth Fairy and it morphed into my losing my teeth.
So, this evening we were sitting at the dinner table and my eldest boy says to me, “I had this dream once where we took a raccoon to the top of Mt. Everest because we wanted him to be the first raccoon ever at the top of Mt. Everest. And we got to the top and he fell off…”
Of course the other boys were laughing.
I said, “You’re kidding. Right? Did you really dream that?”
And he replied, as he laughed, “Yeah, I really did.”
I want dreams like that! Instead I get crazy crap like my teeth falling out, my hair falling out, I'm in a car going over a bridge and suddenly the other side is immersed in water and I can't get off, or I repeatedly wake up... over and over... only to find out I never woke up. Blech.
Raccoons falling off Mount Everest sounds good to me!
Today was a grand day at work… really. Everyone was floating on the euphoria of that which is the Gators kicking ass last night. We were all bleary eyed and practically mainlining caffeine to stay awake. Emails were running all over to Floridians who have been forced to leave the state, big Gator fans who bleed orange and blue, to whoop it up a little more over the ‘net.
And, of course, our lone Buckeye was in hiding most of the day. Someone put a box of tissues on his desk. The girl I job share with, who graduated from Florida and wore her NCAA Basketball Championship shirt to work, stopped by his desk and said, ‘I understand. It’s happened to us too…” But I hear she smirked.
Heh. She tried.
Meanwhile the bookends have been up to their antics. It keeps life interesting with those two guys behind me. Good Grief. Their banter…
I was filling in my time card with my back to them both and I sneezed. It was kind of a compressed sneeze, not very loud. Five guys yelled “God Bless You” and the following conversation ensued to the best of my recollection, between the bookends:
Mr. Magoo: what in the hell was that?
Joe: I think she sneezed. I’m surprised she didn’t sneeze her brains out her ears.
Mr. Magoo: That wasn’t a sneeze…
Joe: Yeah. I think it was. She’s so cute.
Mr. Magoo: Ahhhh, yeah, she’s so cute.
Joe: yeah. She is. Our cutie.
Mr. Magoo: But Jesus Christ, don’t piss her off. She’s not cute when she’s pissed off. She’s frickin’ MEAN. WHATEVER YOU DO, DO NOT piss of BOU!
I suspect next time he has a heart attack at work he’ll let me call 911…
You have NO IDEA how happy I am that the Gators not only pulled this off but shut down Ohio.
Since they announced who was going to be in this game, I have quietly choked as I heard person after person say UF did not deserve to be there. I knew they have had the toughest schedule.
They're in the SEC.
The SEC eat their young.
And I sat here quietly saying to myself, 'UF will show them. They will show the Big 10 and OSU, and all the rest of the folks exactly what they're made of.'
And they did.
And I'm so damn happy.
I stayed up to watch it as I had to see it. I had to be able to sit here and see them win as I've watched nearly every other win this season.
And I still say, The SEC is THE Conference. They're it. Just UF is the King right now.
If its not UF next year, I hope its another SEC... except South Carolina. That's where Spurrier coaches and I'll never root for them.
Whooo hooo! Go Gators!!!
No real blogging tonight. I’ve been busy watching the UF vs. OSU game. Right now I keep praying that UF will not screw this up after the half. I’ve watched the entire first half knowing they need as big a lead as possible in the first half because the 2nd half can be a totally different game.
It has me nervous.
I want UF to win this game so badly, it is not even funny. I was a Gator fan for years, rooting for everyone else only when Spurrier came on board. Since he’s been gone, I’ve been rooting from the sidelines again.
I even rooted for UF against FSU this year, which is damn near a travesty as my brother and sister are serious serious ‘Nole fans. Big ‘Nole fans.
My husband received his doctorates from UF. So he’s always been a big Gator fan no matter who was coaching.
But I so want them to win tonight.
And I know Gator ball. They could just as easily blow this lead in the last half as take it to the end.
And I have to work tomorrow so... I will be going to bed at 11, and the game won't be over. Gah!
We all know I suck as the Tooth Fairy. I am glad to say I feel like I’m in good company. The guilt has receded!
However, I will say, my Mom and TGOO did NOT suck at being the Tooth Fairy. I loved her so much, I even sent her a note! TGOO saved it, scanned it and sent it to me yesterday.
I do believe my drawing skills have not changed much. They may have actually deteriorated.
Fortunately my writing abilities have improved. I wrote this when I was 6.
I do have some debate in my head as to whether this was after the first tooth I ever lost. TGOO pulled it out and it flew out (he pulled our teeth out with string) and it promptly got lost in the shag rug that was of course 'in' in 1972. Mom and TGOO vacuumed the room finding the tooth in the dirt in the vacuum bag. The proverbial needle in the haystack.
I was in the gym today running and they had a bunch of televisions on. I listen to music and attempt to read lips on the televisions, which is not so good as I wear glasses for distance and don’t wear them when running.
But, I can usually read the script if there is writing on the TV, if the script is big enough. Ticker tape stuff like on CNN is hit or miss. I can sometimes glean something based upon the shape of the word, but when it’s an infomercial? They use BIG script, so I can usually tell.
Otherwise I watch all the body language.
So these were my observations from today’s onslaught of television observing.
CNN was on one of the TVs. There was a guy speaking named John Burns. I guess he’s really with the NYTimes. That man has some serious hair. I mean crazy. A lot. Chia pet. I may be jealous.
Later on the same TV they had Nancy Pelosi. I gather she was being sworn in or something. I didn’t catch the captions. I just know that everyone was going nuts and fawning over her and she was all smiles. I think what surprises me, perpetually, is how people get so giddy over politics. I’m an equal opportunity political hater. Don’t like Nancy Pelosi and I can say I’d feel probably the same way about any politician in that position at this point… Democrat or Republican. I think they’re all two faced crooks.
But… there are people who think otherwise. There sure were a whole lot of people worshipping at the temple of Nancy Pelosi on the TV. I had to shake my head.
Then there was some infomercial for this thing you can use to remind yourself of stuff. It started with it being used to help a woman find her car. And of course, I found that intriguing. Not that I *ahem* have a problem *ahem* finding my car *ahem* in parking lots.
It was a tall gray haired actress; obviously they think this car losing thing is a problem that afflicts women much older than myself… that I must be immune. They would have scored more points with me if the person having lost their car had an arm full of bags and three fighting boys tagging behind playing, “He touched me!”
Anyway, her car is lost, she clicks this button, and walks through the parking lot listening for her car. I can do the same damn thing with my automatic door unlocker thingy on my remote. Why would I buy something for this? And when she hears her car? She is floating through the parking lot, as if following the sound of angels.
And really? The best way to fight the lost car thing is to always park in the same exact direction in the same place in the parking lot whenever you can. This is why there is only one lane at our grocery store I will park in and why I only park at the downstairs SEARS entrance at the Mall when I’m alone. And that is even when I have to shop way on the other side of the Mall. I know my mental limitations. Finding my asexual Mom mobile exceeds them.
So this little contraption thing they were advertising also gave you the ability to leave yourself messages. I guess it was a little tape recorder thing. I don’t get it. I guess it’s a good idea. I’m sure there are people who will love them… but I’ll stick with my 3x5 cards and yellow stickies to write down my lists and reminders.
Creature of habit as they say…
Y’all know that TGOO is a retired Naval Aviator. In the past few months, I have run into a few retired aviators that are around TGOO’s age. So far they have not flown the same type of aircraft he flew.
The last time this happened, it was an A-4 pilot, and TGOO said to me, “Next time, ask him if he knows Joe S. Ragman”. (Heh. Obviously not his real name.) Joe S. Ragman is a close buddy of TGOO’s.
Today I was at a meeting where the speaker is a retired Naval Aviator, attack pilot, Distinguished Flying Cross recipient, Bronze Star recipient, Purple Heart recipient… flew in ‘nam, and much more that I will refrain from listing. After the meeting I decided to use my new protocol and ask if him if he knew Joe S. Ragman.
So I did.
And he did. Actually, eye brows raised he said, “Why yes, I do know Joe S. Ragman.”
At first I thought he was perhaps surprised that I knew someone he knew… after all, here we are in West Palm Beach, I’m a woman of 41 and he’s a man of around 68-70.
But I called TGOO and said to him that I realized later that perhaps he raised his eyebrows that *I* would know JS Ragman, as I know for a fact that there are some really wild and crazy stories about this man… typical fighter pilot stuff… that precede his more mellow days as the family man, which happened somewhat LATE in life.
So although this is my new protocol, I am quietly laughing to myself. I suspect there will be ‘yes’ to the question… frequently, but I don’t think I want to know WHY they know him.
Or should I say, ‘of him’?
Nearly every grandmother I know, and I know A LOT of grandmothers, has now said to me, “Don’t you cut that boys hair!” or something along those lines.
Makes me wonder if they are looking in retrospect at the battles they picked and realized hair wasn’t the worst battle they fought, so don’t bother.
Really? Bones can have long hair, just not crazy like it is now. I have taken to calling him, “Fluffy”. His hair is big and fluffy. And if it’s not Fluffy, his other nickname has become Coconut Head. His hair, if not fluffy, sticks to his head like a helmet.
I think the solution is… and we’ll see how this plays out… for me to find a lot of longish hair styles for men/boys in a book, and letting him pick which he likes best. That way he has some control, because with Bones it’s all about control, but I’m still at the helm. The hope is he won’t realize I’m still at the helm.
Of course there will be high probability of his saying to me, “I don’t like any of these! I don’t want a haircut!” which will result in a response elicited from me, “Pick one OR *I* pick one. YOUR choice.”
It started Christmas. Mr. T. asked for Mario Tennis for their Game Cube. He sat on Santa’s lap and asked for it. Unfortunately, when Santa’s helper *ahem* was in Toys ‘R Us, buying the gifts, Santa’s helper *ahem* blanked out on what Mario he wanted and picked up Mario Golf.
Tennis. Golf. Both Country Club sports. You can see the confusion, can you not?
Flash forward to Christmas morning, he opened his gifts from Santa and said questionably, “Why do you think Santa got me Mario Golf instead of Tennis? I asked for Tennis…”
‘You did?” said I.
Great. To make it worse, he really truly hates Mario Golf.
He confided in me the other day, “Mom, I feel bad saying this, but I really really hate Mario Golf. I don’t understand why Santa would give me that instead of Mario Tennis, which I’ve played and like. Why would he do that?”
Replied I, “Well, I bet Santa got confused. He’s old you know. Golf and Tennis are both Country Club sports.”
Mr. T, “You think so? That makes sense. He just got confused.”
Flash forward to a few days ago, he lost a tooth. I hate it when the kids lose teeth. By evening, I’m so beat I never remember and we lose teeth around here so frequently you’d think we have the tooth fairy on the payroll.
He woke up and said, “Hunh. The tooth fairy didn’t come…”
Me: Well, it was New Years Eve. She was probably crazy busy. Or on vacation. Or maybe had a faery party.
He seemed to buy that.
Four days later, ‘Mom. Can you believe it? The tooth fairy STILL DID NOT COME. It’s been 4 days! I keep checking my pillow because one morning she didn’t come and I went to brush my teeth and she had! And once, she didn’t come and when I came back from school, she had! Sometimes she comes during the day.”
I so suck at this. Really. The tooth fairy came during the day today. He found it right before he went to bed. Sheesh.
Let’s say that Castro had been ahead of a bigger country. I don’t mean that offensively, but I mean a real big country not isolated. Not an island. But let’s say a country like… Ohhhh… Ummm… Venezuela? Not huge, but... bigger than Cuba... and connected to other countries.
And let’s say that Castro had garnered mucho respect from all the South American countries… even let’s say… one that is not South American like...ohhhh… ummm…. Mexico?
Would we be nervous?
Mexico that has so many issues, that seem to flood into this country, as is. Let’s say it ended up going communist. Let’s say a lot of the South American countries went communist, with Venezuela leading the way and it permeated up to the North American continent to Mexico.
It’s a lot different having Cuba communist than Mexico. And it’s a bit different having many many South American countries communist than the old USSR… so close and so many ties to our country.
That’s been what I’ve been pondering tonight.
‘lest you think I spend all my time pondering what my boys have in store for me the next day. My thoughts do run a bit deeper… not much… but a bit.
Holy crap! “24” starts next week! The time sponge! Ack! (This would be a heads up to Morrigan. Heh. Tradition dictates we call each other during commercials. Tradition also dictates that during one of these calls she will yell at me, ‘I am wasting TWENTY-FOUR HOURS of my LIFE!’ to which I will reply, ‘Ahhh, but it is only 24 that you are AWARE of.’ They have TIVO now... i wonder if that is going to effect us.)
On a lighter note, Mr. T’s ice cream machine has been very busy. I will say I have not partaken much, just a spoonful here and there.
First go was Vanilla. Very good.
Second go was oreo. The Oreos were crunched too much so it was too… oreo-y.
Next was chocolate fudge brownie. Too chocolatey for me, believe it or not, but everyone else loved it.
This last batch… MMm. I had one spoonful but could have had a bowl. Big. Bowl. Vanilla, Oreo, chocolate chip.
I went to clean my closet and the ants... had completely disappeared. That's what I hate about these kinds of ants. They appear... and disappear.
And who in the hell knows why? Not me.
Anyway, I had set out to clean out my closet and I came to some realizations.
First, if I were to build a house again, I'd put an electrical outlet in my closet. It makes it easier to vacuum during that once every 10 year deep closet vacuuming.
Second, I own A LOT of black sweaters and I love every one of them. All of them. In particular the one my Mom just got me for Christmas. I will never get rid of any of them. I have to tell my husband, when I die, I am to be cremated wearing one of my black sweaters.
Third, I still refuse to get rid of my three sweaters from the 80s. Outback Red Rules. (Had to throw that in there for Morrigan.)
Fourth, I can't get rid of my sweatshirts from college. I'm coming up on 20 years and I can't get rid of them. I am hoping my eldest will want my gray hooded "Property of Alcatraz" sweatshirt. But all the others? I just... can't.
Fifth, for someone who lives in Florida, I own WAY too many sweaters and sweatshirts. I need to fix that. By moving.
Sixth, I don't see myself ever parting with that damn dress I wore for our rehearsal dinner. Not like I could ever fit in it again. My body is very... box like now. I'm short. When I had kids... I lost my waist. Oh and I have a tummy. So, tight black wool dress stays in the closet. I love that dress... even if I could never wear it again, even if I got down to my high school weight.
Seventh, I still can't get rid of two pairs of pre-pregnancy pants. I just... can't. I so want to fit into them again... GRRR.
That's it for this year's closet blogging. Come back next year when I tell you... "I still refuse to get rid of those sweaters from the 80s".
I put the boys on warning yesterday. A big heads up. For the wedding, they all had to get their haircut. None of this shaggy crap.
Pictures last forever and if I can cut out all snacking and eat like a caveman for the next two months (meat, veggies, fruit, and nuts) and lose 15 lbs for wedding pix, they can surely get their frickin’ hair cut.
Ringo met the declaration with an “OK. I’ll let it keep growing then through the summer. I won’t have to get it cut through the rest of the school year.”
Of course, Mr. T who keeps his locks shorn, said, “Cool.”
Every.single.person.we.saw… throughout the day, stranger or friend…he had to say something about the fact he had to get his hair cut in April. Like it was imminent.
Like tomorrow he was going to lose an appendage.
We were in the bookstore and we saw a woman who is a dear acquaintance of mine. She’s in her late 70s and has two (now grown) boys of her own. She is truly one of the funniest women I have ever met, the stories she can tell. Like the time she was confused and went to the wrong church for a wedding and sat through a funeral instead… of someone she did not know… trying not to laugh through the entire service.
Anyway, my boys do not know this warm wonderful funny woman, so I introduced them. Each boy shook her hand, looked her in the eye and greeted her. Well… Ringo and Mr. T. did. Bones looked at her, shook her hand and said, “My Mom is going to make me get my hair cut.”
She laughed and said, in heavy heavy Atlanta drawl, ‘She is? Well. I think you will look perfectly handsome with your hair cut as well…”
We got to Publix so I could get stuff for this week’s dinners and we saw a girlfriend of mine. My two older boys said hello and Bones said, “My Mom is going to make me get my hair cut.”
She looked at me and gave me that *blink* look we all get when we’re not sure what to say.
Everywhere we went… “My Mom is going to make me get my hair cut.” It’s all he talked about all day. Every time I turned around, ‘Mom. Are you REALLY going to make me get my haircut?!”, in that complaining, ‘the whole world hates me’ voice.
He is driving me nuts…
If the worst thing that ever happens to this boy is I make him get a hair cut, he is living a truly charmed life.
Some days my prayers are very simple. Something like this:
Please give me the strength not to beat the ever living crap out of my boys today.
For Christmas, my father in law asked me to pick up their gifts and he’d reimburse. I’m totally cool with that. I know what each of them wants.
So for Bones I got the Deluxe Bug Discovery Kit. And for Christmas from us, his parents, he received this huge butterfly ‘cage’ thing, a big net with a bottom that he can hatch butterflies in, and then release. We have many caterpillars in the yard, on the butterfly plants I planted last spring, that are amazingly enough… still alive. Unfortunately, we never get the caterpillars to the next stage as they always become bird food.
When Bones opened his bug kit last night (we exchanged gifts with family here in town last night) he was very excited, but I said to him, “Those bugs… DO NOT… COME IN… MY HOUSE.”
I think I said this two or three times. Maybe more. Each time in ear shot of each boy.
But of course they are completely tone deaf to the sound of my voice. I’m obviously a Mime. I just sit here and pretend to talk and they in turn look back, grinning, as if they are listening, when in fact they are patronizing me, probably thinking, “Oh look. How sweet. A Mime. Our Mother is a Mime.”
And I walked out this morning to find this in the middle of my kitchen table, complete with moth… living inside.
While on this bug tangent, there is nothing quite like coming home from vacation and finding your closet infested with… ants. Sugar ants to be exact.
I called my Pest Control guy who I’m sure will be out here ASAP. I so hate this.
I’m trying to find the positives in all this. I was going to clean out my closet anyway this week, now it will be an even better and more thorough cleaning as I literally take every single thing out of it. Something that hasn’t been done in years.
Or maybe... Ever.
And… hey, its not fire ants. Now THAT would really suck. My husband had fire ants in his closet last month.
I’ll take sugar ants over fire ants… any day.
Bones has never been able to make it until Midnight. Neither has Mr. T. Ringo could stay up until dawn.
Last night around 10, Bones came up to me and said, “So we stay up until midnight? And then what?”
Me: We’ll watch the ball drop at midnight.
Bones: Ball? What ball?
Me: The ball on TV… in New York.
Bones: Is it like a ball game or something?
What kind of Mom am I that my 7 year old didn’t know about THE Ball?
My Better Half woke him and his brother up just in time. They’d crashed 30 minutes before. Bones had a tough time falling back to sleep and slept until 10:45 this morning. What a sleepy head.
Wow. It’s that whole self improvement thing. Bah.
I resolve to watch my children a bit more closely. They seem to be growing and I’m not noticing until they have grown a lot. Bones in particular. He looks bigger today than he’s looked and I’m not sure when that happened. I think I need to watch more…
I resolve to also play more board games with my kids. I play them occasionally, but we need to play more. Kerplunk, Whoonu, Yahtzee, Blokus. They have fun, I have fun, and its good family time. Monopoly needs to be lost somewhere in the back of the closet…
I resolve to ATTEMPT to be more diplomatic in my dealings with people this year. I have come SOOOOO far, but man, I blew it big a couple times this year. Don’t get me wrong… I don’t feel bad that I hurt anyone’s feelings. I feel bad that it made it uncomfortable for me later. Better choices of words or just biting my tongue instead of saying what is in my head, sans filter, blunt and insensitive… is a better life choice. For instance, telling family members that their daughter is a poorly behaved brat was not a good thing, although it did feel good to say it. It was tense there for a couple months. And I wasn’t really that nice in what I said. Poorly behaved brat is the nice pretty version. Heh.
Oh and during school board meetings, diplomacy probably works better than when I’m asked if I’d like to participate in something I don’t believe in, responding with a “Hell No” with a blank look on my face and arms crossed. Yeah. That didn’t go over too big with some fellow board members. Like I said, not that I care if I hurt anyone’s feelings… just the next board meeting was a bit ‘tense’.
I am getting help from friends. I was asked by the future State President of a group I’m in if there was a State Chairmanship I would like. I told a friend of mine, ‘Hell no. This sucks. I look at these chairmanships and I have no passion for them. None. Zip. Nada. They need to find someone who gives a shit. Maybe I’ll call her and tell her that…” to which my dear friend replied, “OK. Let’s not and say you did… I think there is a better way to phrase that.” Which I did. I think that may have been a good move on my part…. Burning bridges and all that, not so good.
I resolve to also get to the bottom of my sleep issues. I’ve got a doctor’s appt at the end of the month. He’s kind of a holistic kind of guy, so I’m hoping he can help. If I got better sleep I know I’d eat better and feel better.
I resolve to actually KEEP THE WEIGHT OFF I lose. This yo yo thing has GOT TO STOP.
I also resolve to quit fighting my husband every time he brings something into the house to decorate. He has GREAT taste and vision and instead of my dwelling on the fact he’s spending money, I should focus on his great taste and the fact he finds it all on sale. If I were in charge of decorating, we’d be living in a box with white walls… everything purely functional. Not so homey…
I think that’s a whole lot ‘o self improvement up there. Of course only a couple of them will probably happen. The probability of diplomacy being a major factor in my personality really is exactly… zero.