OK. I gotta keep is short as I’m swamped here and treading water.
First, I finally got to meet Napster and she was WONDERFUL, as I would have expected as I always love Morrigan’s friends. Her roommate from college, the cop, who has been dubbed Tally 5-O and Sissy were in attendance along with my best girlfriend from high school, PFB. Everyone else was a future in-law or friend of the in-laws.
It was a great crowd.
When my Mom was married, her grandmother threw her a shower where the attendees were broken into groups, given tissue paper, and direction to make a section of a bridal gown. This would be with straight pins and tissue paper.
Mom sent me a picture of this event, circa early 1962, and I in turn forwarded it to Tally. She and I talked and it was decided we would do the same thing for Mo.
Here’s Mom in her final result.
She looks rather elegant, does she not? Oh… the sign of the times as… the 60s truly had not happened yet, nor had Olivia Newton John.
Because when you merge the 60s with ONJ, you get… Morrigan.
Heh! It was hysterical. Napster, Sissy and PFB made the veil and flowers. The veil, which hung down the back, was long and wide, causing one of them to quip, “We’re making Super Bride! This is her cape!”
It really was a riot.
Chaos reigns in this home. Some things never change.
My husband bought Bones a pair of roller skates this weekend while I was at Morrigan’s. They aren’t the type that attach to your shoe and come with a key. They look like in line skates with the boot, but they have four wheels.
We have hardwood floors and tile. Evidently Bones has been told it is fine to skate in the house. So he does. Everywhere.
I’ve not stepped up and put the kibosh on it yet, but I see it coming.
I feel like I am living in one of those old drive in food joints where everyone wears skates. He skates through the house picking up his things to take to his room, taking his homework from backpack to table; he even put his skates on this morning before school and skated with his breakfast in hand to the table.
The kid flits through the house as it is. He has ADHD. Now he’s rolling ADHD.
There is more on Morrigan's shower... including pictures, but I keep writing and erasing and editing... so it will be later in the week.
For those of you into music...
Am I the only one who finds it disturbing that Wendy's is advertising their new Friscata to the tune of the Violent Femme's Blister in the Sun? Have y'all seen that commercial?
For those of you NOT into the music I listen to, here are the lyrics:
When I'm out walking I strut my stuff yeah I'm so strung out
I'm high as a kite I just might stop to check you out
Let me go on like I blister in the sun
Let me go on big hands I know your the one
Body and beats I stain my sheets I dont even know why
My girlfriend shes at the end she is starting to cry
Let me go on like I blister in the sun
Let me go on big hands I know your the one...
It truly is embarrassing how I can forget where I am at times… not putting myself in the right mindset as to cultures and thought.
The shower was commencing at Mo’s house and I had the opportunity of meeting some of her new in-laws and their friends. They were a hoot! There was one woman in particular that I struck up a conversation with… her future Aunt-in-law.
She is not a small woman. She has a distinct personality that lets you know she is there and she is not shy. I enjoyed speaking with her immensely and while doing so in the kitchen, I noticed her jewelry, in particular her earrings.
They were very very cool. Elephant heads with ruby eyes. I had to say something to her. They were just too unique and… wonderful. It’s not something I could wear… these elephant heads on my ears. I’m not a big person and although the heads were not gargantuan, they weren’t tiny either.
Front view of the elephant’s head, trunk, ears… full detail, nice ruby eyes, they were something only someone capable of wearing big jewelry could wear, otherwise all you would see were elephant heads and "oh by the way, someone is wearing them.” They were probably the bit larger in diameter than a quarter.
And so I stood there, speaking of these very unique earrings when I must’ve given off the vibes of what I was thinking, “What is the significance of having elephant head earrings?” She had these MADE!
She looked at me and suddenly said, ‘My husband is a BIG Alabama fan.”
I stood there, remembering I was in the south, and said, “Of course he is…”
It all made perfect sense…
Mr. T got in the car today and said, “Mom, I had my seat moved today. I now sit in Alex’s seat in both classes.”
There are two classes of fourth graders and they switch out for subjects. Mr T is in Class A and Alex in class B.
I said, “Really? And you sound disgusted, this is bad?”
Replied Mr. T, “He farts all day long, Mom. His seat smells like crap…”
And there you have it. The trials and tribulations of a 4th grader.
I wrote this at Morrigan's on Friday night, but did not post. I had my laptop, but never hooked into their internet. So... consider this... a diary entry.
I am at Morrigan's home this weekend. We are doing 'wedding stuff', which includes, but is not limited to, her final dress fitting, searching for the perfect dress for my Mom, and her bridal shower.
All her girlfriends are coming in and the infamous 'Penis Sippy Cup' has emerged after one of her girlfriends hid it away after her own bachelorette party... and I want to say it has been 10 years and let me add that Morrigan bought the sippy cup for her girlfriend and had her drink from it that entire night.
Revenge from what I understand. "The cup" will come out for usage again at tomorrow night's dinner. Among other things. Heh.
I brought a camera.
Morrigan lives in a 'transitional neighborhood' in Atlanta which is a nice way of saying she lives in the ghetto. She and her beau live in a home built in the 1930s and her beau restored it. I am heard often to say, "We have ghettos too, we just don't live them."
When I was here in October, as we pulled up, a homeless person was sleeping in her side yard. Mo looked at me and said, "Great. Of all people to have to pull up and see the homeless person... it had to be you."
And of course that was topped off by the homeless man who came by to bum cash off of her just 10 seconds from my spotting what I refer to now as the 'crack 'ho' sleeping near her front stoop.
Actually, her street is pretty nice. She has great neighbors and its eclectic. Barring the occasional vagrant. Consider it 'neighborhood flavor'.
So my favorite line of the day comes from one of her best girlfriends, the one who brought the 'sippy cup' out of storage. Mom, Mo and I were shopping when Mo's girlfriend arrived at the house before we got home. Mo's girlfriend is a cop in a Southern Municipality. I don't know the stereotypes of female cops, but Mo's friend can handle herself, and she is a knock out.
Anyway, Mo said, "We'll be right home!" and her friend said, "That's OK. I'm sitting on the front porch. I have my gun."
I just thought that was hysterical.
Tomorrow is the shower and what not. Heh.
I’m back from Atlanta. Air travel. Yuck. Need I say more?
The travels to Atlanta had me sitting next to a young man who seemed intent on hacking up a lung through his nose. I prayed my superior immune system protected me from all that appeared to be ailing him as I stayed as close to the aisle as possible without being accused of actually sitting IN the aisle.
So far so good. You know… because… I am indestructo Mom.
The travel back had me waiting in the security behind a man who appeared to be in his mid 70s and had not traveled in a LONG time. He was traveling with his son. As we got to the front of the line, the son handed his father the gray bins and his Dad said, “What do I put in here?” to which his son said “All your stuff and your shoes.” Dad replied incredulously, “MY SHOES?!”
Ahhhh, I had that moment but last year. Flying has become so undignified.
Arriving to my air carriage I realized I had thought ahead and sat myself next to the window so I could sleep… you know… in case I had not slept all weekend. I recall that being my train of thought now, although I don’t remember making my seating assignments. My brain is wasting away.
I quickly broke out my book so I could read and appear busy lest someone too talkative ended up next to me. The man that came to the center seat was very friendly and polite. We said hello and I read.
Then the man came to sit next to him… a big ol’ country boy, seemed as sweet as the day is long, but Good God, the man did not shut up. I found myself trying to become one with the fuselage. I felt awful for the man in the middle who had to hear all the stories the overly friendly man felt inclined to share.
His own personal hell, I am sure.
Seriously extroverted people make me horribly uncomfortable. I feel the urge to run or crawl out of my skin… anything to get away.
But I assure you, it was not heaven in my seat either as… the nice man in the middle kept passing gas. That silent kind. I found myself holding my breath every 20 minutes or so for as long as I could.
I didn’t say a word, but instead silently cursed myself for forgetting my watch. With my cell phone turned off I had no idea how long hell was supposed to last.
Evidently we made it back in one piece… oh the stories.
I had a most wonderful time!
Don’t expect to hear the pearl shaped tones of Boudicca’s voice tonight, or for the next few days. Boudicca, the Queen of Icene, and Morrigan, goddess of battle, strife, and fertility, together with their Mother, Hubba Hubba, are tonight swimming gleefully in an ocean of estrogen, having rendezvoused in Atlanta to attend to Morrigan’s pre-nuptial rituals. Joined by one of Morrigan’s ex-FSU roommates, a fine looking Tallahassee woman cop, my best guess is that they’ll drink wine and laugh long into the night, poking fun at their men and “man-to-be”, who incidentally grabbed his sticks and flew to Frisco for a weekend of golf with his buds.
I dropped Hubba at the front entrance to the Pensacola airport this morning, watched as she pulled a HUGE suitcase behind her, carrying a large carry-on bag and an enormous purse into the terminal. As the terminal door swooshed shut behind her, I peeled away from the airport and made haste back home, where I opened the doors to my woodshop and set up my lathe for some serious man-work during the upcoming weekend. Hubba called and reported feet dry in the inner city of Atlanta, and I set about putting away the staples I had bought at the grocery store on the way home: bacon, peanut butter, Guinness and a few good cigars.
As the sun began to set on an absolutely beautiful day in the South, I was at a quandary as to what to prepare myself for supper. I solved the problem by dropping in at the Goat Lips Deli and Dinner House, a long awaited visit I had been promising myself. Tolucca Nole and I will revisit it when he arrives for Morrigan’s wedding.
The sun is down, the temperature is dropping, and when it’s time to tuck myself into the great bed.… alone, I’ll shed a wee tear knowing my soft, curvy Hubba Hubba is not here to keep me warm.
I served green beans with our dinner tonight. I happen to like green beans and I get tired of eating salad every dinner.
Bones evidently doesn’t like them. As I was starting to clear the table, I heard the following conversation transpire between father and son:
Father: Eat your beans.
Son: Dad. I HATE beans. It’ll make me throw up.
Father: No it won’t. Eat them.
Son: Dad! If I were stuck on an island and all I had to eat were green beans, I would eat my own legs instead!
That takes hating a food to an entirely new level…
The other day Bones evidently said to my husband, “Have you ever made out with Mom? You know, like you see on TV? They hug all over each other and stick their tongues in each others mouths…”
My husband said he just stood there looking at our youngest. This came out of the blue.
As he told me this story, I sat there rather smugly thinking, “Heh. He may have to have THE TALK with this one…” Bones appears to favor his Dad in these questions. I am finding some perverse pleasure in this.
So Bones pressed the issue further when his Dad stood there dumbfounded. Finally my husband said, ‘You know, I’m not even going to answer that…” and left it as is.
He and I are so different. I’d flat out have told him yes, with the added, “And you think it is gross now, but when you are older, you will not.”
If he’s grossed out now? He’s REALLY going to be skeeved with The Talk.
Meanwhile, Mr. T is asking all the wrong questions. I answer nothing unless it is asked. I volunteer no information. Well, until the 5th grade talk and then I give them a choice, “Hear the remainder of what you don’t know from ME or from the school… your choice.” Ringo chose me. It was the basic ovulation, girl talk stuff… of which he was kind of surprised, but I could tell was trying to act like it was ‘no biggy’.
I heard Mr. T say something to his brothers today about how it takes four years for a baby to be born. I did a big *blink* on that one.
I said, “Dude, the gestational period for a human is NINE months…”
And he replied, “Yes, but it takes FOUR YEARS to get pregnant.”
I took a deep breath, wondering what I was about to step in and said, “Buddy, it sometimes takes a long time, but sometimes… it only takes one night.”
I amaze myself with my boldness sometimes. And it is in these times, I step in roses. It is when I skirt the issues that it is so very smelly.
He said, “Really? So Mo and Mo’s Beau could get married on April 28th and the next day God could put a baby in her tummy?”
Hunh. I had wondered how that happened. Suddenly it is all becoming so much clearer. And here I wanted to name Bones “Trojan”. How mistaken I was…
I looked in my rear view mirror at Ringo, who is ‘in the know’ and his eyes were wide and he had a smirk. I looked back at Mr. T. and said, “Yup. I guess it could work that way… we shall see.”
I can feel ‘the Talk’ coming again. I expect it won’t go as well as ‘the last one’.
Ronald Reagan has been quoted as saying that the most feared words are, “I’m from the government. I’m here to help.”
My most feared words at work are, ‘I’m from IT. I’ve come to help.” It happens when they want me to upgrade and it makes my blood run cold.
I don’t want to upgrade anything. I don’t try to fix anything. I’m always appreciative of any help they give me. I swear to God, though, they all have caller ID and when they see my name they think, “Crap. Its Bou. Here YOU take it.” “No, no, no, I handled her problem last time… YOU take it.”
My problems are never small. My problems are quirky crappy things like… the time I had an intermittent keyboard failure while I was upgrading all my passwords to the way too many systems I use that are all password protected. That was a lovely mess.
Or the time recently that Company X decided that I had to fill out, on-line, some new security form or I’d lose access to all their systems… systems required of me to do my job. The outsource IT people that Company X uses, completely botched up everything concerning me, and then our IT people had to work with their IT people, and then it got elevated to levels in security that make me very uncomfortable and…
Gah. It was a mess.
I try so hard never to break anything, never to ask stupid questions, I don’t hover when they’re helping, I readily let them drive, I am courteous and thankful. I try so hard not to be the typical ‘know it all engineer’. Trust me, if you work with engineers, you know what I’m talking about.
For instance, when I worked at Company X, I knew the Xerox repair man. He was the pipe major in the pipe band I played in at the time. He used to HATE coming to Company X. He said all the engineers used to ‘know how to fix’ their machines and invariably, break them worse. There cannot possibly be something mechanical that a mechanical engineer cannot fix. So our Xerox guy would get called in when nobody could get the copier to work and he said it would be, by then, really really broken.
I know my limitations. I have many. Xerox machines and computers are two. I don’t mess with either.
And for the record? I flat out LOVE our IT department. Our group… they are the best group of guys and woman. Competent, helpful, direct… and… patient.
But I know they dread seeing my name on their phones.
And they still scare me with their upgrades.
I got a call from our sole woman IT engineer the other day saying they are going to upgrade my system at work. They’re upgrading the OS. I found the note on my desk.
I thought I’d vomit. No good can come when anything is upgraded. I know this.
In particular when we’re talking Microsoft.
I left a message for her on her machine that went something like this, “Barbara, I got your note! You know… I’m really cool not being upgraded. Really. Y’all can skip me. But thanks for thinking of me!”
I came in today with a message on my machine, very chipper and happy saying, “Bou! This is Barbara. We MUST upgrade your machine as your software is no longer being supported by Microsoft. So, we will come by sometime in the next couple weeks. Just let us know when it’s good! Tah Tah!”
I called back and left the message, “Do we have to? Really? I’m OK not being supported. Really. Can you save me for last? Very last? Please?”
I guess in the back of my mind I was hoping that they’d forget me. Everyone around me has had problems. Mapping issues, stuff that doesn’t run right, loss of data. NO!!! I do not want any of it!
Meanwhile, the guys behind me are listening to the answering machine volleys as I’m saying her messages out loud so everyone can follow the “Bou vs. IT soap opera” that was starting to play out.
And then it happened. Barbara showed UP AT MY DESK! I nearly croaked! I looked at her with wide eyes and said, “WAIT! Not today!”
And this is the part that gets Mr. Magoo laughing. She said to me in this quiet motherly tone, as if I were a child, while rubbing my back, “It’s OK. We’ll do it on Friday when you’re not at work. I promise… it’s not going to hurt…”
After we went through the prep and she left, Mr. Magoo stood up and said, “You crack me up! You act like you’re going in for surgery…”
Let us hope that upgrading my system is as painless as my last surgery. Let us hope. Then again, I got good drugs for my surgery. IT is drug free.
And for the record, I have Vista on a laptop the school bought me to do the finances. It sucks. It sucks big. Don’t do it unless you have to. At least I know my upgrade won’t be THAT painful…
When my eldest was a baby, I used to lay him on my chest, rub his back, and lay my face against the top of his head, kiss his head and inhale. I love the smell of my children.
Today, he walked up and hugged me as I was talking to my sister in law. His head hits me in the chest now, and he leaned up against me and as he hugged I laid my face against the top of his head, rubbed his back, kissed his hair and inhaled. Running my fingers through his hair, I kept thinking eventually my head will be on his chest when I hug him.
It is coming… so quickly.
I had to drive down to Miami yesterday. Good God. I hate driving in Miami. It makes me want to wretch.
I’ve driven in LA, Houston, Atlanta, Birmingham, Tampa, Jacksonville, Detroit… many many big cities. I refuse to drive in NYC or Chicago.
Of all the big cities I will drive in… Miami is the worst.
I called Morrigan during my drive, hanging up upon entering the city as I have no great death wish. She agreed, Miami driving sucks. We think part of it is… Miami drivers suck. They really do… more than other big city drivers.
I don’t know how the people I know in Miami do it. I really don’t. I didn’t sleep the night before just thinking about the drive.
Part of it is, I think, that if you take I-95, you are driving on THE north/south drug corridor of the United States. Everyone knows, if you get stopped by a Florida Highway Patrolman, you keep your hands on your steering wheel and ‘yes sir/no sir’ him to death. No sudden moves. Ask permission to go in your glove box.
It’s not that the FHP are jerks. It’s that their job is scary bad and anything you can do to show you’re not one of the bad guys is goodness. I don’t even think to take for granted I’m a 5’2” white female driving a mini-van that looks completely like the asexual Mom-mobile that it is.
Hell no. I get stopped and I treat him like he thinks I’m running drugs. Absolutely.
I-95 scares the ever living crap out of me.
So I took the turnpike. Just the thought of folks running drugs around me skeeves me out. I figured they were less apt to want to pay to ride.
But still, once you get to Miami… its congested, I know the average person doesn’t speak English, I don’t know my way around so I always wonder if I’m just a block away from Liberty City, and its… flat out crazy.
My friends who have lived down their all their lives say it has changed and I do believe them. But as long as I’ve lived down here, for coming up on 20 years… Miami has always scared the ever living hell out of me.
I don’t know how my friends down there do it. I really don’t.
You men folk will be bored with this post. Its girl stuff. It’s “hose.. blah blah blah… shoes… blah blah blah… dress… blah blah blah.”
And to you girls? I’m taking crap blogging to an entire new level with… fashion.
For the upcoming wedding, I bought my new Spanx hose. They fit all the way up to my bra, so they suck everything in and there is no waist line roll.
I hate that. The waist line roll.
Evidently when the wimmin folk of Spanx designed this ‘up to the bra’ hose, they realized, “How does one pull them down to use the restroom?”
Really. What a pain. If you’re wearing a dress, that’s not so much of a big deal, just a little hassle, but if you’re wearing a skirt? The hose comes WAY up past your skirt… what a PAIN in the neck.
A regular bathroom logistics nightmare.
So the good ladies of Spanx created this ‘hole’ if you will, for when ‘nature calls’. It’s like that front pouch that men have on their skivvies. But this ‘hole’ is only to pee. If you have to do more than that, you have to deal with the bathroom logistics nightmare.
And obviously, there are no panties involved. Hose is supposed to be sans panties anyway. Spanx in particular. They’re all about getting rid of what they call the VPL… the Visible Panty Line.
So a couple weeks ago, I was wearing a pair of these new Spanx out to dinner. ‘Nature called’ and I realized “Dammit. What a pain. I’m either going to deal with this bathroom logistics nightmare or go ahead and use this ‘hole’.
I opted for ‘the hole’.
I have to tell you, physically you may be ready to, but mentally… there is something just ingrained in a woman’s body that is hesitant.
I put the paper on the seat and then of course I had to sit. And although I was ‘ready’, my body was just NOT going to let it go. NO. My legs still had hose on them. Somewhere in my brain there were little neurons firing saying, “You are CLOTHED! You DO NOT pee in your clothes!!!”
I’m telling you, I thought there was no way in hell my body was going to do it. It took some major coaxing. It was like some sort of ‘pee anxiety’.
So. You read it here first girls. That ‘when nature calls hole’ is great, but… your body may not like it too much. It just doesn’t feel… natural.
(Morrigan and I are laughing our asses off as I Post this...)
Today is my husband’s birthday. Forty-seven years to be exact. I made his favorite dinner and baked him a chocolate cake with homemade dark chocolate butter cream icing. As a gift, the boys and I got him a 12 year old bottle of MacAllan single malt scotch. We got it to go with the two single malt scotch glasses TGOO and Mom got him.
I remember before we had kids, we used to surprise each other with trips to places. For his 30th birthday, I took him to a beach resort, and I’d decorated the room. For my birthday he took me down to Key West.
I remember in Key West, after we’d been there for a day, I said to him, “You know, they talk about Key West having a lot of gay men. I haven’t seen any…”
He said, “Bou. Are you kidding me? Our bell hop was gay. Our waiter was gay. Our taxi cab driver was gay…”
Heh. I’m so observant. That and the fact, people’s sexuality doesn’t bother me. Gay or straight, I don’t care.
Anyway, we’ve gone from special trips to favorite dinners and cake with family around the table. I prefer the family dinners and cake.
As the saying goes, “You’re only as young as the woman you feel…” and unfortunately for him, the woman he feels ain’t getting any younger either!
So a Happy Birthday to my Hun-Head. It really does feel like just yesterday that I was decorating that beach front room at the Jupiter Resort…
My 2nd son got his father a card that had a picture of a small donkey on the front. When you open the card it reads, 'I couldn't resist the temptation to get you a card with a cute little ass'.
I couldn't believe he got his Dad that card! I saw it in Publix when he was laughing hysterically. You know the whole, "this card says ASS!!!" type of laughter. I had no idea this is the card he slipped me to buy.
He really is rather clueless of the whole double entendre. He knows that ass also means butt, but he has no clue why a man would want a picture of a cute butt on his card.
I had to laugh. I remember when my brother was 10 years old, we were at CedarPoint in Ohio. We were all able to pick a gift from the giftshop. My brother picked this cute little nest and inside the nest was this sweet little egg with googly eyes and a big grin. Under the egg it read, 'You'd be smiling too if you'd just been laid."
My brother loved this cute little egg and how happy it was, so my mother stood behind him as he put his novelty gift on the counter for her to purchase. I know she was horrified, but really, what was she going to do? He had no clue and to him, there was nothing wrong!
Flash forward about 11 years, my brother was going through his drawers at home, going through all his little trinkets when he found said egg in said nest and came out to my mother saying something along the lines of, "MOM! I can't believe you let me buy this!"
And my Mom was laughing saying how she couldn't NOT. In his eyes there was nothing wrong. We always laugh about that little egg.
I'm wondering if Mr. T is ever going to really understand about that cute little ass he bought on his Dad's birthday card today. He's the same age. 10. Heh.
Today the boys are off from school; they have been on the back porch playing toss with water balloons.
I was in the kitchen making my husband’s birthday cake when I heard the following conversation transpire between my oldest and youngest sons:
Ringo the Eldest: I’m going to throw this ferociously hard.
Bones the Youngest: If you throw it ferociously hard and hit me, I’m going to run for my life and tell Mom.
Heh. Mom will save you!!!
I was with a group of women last month and this one woman, who I like very much, and who has one son and two younger brothers said to me, as we were discussing the woes of some of the 6th grade boys:
“For every teenage boy you add to a group, cut the IQ in half.”
The more boys you add… the lower IQ and if you have a pick up truck full of boys? You’re down damn close to zero.
I said, “OK, so what you’re saying is, if my son is 140…”
She replied, “Add his buddy and you’re operating as a group at 70. Add another boy and that whole group is operating at an IQ of 35, hence when you get a pick up truck full of boys, forget it. You’re doomed.”
Good Grief. And I have three. When they all get to be teenagers, we’ll be operating on an average of 35. Thank God I don’t have four… we’d be at a mere 17.5.
Do you remember those commercials for Sprint where the guy in the trench coat was helping people who couldn’t understand the conversation on the other end?
Well I have a friend who has the crappiest phone and crappiest service and I dread talking to her because I can never understand her. Never. I get every couple words and piece it together.
Honest to God’s truth, this was our conversation today, as I pieced it together.
Her: Did you hear about Barb?
Me: Barb? Barb Smith?
Her: Yeah. Her husband’s in prison.
Me: WHAT? Wait. Say that again…
Her: Head on collision.
Me: Whew. I thought you said ‘her husband’s in prison’, although a head on collision could be worse…
We have got to talk. I have got to figure out who her phone service is through, and let her know... it truly sucks wet socks.
The boys have a four day weekend. The Bish said Mass a few months ago at school and as a reward for that punishment they get a day off. The principal picked this Friday to make it a longer weekend.
I’m beside myself happy as… I’m sleeping in. Don’t call my house before 8:30. I’m not answering. Sure, I’ll be up at 8… but I’m going to walk through my quiet house and read the quiet paper and drink my quiet coffee as my kids will be sleeping in as well…
Meanwhile, I chaperoned the monthly 4th grade field trip to the local nursing home where all the kids make cards for the… what are they called? Inmates? Patients? Residents? Residents sounds right. They find residents that aren’t gorked out of their mind and introduce themselves and talk to them.
Today was a tough one. I don’t know why, but the place smelled worse than normal. I had to fight the bile rising in my throat as I walked in… the pervasive odor of urine, cleaning chemicals, and dying bodies.
Who was it that called them the carpeted catacombs? Was that TGOO or one of our local writers in our newspaper?
I’m not trying to be rude about it. It is what it is. Good Lord I hope to die before I get to that state. I ended up standing outside one of the rooms where a woman laid in bed with her mouth grotesquely wide open, her body rigid as if fighting the fetal position, and I kept thinking, “Please. It is her time.” It was awful.
And the people that were working there? The patience of Job. I watch them and have been for years. It is not a front. There is a connection between them and the residents. This place has some tremendous women on staff. I don’t know how they do it.
It is depressing.
The kids have bonded with a couple of the residents and talk of them frequently. We adults all put on a good front and are positive about the experience with the kids in our cars, but it’s tough.
Every morning, our boys and girls in 4th grade start their day singing ‘I’m Proud to be an American’ and then their teacher picks another song for them to learn. He’s 14 years older than I and a huge Beatles fan. So the kids sang the songs they usually sing plus Penny Lane and Ob La De Ob La Da. It makes us all laugh. Oh and they did the Beatle’s Happy Birthday song. Some of the kids rock out to it and you can see us parents in the back dancing in place.
But my favorite incident of the day was when I was talking to one the little boys in my car. The kid looks like he stepped off the boat from Ireland and his name is as Irish as… Oh… Michael O’Cealligh. So that’s what I’ll call him.
I know Michael’s family well so said, “Michael, what grade is Patrick in now? Your brother is he a sophomore?”
Michael: Yup! And he got his license! He’s driving!
I shuddered. The thought of my boys driving horrifies me. “Driving. Wow… I’m feeling rather old, Michael. I think it feels like yesterday that he was in 8th grade as an altar server, passing out right there before God and Country.”
Michael: I know. But he is. You know he picks me up from school sometimes too…
Me: You do things with him?
He had the BIGGEST damn grin and he said, “Oh yeah. We go to the mall and sometimes… he just takes me for ice cream. It’s GREAT having an older brother than can drive…”
I laugh as I think back upon his sweet Irish face basking in the sheer joy of the memory of getting ice cream with his older brother. That will be Bones one day. And then I quit laughing… Ugh.
I don't know what is more terrifying, my boys driving or having to spend my final years in a nursing home.
I have a dear girlfriend who lives in CT and is getting married on Monday... hopefully!
She has met the most wonderful man and they decided to do more of a vacation/wedding and tying the knot in Cancun. They've been planning this for awhile and truly looking forward to it.
Did I say I love this guy? I do very much. And I think so much of this man because... he loves my friend and he treats her well and she so deserves all of that and more.
I'm just thrilled for them both.
Anyway, bad weather in the NE caused their flight to be canceled... their luggage is currently in Cancun, but they are not. (I'm not sure how that happened... but it did.) They don't leave now until Friday.
And I have my fingers crossed.
So to DK... my thoughts are with you all. I can't wait to hear the stories and see the pictures!!!
And here's to Monday... or Tuesday!
Valentine’s Day is a greeting card holiday. It is. I’ve never been one to go all out… but there are some things I have grown to love about it.
I love how my parents have started a tradition to do dinner on Valentine’s Day at Waffle House. At first blush you think, “Waffle House? How romantic is that?”… but for some reason I just don’t see it that way. I think it’s sweet and romantic and wonderful.
It’s just… real.
And I love how my Mom never forgets Valentine’s Day and sends my husband and me a card and my kids one as well. It is not lost on me. And I want to do that for my kids when they go off. I am hoping I do. And I need to send them to my folks as I always think of them on this day, but I don’t send cards.
I think I should.
And I love how my kids LOVE Valentine’s Day. They get so excited, hand making cards for us, little treats, the excitement of filling out cards for their little friends. There is a rush of positive energy in this house from the little people because of Valentine ’s Day and that surge of wonderfully exciting energy is worth it right there.
And they expect NOTHING in return. It is the pure joy to them of giving us their handmade cards.
This morning, I saw Bones quietly hip hopping through the kitchen in his underwear at 6:20 as I cooked breakfast. He didn’t think I saw him as he went into his backpack. How could I miss his blonde floppy hair bopping through my kitchen or his skinny sweet body clad only in underwear trying to stay warm as he tried to move quickly to not be noticed.
But it was 10 minutes before he usually got up and I watched him as he grabbed something and ran back to bed, hiding it under the covers, so when we went to wake him up, he could give us our Valentine.
I love that.
I love buying the boys each their own little heart box of candy as they love it.
And I realized this year that my husband really does love to go to the store on the way home from work on Valentine ’s Day and pick me up a box of candy and some flowers. He truly loves the energy in the store, the people bustling about buying things for someone they love… that maybe they would not have taken the time for before. And I love that he loves to do that.
That is what I am coming to realize. Our days are so hectic and crazy. We are so consumed with carpools and homework and who did what to whom and work and other obligations that we really don’t take the time. We don’t.
Some do. Most don’t.
And this day gives everyone an excuse.
And even if it is a greeting card holiday, one cannot ignore the many happy vibrations around us, as sappy as it may seem, you cannot help but notice as the music is a bit more vibrant, the walks have a bit more spring in their step, and the faces have a few more smiles.
It can’t be ignored and I’m learning to truly enjoy it.
I’m even starting to love it…
I must be mellowing…
One of Bones’ friends became a big brother yesterday. It’s so funny to hear 2nd graders talk about the whole pregnancy childbirth thing. The little boy’s Mom went into labor yesterday and when I went to pick up Bones’ from Cub Scouts, one of the other boys said, in front of his Mom, “You should have seen my Mom when SHE was pregnant! She was HUGE! She could hardly fit through the door!”
I started to laugh and the Mom looked at him and said, ‘I wasn’t THAT big!’ He rolled his eyes and I laughed again.
So the little boy, who I will call David, became a big brother yesterday and the following conversation ensued with Bones’ while in my asexual Mom-mobile, to the best of my recollection.
Bones: I feel bad for David. He can’t see his Mom for three days.
Me: Buddy, she is fine. She just had a baby and I KNOW he is visiting her there. He’s not alone without his Mom for three whole days. Trust me.
Bones: Why do you have to go to a hospital to have a baby? I don’t get it. Does it hurt?
Me: Yes. But it’s OK because you get a baby at the end.
Bones: So? It stinks to be a girl. I think.
Me: So? It’s a BABY! It’s wonderful. All the pain is worth it. Every bit.
Bones: I don’t want it to hurt when I have a baby.
Me: *blink* Umm, dude, it won’t. You can’t have them.
Bones: Oh. That’s right. It’ll be my wife…
Bones: But babies are yucky when they’re born. And you’re happy with that? They’re all bloody and gross. Yuck.
Me: They wipe them off.
Bones: Still… there could be little bits of blood. That’s gross.
Me: Bones… they bathe them. They give them a bath.
Bones: Do they give them a chemical bath?
Me: *blink* Ummm, no. Its just water.
Bones: You’re sure? Are you sure they don’t give them a chemical bath?
Me: I promise. No chemical baths.
It’s just so funny to sit there and listen to him process the entire situation. There was much more. Trust me. I was waiting for some heavy hitter questions… I really was, but it was more of just a mass of confusion, as was evident when he got confused to his possibly having a baby.
But the chemical bath thing, that really made me laugh.
There was an entire discussion on why babies can’t catch a cold from their Mom if the Mom has one. If a Mom goes into labor and she has a cold, doesn’t the baby have one too?
And then there was the entire confusion on how a baby gets nutrition. He thought that the baby sat there inside the mother’s body with his mouth wide open waiting for water to pour in or as he put it, ‘pieces of goop’ to drop in his mouth, which would be chewed up pieces of food.
It was very interesting, listening to him try to make sense of things.
I've been having some... mmmm... I guess health issues. Not big ones. Just things to look into. Things that are niggling at the back of my mind, in particular when I run.
I think a lot of it is stress to be honest. I suspect when I get past 1 April, a lot will dissipate, but until then I need to figure out how to deal with it and rule out some things.
I switched doctors a few weeks ago. I'm going to a guy that one of my best friends goes to, Son#4's Mom. She has always liked him, I've met him socially before and I have heard he is good... so I switched, not happy with the doctor I was going to before.
My philosophy is, if my doctor doesn't listen and meet my needs, I need to find someone who does. I don't hang around and I don't care if I've been with that doctor for 1 year or 11 years... I'm gone. I'll find someone who listens.
Which I did.
And this is where in my dark humor, I think it gets rather humorous.
I'm in good cardiovascular shape. (When you see me you don't think "Wow, she's in great shape". But I am, overall.) All of you know I put probably about 15 miles a week on my body running and another 10-15 on the bike. My resting heart rate when I wake up hovers around 55 and my blood pressure is about 90/70. I know it, he knows it, we all know it... my heart is fine.
So when he said to me, What are your symptoms? The following conversation ensued to the best of recollection.
Me: Umm. Well. I don't want to tell you, because I know damn well what's going to happen. We're going to have to go through that cardio crap and I know its not cardio.
Him: It probably isn't. You're in good shape. What are your symptoms?
Me: *big pause, staring at him* My chest hurts and sometimes when I drink caffeine, like last week, it feels like someone is poking me in the heart with an ice pick.
Him: You're right. We're going through the cardio crap... although I don't think that is what it is either, its irresponsible not to.
Now maybe you had to see his face, or hear his intonation when he responded, but it was really damn funny.
So this morning is my Echo Cardiogram. If we were freaking, I'd have had it done already. We're not freaking and its been two weeks since I saw my doctor. Its just a check in the box. I'm not nervous in the least... more excited to be honest. I hope the tech lets me watch.
Either way, I decided yesterday that she and I needed to have a little heart to heart. No pun intended. I know techs can't divulge anything, and I'm not asking her to, although I really want to watch.
But yesterday, I decided I'm going to lay down on the table and look her in the eye and say, "Look, I know you can't tell me anything and I know that nothing is wrong. But for the record, after I leave here, I'm putting on my running clothes and running 4 miles and then biking 5. If you see anything that you think is going to knock me over dead while running or biking, it would be nice if you just kind of say, "Maybe hold off on today's run", OK?"
I hope she lets me watch...
Today is my sister Morrigan's 36th birthday. Thirty-six years ago today, The Great Omnipotent One delivered his first and only baby. I believe she was the first baby ever born inside Mayport Navy housing.
And this is the year of the great wedding of 2007. Her wedding.
Why, just this past October, she took me to a bridal shop near Atlanta so we could shop for an attendant's dress for me. We were in the changing room, knee deep in skirts, bras and 'squish the fat in clothing', slips, and assorted tops when I said to her, "I just never thought I'd be a 41 year old bride's maid".
She replied, "Hell, I never thought I'd be a 36 year old bride!"
Heh. The things you remember... oh like the little bridal chicky girl next door that we could overhear talking to her bridal store assisant, gushing about how she was going as the Evil Biker chick stealing him away from his buddies.
Oh that was lovely. I wish there had been a camera in the room to catch the expression of each of our faces. After this many years being sisters, we can nearly completely communicate through facial expressions.
Our facial expressions at that moment were a combination of, "Oh! She's a class act", "Horror!", and "Holy crap! Train wreck!"
So today is 36 years. Wow. It feels like just yesterday TN and I had her blind folded and were feeding her dogfood.
Happy Birthday, Mo!
Last night I was getting ready to go out to a dinner dance with my husband and eldest boy. It was the graduation cotillion dinner dance.
I guess Bones has never entered the room when I put pantyhose on before, surprising as I get no privacy with that boy. The other day I was taking a shower and he planted himself right at the shower door while I washed my hair and bathed, and he talked up a storm.
My own little personal chatter box. Wind him up and off he goes.
Anyway, I put on my new pair of Spanx, the kind that go from toe to bra. There is no icky rolling of the waist band if they go all the way up. It’s like a spandex body suit. When I wear them I feel like a Lorax from Dr. Seuss…minus the fuzzy moustache.
Bones was watching with great amazement and finally he said, “Mom. Do you always wear plastic under your dresses?”
I laughed and said, “It’s not plastic, I try not to, but sometimes I have to.”
Then… I felt his little finger poke me on the side of my butt and he said, “Did you feel that?”
I am laughing again as I type this. Holy crap it was so funny.
|Your Candy Heart Says "Get Real"|
You don't lose your head, and hardly anyone penetrates your heart.
Your ideal Valentine's Day date: is all about the person you're seeing (with no mentions of v-day!)
Your flirting style: honest and even slightly sarcastic
What turns you off: romantic expectations and "greeting card" holidays
Why you're hot: you don't just play hard to get - you are hard to get
“The most terrifying words in the English language are: I'm from the government and I'm here to help.” – Ronald Reagan
I do not comprehend the trust that so many people put in our government. It never ceases to amaze me.
The State of Florida is thinking of following in the footsteps of Texas in making this vaccine for cervical cancer a law. I get so pissed it makes my head spin.
Why do people trust the FDA? That boggles my mind. Why do people actually think that enough research has been done, studying the long term effects? That they are on top of things? That there is never any underhanded dealings or undo pressure from pharmaceutical companies?
It is a government bureaucracy.
Case in point.
When Bones was 18 months old I took him for his check up. It was the typical, “Listen to his heart, look in his ears, check if he’s speaking” dealy. At the end of the appointment, my pediatrician said, “They have come out with a new vaccine for the rotavirus. Bones will be too old for it after age 2, so now would be the time to give it.”
Having had our own previous piss poor experiences with the FDA, I said, “Umm. No thanks.” Since my pediatrician was involved with our piss poor experience he said simply, “I understand.”
Did you know that as childhood vaccines have been developed, that nobody had ever bothered to calculate the quantity of mercury our babies were getting through the preservatives? Nope. Finally someone made a big stink… and someone in the FDA did the math… and they not only took mercury out of the preservatives, something that should have been done long ago, but they also changed the shot schedule. Our babies immune systems were being overloaded.
That’s YOUR FDA at work folks. The big brains in our government, over worked and I’m sure underpaid, missing something BIG like that. BIG. We’re talking about our BABIES. OUR CHILDREN.
So back to the rotavirus vaccine. For those of you not in the know, rotavirus is like a really bad flu that we can all get, but is very bad for babies and toddlers. It’s nasty and causes thousands of babies and toddlers to be hospitalized every year due to dehydration. Constant diarrhea and vomiting for the little people… it is bad.
I said to my pediatrician after he said he understood, ‘I don’t trust the FDA. When this vaccine is on the market for a few years, we’ll talk. Let them use other people’s babies as guinea pigs. Not mine.’ He nodded.
Flash forward a few months after and the vaccine was PULLED as it was causing intestinal blockages in the babies and some died.
Now, if I had a 12 year old daughter, would I get her to get this new vaccine? Hell no. First of all, she would not be sexually active. Would I counsel her on it, after the vaccine had been out FOR YEARS, about getting it when I knew she was sexually active? Hell yes.
Do YOU really think that this vaccine has been tested long enough? Do YOU really think that we truly understand the long term effects of this vaccine in the bodies of our young women?
I don’t. And the fact that my state government is thinking of making it MANDATORY pisses me off to no end. It absolutely infuriates me. This is not like Whooping Cough or Polio or Measles.
It is not a case where if your child gets a disease that cripples or kills, it will be spread in horrific quantities to other children that will in turn become crippled or die.
This is a vaccine against something that is sometimes caused by a virus that is SEXUALLY transmitted.
And they want to make it mandatory.
I am not into lawyers and suing. I am not. But I am hoping that there some sort of class action suit arises out of this and many many people pay big. BIG.
WHO in the HELL do they think they are.
It has been a long time since I’ve been this pissed off and raised my sword.
And so to you government bureaucrats who think you know what is right for OUR families, that you would make something like this mandatory I raise my sword in anger and say, A pox upon you and your ilk. May you rot in hell.
My husband was helping Bones with his homework last night while I cleaned the kitchen. At the end of the night, Bones took a 3 x 5 card and wrote the following note to his father:
Dear Dad, I love you. Thank you for makeing me so smart. From Bones.
Makeing me so smart. Cracked me up.
The outside of my foot has been aching for about a week. I’ve been chalking it up to age and years of wearing high heels. As I’ve been running throughout the week, when it would hurt as I took off or put on my shoes it has left me thinking, “Damn, I really need new running shoes for better support.” Which I do, they’re sad and almost like running barefoot. But this side foot issue has been hammering it home.
Today I got home from work, kicked off my clogs, and noticed my foot really hurt when I walked. I took a look at it and sure enough, it was red. Not wearing my glasses, I could only tell that it appeared that I had a splinter that had worked its way to the surface.
The probability of that is extraordinarily high since I go barefoot all the time.
I could hardly see the splinter sans glasses and to make it worse… I just flat don’t bend that way. I couldn’t get to the outside of my foot to remove it.
Now I don’t know if its just my boys, or if its all children, but if you mention the word splinter in my house, you get much weeping wailing and gnashing of teeth. A 1/8 inch splinter may as well be an entire plank from a fishing pier.
To have to remove a splinter, you get as much weeping wailing and gnashing of teeth as you might expect from… oh… I don’t know… perhaps the thought of an limb amputation without drugs.
OH! And if there is a skinned knee or elbow in this house? Please. I get, ‘Mom! Mom! Mom! PLEASE DO NOT WASH IT OUT WITH SOAP!!!’ Because we know, that washing a scrape with soap is the same as pouring acid in the wound.
I love to point the ridiculousness of their drama out to them at every chance I can. Perhaps I am damaging them… but hey, they can pay for therapy when they’re adults. I’m just done with the whining.
For instance, I cut myself with a knife a couple months ago while making their lunches. I stood at the sink and said, “Watch this” and proceeded to pour alcohol in it while staring them down. Then I went into drama, “AAAAAAAHHHHH! The PAINNNN! I’m DYYYYYYINNNNNG!” Then I stopped and raised an eyebrow at them.
Hey, and if my memory is not spot on, I assure you I’m pretty daggum close.
Anyway, so I found this splinter in my foot that I could not remove because I couldn’t see and I’m not bendy dammit, and realizing I would have to wait for my husband to take it out, I saw this as a perfect opportunity.
Immediately I pictured sterilizing the knife so I could have him cut it out while the boys watched and then I’d take them to the tub while I poured alcohol on it.
I had it all played out in my head. I am also aware, however, that with every time I do one of these “Learn to suck it up, boys” routines, that instead they have come to see me as some 5’2” Amazon who feels no pain. Add to the fact I’ve not been sick in nearly three years, Bones actually doesn’t remember the last time I was sick, and they think I’m INDESTRUCTO MOM.
That one is going to come back and bite me. I can feel it.
So my husband came home and I asked him to remove it for me as I could not.
He grabbed his glasses, picked up my foot, found the right angle, flicked it and the splinter fell off.
I was so disappointed. Another possible lesson gone bad…
Keep in mind I truly like the company I work for. Its a great company that has just hit... a glitch. This is a glitch effecting many big corporations in America right now and therefore it is trickling down to their suppliers.
So work has taken a turn for the even more absurd as of late. My best girlfriend at Company X warned me this was coming. As you ‘go for the gold’ things get more ridiculous.
So much so, that it has not been lost on me, that the white men heading this up are tired of taking the beatings from their co-workers, as none of us are holding back, so they now have a young intern who must be… 15?... assisting as well as a pregnant woman doing the face to face. Nobody wants to beat up the young kid or the woman with child.
Irritates the crap out of me.
Anyway, how ridiculous? Said pregnant woman sent out an email today on what they expected our work spaces to look like and included were pictures and a checklist.
Oh and let me back up and say when she came to my desk yesterday I said to her, “I must be candid. Do you like your job?”
She replied, “No. I hate it.”
And in turn I said, “Yeah. I would to. I think I’d have to quit.”
So today she sent us this ‘crap’ and as I read through it, trying to not let the vast expenditure of company money on the absolutely absurd get the best of me, I happened to stumble upon a phrase that read, “All chairs must have five spokes.”
I thought, “You must be f***ing kidding me.”
With that, I stood up, picked up my black sharpie marker and said to the two bookends who sit behind me, “I’ll give them 5 spokes” and I got on my knees and numbered every “spoke” on my chair saying at the end, “Here. Now they know I counted them.”
By now every guy in the room is doing the prairie dog and watching. We’re all fed up, but I think they’re waiting to see how far I’m going to push things.
I won’t. I won’t push unless they make me a leader. But that doesn’t mean I’ll be quiet.
Sure, I’ll make my desk anal retentively obsessive compulsively neat like they want, even though I truly do not function well that way. Just as those who are like that fictional character, Monk, cannot take clutter at all, I am not comfortable with the sterility of what they are demanding. I’ll take the pictures off the wall and put them on the bulletin boards they are purchasing so that no push pins are in our walls. I’ll make sure that all the cables are wrapped and that when I am not at my desk that it looks like nobody works there.
That is what they want.
The ideal work space looks as if it is off a model show room floor. No personality. No inkling that anything other than a drone ever sits there. No personal decorations. Nothing. You are the invisible worker. That is what they want.
Sure. WTF. I’ll give it to them… but not quietly. Although I was speaking to the choir, I sent the following email to my boss today after I went through the files that were sent to me by the pregnant co worker who was assigned this ‘crap’:
Allow me to be the first to say, The Emperor Has No Clothes.
This is the most ridiculous thing I have ever been involved with. Seriously. How pathetic that we have stooped so low as to have to act like we are in a Kindergarten classroom. It truly is nauseating and as I watch this... as I stand from afar and watch... I feel like I am watching lemmings. Forget independent thought. Forget being able to think for one's self. Let us all march lock step in unison behind the Emperor with No Clothes.
I wonder when we'll start being told about the uniform of the day. And I do draw the line at having to sign out to use the restroom. I transferred out of a job over that one.
And make sure management knows... I also don't run with scissors.
Hugs and kisses!
Bones was sick home from school yesterday. He and I were sitting at the kitchen table. I was doing paperwork and he was sitting there nibbling on part of a doughnut.
Out of the blue he said to me, ‘Mom, do Virgos fart?’
Well, I’m a Virgo. And although he suspects I do not… TGOO is a Virgo and Bones KNOWS he farts.
So I looked up and stared and finally said, “What?”
And he repeated his question, “What do Vultures eat?”
This is what happens when my kids ask me questions when I am deep in thought…
My eldest is concerned, as I have blogged before, that he is not growing. There is nothing wrong with him. We are just not big people. He will probably hit his growth spurt around age 14 and so as boys around him are already starting to sprout up and with these same boys coming from gene pools that will render them 5’10 to 6’ tall, it makes him feel even smaller.
We were doing the after school walking I wrote of that we do on Tuesdays and Thursdays and sometimes, when he’s not with his friends, or I’m not laughing with Moms, he’ll hang with me and we’ll walk. Last Thursday as we passed the basketball courts, there played the older brother of one of his classmates. The older brother, who is in 9th grade, is probably going to be around 6’6”. He’s already clearing 6’ easy and I think he wears a size 14 shoe.
As we passed the kid, who was easily dunking the basketball, Ringo said, “He’s really getting tall, Mom.”
Me: He is. He’s going to be a tall boy. It is just as tough for him being on the tall really thin end of the spectrum as it is for you to be on the short.
Ringo: I doubt it.
Me: You don’t live in his shoes, son. He’s taller than every kid in his class and nearly every kid in the school already. By the time he’s finished growing, there will hardly be a soul that looks eye to eye with him. That’s a lot to get used to.
Ringo: I’d rather be tall.
Me: I’d rather be my size. I fit in any car, airplane seats aren’t cramped, and although it sucks to not be able to reach the top cabinets, I just don’t put stuff in them. I like the hand I’ve been dealt. Very much.
Eventually one of his buddies joined up to him and off they went, while I listened to my iPod and watched him tussle amongst the kids. Nobody picks on him due to his size, he is well liked. He’s a smart kid, a good looking kid, a kid with a good heart, and he’s really funny.
He walks amongst the blessed. I just need him to see it.
During my walk, I watched the little girls skipping and holding hands as little girls do. The bigger girls were laughing amongst themselves, stealing glances at some of the boys. The boys were doing their thing… running, playing leap frog, laughing hysterically at things boys laugh at like bodily functions.
I came upon one little boy who held his arm out in front of him, bent, as if he had it in a cast. A curious pose for a little boy walking, in particular as there was no cast. As I came up behind him I could see… he was walking with a lizard perched on his arm.
Kids are so fun to watch.
And as I came across my 3rd mile, a 7th grader passed me. I will call him David. David ran past, shaggy hair like Ringo's, broad shoulders and very muscular in the upper torso as Ringo is also starting to get. He’s going to be a good looking man one day with a great shape to what will be a naturally muscular body. As he passed Ringo, he rubbed his hair and gave him a bit of a push to knock him into his friend. It wasn’t meant to be malicious, my son likes this boy and they were all laughing.
I stayed back and watched, my son over a full head shorter than David, as David kept running, and nearly a head shorter than the buddy he was walking with as well. This is the norm… he’s about 6 inches shorter than all his buddies.
I got close to Ringo and I said to him and his buddy, “Ringo who was that boy?”
Ringo: David. He’s that 7th grader I told you could jump over me without my even leaning over. He can really jump high.
Me: When you grow son, your body is going to look like his. You have the same shape, and muscle frame, he is just bigger.
Ringo and his buddy looked at each other and finally his buddy said softly, “Sweeeeeet!”
Heh. I had to laugh. Ringo stood a bit taller.
There have been a couple posts that have really made me laugh lately.
First, over at Sissy’s we have THIS post. She and my sister Morrigan found a website where you can count calories. And on the site, it also shows caloric expenditure for various activities. The whole thing cracks me up… Sissy lists some of the odder ones, like walking to an outhouse and killing animals… and of course, sex.
Then yesterday, over at Eric’s, there is THIS post, about this new fad I had no idea was a fad. In his comments I ask if that rock under which I live is really that big. Morrigan asked me today to email Eric and tell him she has tried to comment, but has not been successful.
Her comment was to read, “Yes, Bou, your rock really is that big.”
Folks, I am sorry, but I’m having a hard time figuring out how pole dancing will get you in shape. I think this is some brain storm by some married men, ‘hey, I bet if we market this right, we can get all the women folk pole dancing!’ It’s a sex ploy.
Their motto is akin to “A chicken for every pot” but instead is, “A pole for every bedroom.”
Did y’all see that movie with Jamie Lee Curtis and Arnold Schwarzenegger… True Lies. That was the name. She goes to strip for him and is a complete klutz? Yeah. That would be me. I can’t even do frickin’ aerobics without breaking my neck let alone anything that even remotely resembles stripping… like pole dancing.
And if you click on Eric’s link it has this chick hanging UPSIDE DOWN from that pole! How in the hell did she do that?
I told Mo, I am currently leg pressing between 230-250 pounds on my last set of 15. I run and I bike. I am telling you now, my legs could not hold me upside down like that.
I said to Mo, “I’d fall off that damn pole and get a concussion.” She replied, “Yes. I’m sure that has happened.”
Good grief. Leave the pole dancing to the chicks into the fads, or whose husband’s are saying, “Baby, you really should try this pole dancing exercise. I’ll even buy you a pole to practice. They say its fun and a great work out” all the while secretly rubbing his hands together while he mutters “muwhahahahahaha!”
And as one of Eric’s commenter’s said “What's next? Go-go cages and disco dancing?”
Meanwhile, I’ll stick to the old fashioned stuff… running, biking, swimming. Old tried and true. Just call me old fashioned… An old fashioned girl who lives under a pretty big damn rock.
Have you ever had one of those days where truly the Gods are looking out for you? Without a doubt, it all just seems to click?
I have a fashion show I am modeling for in March and Dillard’s is providing the clothing. I was sent an email telling me there was a big sale going on and that perhaps I should peruse the store to see what I like and might want to model.
For those that don’t know me, I’m not a tall model girl. I’m a small woman, but they want real looking women for this show, one I model at every year, and I’m pretty real looking. I’ve had three kids. Although I’m in great cardiovascular shape, I like to eat, so although I am not fat, I’m not skinny either. And I can’t say I’m curvy as I’m shaped like a tree… I have no waist, but Morrigan says I have junk in my trunk.
So there you have it.
Anyway, I need some evening gowns. I ruined one last season, a pull in the fabric rendered it unwearable. I was really disappointed as it was a wonderful red and with a black velvet scarf that I wore around my neck, hanging towards the back, with white opera gloves it was very classic. Another couple dresses no longer fit that well and I need to get rid of them. So it was time. (Some things I am involved with require me to wear an evening gown a few times a year…with gloves at times.)
Off to Dillard’s I went, hearing they were having a 40% off sale. Evening gowns aren’t that cheap and I really was bent on buying one… preferably in red.
I ended up buying three. Holy crap. For $130 I walked out with three gowns, two in black and one in red.
When I tried on the red one I hated the little jacket and decided the fabric was so thin I definitely needed to buy a well padded strapless bra, lest people see the topography of my breasts. No thanks. I was waffling until I looked at the price and then realized that… with the sale… on top of the sale… the dress was…$23.
And all the dress needs is a pair of Spanx. Spanx will fix all that ails. Heh.
As I was wandering the aisles, I kept saying to myself, “With a sale like this… try anything on.” I found a black velvet gown with some white on it… it looked a bit odd, but I figured what the hell. I slipped it on and looked in the mirror and my first thought was, “Who in the hell is that!” Holy crap. It’s a wonderful dress made even more so by the fact it was… 40 bucks!!!
Then the last one I tried is a slinky black thing I think my husband will like. Definitely needs Spanx and a good bra… but there is an event we must attend in March that I do believe will be perfect for this dress. And of course… for 60 dollars… it was worth it to try. I just need some 3 inch stilettos.
As I was checking out, the woman assisting me was laughing at me when I said “I wasn’t too sure of that red one, but geez, for 25 bucks… it’s worth it to try!”
I love days like today…
I’m always looking for new music to run to, but prefer to buy the disk for my iPod as opposed to download. My husband has an iPod too and my son will be getting a small one for his birthday. We all have similar tastes in music, although my husband tends towards more 70s rock and I add Johnny Cash to my preferences.
I think I’m pretty set on 30 Seconds to Mars… but has anyone listened to the entire CD for Fall Out Boy?
I like this song and think I’d run to it… but I’m trying to decide about just that one or whether its worth it to buy the entire disk.
Today’s run was courtesy of Blink 182. Good solid run…
And should you hate my musical selection, you are not alone. I do believe that TGOO has said a number of times, “How do you listen to that tripe? You call that music?” The word sucks has come into play a couple times.
Also, I had noticed these music links at Sgt. Hook’s and Army Wife’s. So I may post links to what I’m running to occasionally. Of course, unlike Army Wife who seems to remember all the names of the songs, it takes me forever to find one. I end up having to google while guessing at certain lyrics until I find the right one.
I can’t remember faces. I don’t remember names. I don’t remember lyrics. I don’t remember song titles. However, I can tell you the torque required to attach certain hoses and tubes on some of our latest and greatest military aircraft.
I must be some type of idiot savant…
My husband had a gift certificate to a new local restaurant and so tonight we thought we’d try it. The service was terrible, the food was OK and we won’t go back, but it was worth it to try since we weren’t paying for it.
The place was jam packed as are restaurants in S. Florida during the season. Mr. T looked at me after looking around and said, ‘Mom. I know why it’s so crowded. It’s Groundhog Day.”
He was as serious as a heart attack. You know… those big holidays where people go out to eat. Mother’s Day, Father’s Day and… Groundhog Day. Mark it on you calendars. A day to avoid eating out.
Meanwhile, the chef at the restaurant messed up our order. We ordered a pizza, half cheese and half pepperoni and meatball. My husband gets the carnivore pizza. I think he’s happiest if it has it all… pepperoni, sausage, meatball, bacon, you name it. My body can’t take all the fat so I stick with vegetable or just plain cheese.
The pizza was delivered to our table by a young man from Italy. Right off the boat. I looked at it and it was all pepperoni and half meatball. No half cheese.
I said, “Are you SURE this is our pizza?” and he replied in heavily accented English, “Yes. Dis eez your peeza.”
I called our waiter over and said, “This isn’t what we ordered. And y’all didn’t get my salad right and I said nothing, but the pizza… really, it was not that difficult.”
He apologized profusely, saw a manager, came back and said, “We’re bringing you out a plain cheese pizza. You can have both. I’m sooooo sorry.”
Amends made, the boys and I waited for the cheese pizza while my husband ate the carnivore special.
Five minutes later, out came another Italian young man and he had with him a pizza which was half cheese and half pepperoni and meatball. Our original order.
My husband and I looked at each other and started to laugh. They finally got it right. We thanked the server and I doled out cheese pizza to those of us not in the carnivorous mood.
Five minutes later, as we were still eating… out came another Italian young man… and he had with him a plain cheese pizza. That was ours. We could not quit laughing.
I kept looking for our waiter and I finally flagged him down and he said, eyes bugged out, “HOW MANY pizzas did they bring you?” and I replied, “Exactly! Tell them to stop! We don’t need any more pizza!”
I felt like it was the pizza version of that movie Fantasia where the brooms kept bringing more and more water except I had young Italian men bringing us more and more pizza.
So the kids will be having pizza for lunch tomorrow. And maybe dinner. We have a lot of pizza.
There are days I wonder if I am losing my mind. And I mean above and beyond the fact my boys throw me over the edge and drive me nuts.
I mean seriously losing my mind. Like Alzheimer's. Or dementia. Or something.
That thought is so scary to me.
I am the QUEEN of stickies. My desk is covered. Every day when I leave my place of work, I write down in a spiral notebook what I did last and add what I need to do the next time I go in. Stickies are stuck all over my desk with notes to myself. If I don’t have it written down… I’m going to forget.
Late last year, there were a couple times I left work on a Friday, a day where I pulled a full 8 to 10 hours, and was so mentally drained from work, I had a glazed stare and just sat in my asexual Mom-mobile for 10 minutes to decompress before I even started the motor. I came home and looked at my husband and said five words, “Please don’t talk to me.” I probably didn’t utter another word the rest of the evening. Chaos was around me with the boys and I sat there in a trance, tuning it out.
A bomb could have gone off in the house and I would not have moved.
I had put myself into a full blown sensory overload and my body was doing the best it could to cope, by tuning literally everything out.
I wonder sometimes if other people get like that after work. When it happened the first time, where I was that drained, I said something to my Tech Lead about it… wondering if it was just me. He said, “Are you kidding? I go home a zombie half the days!”
Work is very intense sometimes and I get so absorbed that hours will pass and I realize that I’ve not moved… not gotten something to drink, eaten… hell… I’ve probably not blinked.
The story I’m about to tell, which I personally think is pretty damn funny, happened at work this week and when I was relating it to my customer at Company X, as we laughed about it, he said to me, “You do not understand how mentally demanding your job can be at times.”
Perhaps he is right, but mostly, when I’m that drained, I just feel like a wimp.
Anyway, go back to before Christmas when I was completely stressed out and feeling like I was living in a crucible. I went to do some Christmas shopping at a local Walmart I’d never been to. It is located in a not very good section of town, unbeknownst to me or I’d never have attempted to go there at night. I had no business being down there at 9PM. But I was and I did what I had to do… quickly… and then made my way home.
I got to the major intersection where I was to turn left… an intersection I have been driving through for 10 years, when suddenly I panicked. I couldn’t figure out if I was at the right intersection. I was FREAKING OUT.
As a matter of fact, it was as if I'd never even SEEN the intersection before. Ever.
Now, I will give myself credit that it was 9PM and it was lit up and I don’t do a whole lot of night driving and I don’t typically approach the intersection from that direction, in particular at night, and one of the gas stations did in fact just change hands, but still… I had this feeling of being totally lost in my own neck of the woods and when I made the left hand turn, assuring myself I knew where I was, I thought, “Oh crap. Am I getting Alzheimer’s?”
Flash forward to Christmas. I was having lunch with my Mom and I took a deep breath and told her what happened. She said, “You probably had what is called a fugue. You were really stressed. Symptoms of Alzheimer’s are forgetting how to do things… like sitting in your car, with your keys and knowing you need to make the car go, but not knowing how. You don’t remember how to make the car run. You don't have Alzheimer's.”
And I felt a bit better. I know how my body reacts under stress… I am in a stressed situation this month and I’m already showing physical symptoms, so I chalked the driving incident up to stress.
Flash forward to Wednesday. Every day I have worked for the last 3 months, I have been going into this one system, I will call it Look. This system allows me to pull up the part I need, push a couple buttons and up pops all the parts it is attached to or within one inch of it. I can get a schematic of our product… the hoses and tubes and where they all attach. It’s a nifty piece of software… even if it does make me nuts.
So Wednesday I sat down and pulled up Look and… I stared at it like I have never seen it in my life. I saw the buttons on the right and didn’t know what to push. I just sat there… staring.
I started to push buttons and nothing came up that I recognized and a panic started to set in. I kept thinking, “Oh.MY.God. I know how to work this and I can’t remember now! This is it! Like sitting with the car keys and not knowing how to turn it on!”
I took a deep breath and said to the book end behind me, “Joe, have they updated Look?”
He looked up from his desk for a second and said, “Nope. Not since 2003.”
Panic wasn't setting in... it had taken up residence. It was there and not moving on. Holy crap. I was showing signs of Alzheimer’s. I really really was losing my mind. OH.MY.God! I kept looking at the screen and it didn’t matter what I did, I couldn’t get what I needed… I was completely lost. and NOTHING looked familiar. I decided to go see my buddy, Ed, who is the expert on the system and throw myself at his mercy to train me… again.
Just as I made the decision, Ed comes waltzing in the door. And the following conversation ensued, to the best of my recollection:
Me, trying to act cheerful even though I wanted to vomit: Hey! I was just coming to see you!
Ed: You were?
Me: Yeah. Umm. I’m having some problems with Look…
Ed: Oh yeah. Can you believe it? They went and upgraded the system and made all these changes and told NOBODY and I can’t get it to do one thing I need it to do. I’m so frustrated!!
Holy crap. I just started to laugh and thanked him.
I’m not losing my mind. I don’t think. Yet. I’m still safe with my little yellow stickies and 3x5 cards. My lists. And they don’t need to include directions on how to operate my car…
There is nothing quite like waking up in the morning to find your lower lip so swollen your mouth won't shut, a numb chin and tingley tongue.
I looked like the White Girl version of Fat Albert.
So now we try to figure out what in the hell I had a reaction to. Yesterday was one of those days where it could be anything or a combination there of.
Benadryl is my friend. I'm off to work... I waited until I could close my mouth. I take enough flak at work without looking like someone popped me one.
I suspect the day will only get better though... I really do!