The school year is over and Mr. T is adamant he is NOT playing trumpet again. He wants to play trombone, dammit, and he doesn’t care if his arms are too short. I’ll be looking at valve trombones for him and have prepared him he may have to play baritone if they don’t have a valve trombone.
My kids are not big and his arms were not long enough for trombone last August and I’ll be surprised if they grew a quarter inch this year. His height has not increased dramatically and his knuckles aren’t exactly dragging the ground.
Meanwhile Ringo has declared he’s adamantly not playing trumpet this year either, but his is along the lines of, ‘I’m NOT going to be in band.’
He’s having to contend with teasing from his ‘buddies’ in school. It really frickin’ pisses me off as here he is broadening himself intellectually, and he’s quitting after 3 years because he’s tired of the comments.
About six months ago he asked to start playing bass guitar. The deal cut was… he finished this year of band and then he could quit and play bass guitar.
It was the last day of band practice earlier this week and the band director said to my son, “Ringo, are you sure we can’t get you into the percussion section?”
And Ringo gave him the blank stare he gives to you when he would just as soon pretend you were not there as you are wasting air in his mind (I get this stare frequently) and said, “Nope” and then turned back to his book and kept reading.
He does this too when he wants you to know he’s finished. He answers you and then starts reading something. Nice. Really.
I stepped in and said, “Your percussionist skeeves him out. He’s a dirty obnoxious kid who perpetually sticks his drumsticks up his nose…”
An eyebrow was raised with that one and finally the band director said, “Not even bass strings?”
Me: Bass strings… and WHAT would that be?
Director: Bass Guitar.
Me: YOU teach bass guitar?
Suddenly Ringo wasn’t reading anymore. Suddenly he was very much in the conversation and now suddenly he’s willing to be back in band. Concessions have been made of course. He will take bass and will even play in front of the school at Mass (something that has been a real peeve of his as it accentuates the fact he is ‘in band’), but the director has to teach him how to play rock ‘n roll.
We walked out to the asexual Mom-mobile and I said, “You’ll even play in front of the school? With the band?”
He nodded. I continued, “Why? Because it’s not the trumpet?”
He nodded again and said, “Yes. Bass guitar is cool. Trumpet… is not.”
One day he will view this differently, but when one is 12 and in middle school, peer pressure is a bitch.
I don’t understand what it is with my boys wanting to play the deep background music… but they seem drawn to it. Next year should be interesting. I'm actually looking forward to it.
I know I blogged on Morrigan’s car in high school and the bumper sticker, but I’ll blog it again as I’ve been laughing about it today in regard to something that happened.
She drove a 1974 Plymouth in high school. She had a stuffed monkey or something on the dash and handfuls of Mardi Gras beads hanging from the rear view mirror. I’m sure there was more, but whenever she got out of the car, TN would sing that circus song, doo doo doodle doodle doot doot doot doot. To this day we still sing it when we talk about her car in high school.
On the back windshield was a sticker that she put on reading, “Don’t tailgate me or I’ll flick a booger on your windshield”. And the story goes that one morning, TGOO had to go to work, and for some reason had to take the car she drove, and seeing this bumper sticker, he taped a brown paper bag over it so he wouldn’t be associated with it. He was, after all, driving on base.
Morrigan gave him SO MUCH flack over that. “I can’t believe you covered that sticker! It was funny!” and on and on and on.... and if you recall, I saw a car with the same bumper sticker this summer while visiting her in Atlanta and was quick to say, “So, would YOU, at age 35, drive around with a car with that bumper sticker?” to which she replied, “Hell NO!”
Ahhh… we all grow up.
My husband came home today laughing saying that on his drive he passed a young woman who was in her late teens early twenties and upon her car was a bumper sticker that read:
“If you’re going to ride my ass, you could at least pull my hair.”
And I of course thought of the, what now seems so benign, bumper sticker of Morrigan’s youth compared to this new generations’ and then thought of TGOO going out to Morrigan’s car with a new age bumper sticker and I can’t quit laughing.
He would have had a FIT! Heh. It's SO MUCH WORSE! Holy crap. It’s so funny…
Long days… school winding down, work is crazy, and of course family stuff.
I spent way too much time last night researching anticoagulants, long term effects, if the effects can be reversed, and on and on and on… I have no answers. What I need to know in my head is always far different than what everyone else needs to know. I need to know…
Where are we? Are we on a downward spiral here? Is this just a blip on our radar? What are the various scenarios?
But I’m just an in-law and I don’t want to interfere, but… I think that we need some answers so we can brace ourselves. I’m all about being prepared and right now I’m feeling… not so prepared. I spoke to a family member who will be speaking to the doctors soon (he’s out of the hospital) and I planted that seed, but it is up to them.
I was thinking today, that Google keeps track of all the crap people search for and if someone went through the files of crap I’ve searched, it’s look pretty damn bleak in The House of Bou as of late. Coumadin and long term effects, TIAs, chronic subdural hematomas, stage IV breast cancer liver, stage IV cancer lung bones, glioblastoma, parkinson’s dementia, elevated liver enzymes (me, odd story to follow), and just for levity… lemonade ice cream pie.
So I get my test results in… and they are elevated… again. The nurse called me and said, “We need a list of all medications you are on…”
I was thinking, *Where are my records?* but instead said, “I take nothing…”
Nurse: well cholesterol meds can have this side effect…
Me: *where are my records?* I don’t take anything but I do have metrogel for my rosacea.
Nurse: How do you take that?
Me *thinking, what? how do I take it?*: Ummmm… topically. Rosacea. Gel. Skin disorder.
Nurse: OK. Do you exercise?
Me: *Where are my records?* Yeah. I’m a runner. And I lift weights.
Nurse: OK, well that can cause this as well. Did you exercise the day you had the bloodtests?
Me *checking my calendar after she gave me the date of the test*: Yeah. I ran 5 miles, biked 5 miles, and did back and shoulders.
Nurse: Did you have any muscle spasms during this?
Sidenote, if I’d been staring at her, as opposed to the phone, it would have been the perfect time to do a *blink*.
Me, *rolling my eyes*: Well. I’m going to venture to say, that sometime during my run and biking, they probably did. And if they did not, I feel sure when I was pressing 100 lbs with my back, they probably were, so I’m going to say, safe guess is yes.
Nurse: We want you to come back in 2 weeks to do this again, but you can’t exercise for two days ahead of time.
Nurse: you can walk though.
Me: Can I run?
Me: Can I bike?
Nurse: NO. Only walk.
So now I go back in 2 weeks to have it done again, and I’m not even going to walk because I really want this test to come out right… but I have to admit, I’m an endorphin junky, so the whole ‘don’t exercise thing’ is kind of doing a mind warp on me.
Meanwhile, the guys at the office overheard the conversation and Mr. Magoo was teasing me saying, “I heard you bartering to try to run!” I said, “Do they even have my records?”
All this crap is… IN.MY.RECORDS! Gah!
On a much lighter note than the below post, which is... not so light, I enjoyed PT's post HERE on his son and baseball. A proud Dad... a concerned Dad... I know PT is a GREAT Dad.
And when he talks about being small and one time, but now Big? Yeah. I posted on that here. It still cracks me up. Whenever I think of him, I still think of my high school reunion and saying to my buddy, "Wait. What part of THAT is PT?"
And PT also answered the Meme with his movies and I'm frickin' clueless. Go here if you think you can get them... Good grief. I so suck at that.
The last couple days have been interesting. Occasionally we get calls that send us to the ER. My husband’s father, who I post on rarely, but have posted on, will end up there at times.
Some background, he was not a nice man when he was younger. He is old and mellow now. He is a WONDERFUL grandfather and loves his grandchildren dearly.
He never took care of himself and if my adage holds true, “How you keep yourself now, will be directly reflected 10 years from now”, we are definitely seeing the years of abuse he did to his body… always grossly overweight, never exercising, hell, never exerting himself. In the last 15 years he’s had two hip replacements, bypass surgery, and numerous other things happen here and then… all of which he somehow caused.
You have to actually know all the stories to fully get that ‘all of which he somehow caused’, but its too long, too drama laden and too… exhausting to ever go into.
He sucks the life out of us and his demanding personality swirled with an enormous dose of self entitlement, makes many of us bitter at times as we think he also probably caused the early demise of my mother in law… a woman we loved dearly.
But that’s another story… not for here.
And as I’ve written before, he refuses to quit driving, which has caused great strife in the family, he being 81 years old, immobilized essentially from the waist down, nearing advanced stages of Parkinson’s disease and piss poor eyesight at best. I think I wrote on that HERE.
The law is not on our side. You can’t just ‘take someone’s keys away’. It sounds easy, but it is not. Trust me… we’re working on this… and that too has filled the family with great strife… another story not for here.
Our life with Pop, who does not and will not ever live with us, is long stretches of calm, punctuated by absolute utter chaos and drama that leaves one drained for months on end.
And so it was, that another phone call was received yesterday, leaving my husband to drive like a madman to the ER, as Pop had been talking to the oldest daughter, a woman I adore, politics aside, and happens to be a hippy type in California, when he suddenly was unable to speak. She told him to hand the phone to his buddy, which he was able to comply with as the only problem he had was an inability to speak, to which she told said buddy to do not pass go and do not collect $200, but to take Pop directly to the ER. She hung up and called my spouse. We are the closest family.
And it seems that he had been having these episodes throughout the week and was attributing them to his Parkinson’s meds not working right and an inability for him to control his tongue, as… as weird as it may sound… that is where his worst tremors occur. His tongue.
In the ER, as a potential stroke victim, things moved quickly, physicals performed, CAT Scans taken and read, phone calls for prior records to other hospitals made. And it was deemed by the local neurologist, that he has in fact been having TIAs all week and there is evidence of old subdural hematomas as well as new ones.
He was admitted.
And he had a couple episodes again, my spouse witnessing one… and he was deemed unstable and told he must stay tonight as well.
The thought is now that the root cause is 16 years worth of coumadin… there is thought of switching him to plain old aspirin as well as perhaps plavix.
Not I. I’m just a stupid engineer, increasingly happy I picked a job where the things I fix don’t talk back, don’t go into fits of rage, and are unappreciative boors.
Next time perhaps I’ll sugar coat it.
So tomorrow he will be released… where the law is on his side, and who is to thank for that? The AARP? Who? Really. I’d like to know. Because as of tomorrow there is an 81 year old man, who is immobilized from the waist down due to atrophy in his hips and 80-100 lbs of extra weight, has nearing advanced stages of Parkinson’s disease, piss poor vision, AND! AND! AND! has intermittent TIAs, on the roads of S. Florida in a mini-van.
I love that. We love that. Really.
Yes, we are consulting ‘people’ on how to handle this. But never once have his doctors EVER told him he cannot drive. It’s not their job. Unfortunately, their voice probably carries more weight than ours because…
WTF do we know? We’re just the f*cking family.
Yeah, I had a great weekend. Glad you asked. How was yours?
I’m so glad Memorial Day weekend is here. Three days of hanging with family and it signals the end of the school year as well. Just four more days of school, two of which are half days, after Monday.
Today I attended the enormous Memorial Day service that I attend every year. It’s the service I attended that made me first think I should blog. Under what I refer to as a ‘revival tent’, there are rows upon rows of metal folding chairs, the women fanning themselves with red, white and blue fans that a local JROTC unit handed out, all wearing the little red poppies we made donations towards, the people of all walks or life, all races and religions, gathered to listen to the speakers… military men and a politician here or there.
A Mass presentation of the colors, representatives from every branch of the service, from every high school ROTC unit, and various military organizations, always chokes us up.
Today they had a phenomenal speaker, probably one of the best they’ve had, a retired Army LTC serving in Afghanistan as a consultant... he had served in the Middle East many times over when active duty.
And then there is the wreath laying… 50 wreaths presented, one at a time, every branch of VFW, American Legion, auxiliary groups, representatives from various combat groups, the ‘Nam Knights, Patriotic organizations… too many to remember the names, but each deserving to be pointed out and we clap for each of them and look at their wreaths.
Today we all gave a standing ovation for the Vietnam Veterans. They were forgotten once, but nobody wants to forget them now.
And of course, my theory of ‘God didn’t make any ugly Marines’ was proven once again, as *ahem* they had a Marine Colonel say some words, a tremendous speaker was he, although I think most of the women folk were too transfixed upon him. I think I spent the first couple minutes watching him thinking, as he looked so young, “Wait a minute… please tell me I am not yet at the age to be a Colonel!” and then did the math for when TGOO selected for O6 and realize I’m still a year or two short. Phew.
Those Colonels keep getting younger and younger looking…
We sang God Bless America in unison and we held back tears with the 21 Gun Salute followed by Taps.
We thanked those around us who were currently serving and we remembered those who gave their lives. As the ‘young’ Colonel said, “Nobody signed up expecting to give the ultimate sacrifice.” Yet they did. And they still do.
And today we gathered to remember them… and tomorrow we will as well when we have our family BBQs and picnics.
It seems so little for what they have given… the least we can do. It is never enough...
Two nights ago, my husband put the trap out. Actually, he put it out the first night with peanut butter and proceeded to feed the rat that night… the proverbial “Last Supper.” The next night he used caramelized popcorn.
I don’t ask anymore.
The next morning I asked Bones to go get the paper for me, while I finished getting their lunches ready for school. He ran out into the garage, only to run back in and exclaim, ‘MOM! Mom! Mom! There’s a dead rat in the garage!”
At that point I heard the screeching of chairs against the tile floor as they were shoved away from the table and my two older boys saying, “Wait! I want to see!”
I don’t ask anymore.
I had no desire ‘to see’. I could envision it well enough. Rats skeeve me out… dead or alive. Ick.
Eventually their morbid curiosity waned and they came back in to finish their breakfast. (double ick) A few minutes later my husband was in the garage getting rid of the dead rat, (husband’s job) and the boys were out there again...watching. According to him, the following conversation ensued to the best of his recollection:
Better Half: It’s not so big, but its not small. It must’ve been a young rat…
Mr. T: Oh no. It’s Mom and Dad will be all over looking for it tonight!
Bones: Hey, Dad, set the trap again. Maybe we can kill the whole family!
Lovely. I can hear it now, ‘We’ll kill the rat, and it’s little rat family’. My little Tony Soprano…
I need to find a way to record Bones voice and download it because sometimes I think it is the sound of his voice, the cadence of his speech, that make the damn story. But… that’s not happened, so you’re stuck with my storytelling rendition which really doesn’t do it justice.
Bones had a ‘girlfriend’ named Jessie. He has a thing for blonde haired girls and considering my hair is so brown, I was told recently it was almost black, he definitely does NOT have any type of Oedipus complex thingy goin’ on.
Anyway, Jessie is one of those little giggly girlie girls. I think she’s sweet, but the giggly girlie girlness is tough for me. I wasn’t like that as a little girl. So yesterday, Jessie decided she was in love with Frank, so she sent a band of her little girlfriends to tell Bones that she wanted to ‘break up with him’ because she liked Frank. Then I guess she told him personally, “And when we go on our field trip next week to the pool… I don’t want to hang out with you.”
These kids are in SECOND grade.
So he poured out his heart broken story to me yesterday in the car, where we do our best one on one talking time he said to me, “Mom, I don’t get it. Why did she have to send her friends? She always does that. Why can’t she just tell ME? It’s nobody else’s business.”
I said, “Bones, if you’re going to have a ‘girlfriend’, you don’t need one who plays games and can’t come tell you things herself. I say, ‘good riddance’ and just have lots of girls as friends and leave it alone.”
We talked about it a little longer and I mentioned some other little girls in his class that I thought were nice girls and I told him that maybe if he wanted to hang with girls, he should think about them. He was receptive.
Today I went to chaperone the older boys and Bones teacher happened to be outside. She’s a friend of mine… but we don’t hang together much right now since she is Bones’ teacher. Once he’s out of her class, we’re hoping to do lunch and hang more.
Anyway, she came up to me and started laughing and said, “I wanted you to have this. You may want to keep it.”
It was a note from Jessie. She had passed it through one of her little girlfriends to get to him and it was intercepted. I have it to… keep until he gets married at which point it will resurrect itself. He has no idea I have it.
It is written exactly like this:
Dear Bones, Do you still
Like me. If you do circle Yes or
p.s. I like Frank and Frank
His teacher and I were laughing our butts off. Do you like me? Please check one, yes or no. Holy crap. It can’t get any more classic than that. (The teacher was also horrified and talked to the girls about being ‘too young’.)
So this afternoon, once again, it is just him and me and I said to him, “So. Anything happen in school today?” and the following conversation ensued, to the best of my recollection.
Bones: Mom, can you believe Jessie? She sent me a NOTE in school and my teacher found it. She actually asked me if I STILL like her. Is she stupid? Why would I still like her after yesterday?
Me: Good point.
Bones: Geez. There are nicer girls. I know when we get to the pool and I don’t hang out with her now, she’s going to be all upset.
Me: Not your problem….
Bones: I know. You know, Mom, when I got back to my table, I said to everyone at my table, including Frank (same Frank who is in the note), “What does she think? This is going to hurt me? I’m not the jealous type. If she’s happy, then I’m happy. If Frank likes some hot chick, then I feel good for him.”
I just looked at him and had him repeat it as I was stunned. This is a little 2nd grader… speaking so matter of fact. “I’m not the jealous type” Wha?! And if Frank likes a ‘hot chick’? Gah!
I was in the gym the other day and a friend of mine who is also one of the trainers said to me, in heavy British accent as… he’s from Britain, “Bou, I do believe you’re the strongest woman in the gym.”
Me: Willie, I’m the youngest woman in the gym by 20 years. I hope to God I’m the strongest woman in the gym.
W: No, really. I think there aren’t any other women in the gym that can do what you’re doing right now…
*his eyes are drifting around to all the women in the gym*
W, continuing: Oh, except that woman right there, she can do it.
I looked over to who he was pointing: Willie. She’s MY age. I rest my case.
W: Oh. Yeah. You have a point…
And for the record, I wasn’t doing anything big and strenuous. I was doing frickin’ push ups.
Of course my friend has been on my mind all day today. I was joking with a friend that when you cry all night, and you wake up the next morning and your eyes are all puffy, that it’s A LOT easier to put on eyeliner. However, a couple hours later, when the swelling is down, you look all goth! That eyeliner suddenly looks REALLY REALLY thick!
She has some decisions to make. With the type she has and where it has metastasized, there are some experimental options she is looking into, but I hear there are some ugly side effects she is not sure she wants to contend with.
I looked up some survivability statistics for her situation and she’s at 20% for 7 years. I think to myself, “Why can’t SHE be that 20%”. That chart was quick to add that after 7 years, the percentages drop considerably. (Only 2-3% of women in her case, live past 5 years or appeared 'cured', but there is no clue as to why it happens for this small percentile.)
But I knew that.
In general, the statistics we have for getting women with breast cancer to 5 years are getting better and better… but if you look at the long term statistics to 10 years and then to 15, the stats drop with each 5 year increment. And isn’t that what we’re seeing here? Modern medicine will get my friend to 5 years since she was FIRST diagnosed, even though she was never in remission for more than 2 years. But modern medicine, will probably not get her to 10 years and looking at the bleak statistic of 20% of Stage IV to 7 years… tells me that 15 years is just unfathomable.
The reality is… it is not curable now, but a chronic disease that must now be continually kept at bay.
So she has choices to make. I just hope that she can have it kept at bay long enough… for medicine to find something else.
I just found out that a woman I have great affection for has been diagnosed with Stage IV breast cancer. (I posted on her last year, one year ago, and how amazing she is.)
She did everything right.
She caught it the first time early.
She caught it the 2nd time early.
But it is back and now it has spread... resurfaced in another organ, same cancer cells and she has not long... they hope 3 years.
And so no blogging tonight a I try to digest this. I've not quit crying since I heard... its so... not... fair. It keeps killing...
Last night the extended family came for dinner. I made a pork loin with a honey mustard peanut baste that was very good. We had yeast rolls with honey butter. It seemed very summery with green beans and a big salad.
For dessert, to keep it light and refreshing, I made a lemonade pie. Everyone said it was excellent… which I was hoping it was since I can’t eat dairy. If you’ve not made one before, it is exceedingly easy, has a bit of a key limey pie taste, and… refreshing.
4 cups of vanilla ice cream, softened
6 oz can of frozen lemonade concentrate, thawed
Graham cracker crust
Mix the vanilla ice cream and lemonade together. Pour in the crust. Freeze four hours. Eat.
The kids put whipped cream on top. It was good enough that Bones REQUESTED it after dinner tonight.
Nobody got #2 of my movie list, which I fully expected. Its one of those movies nobody talks about… perhaps I’m the only one who loved it? I prefer movies that are an escape. I don’t see movies I don’t think I can handle or that I think will haunt me. Saving Private Ryan is one. The opening scene… I know I couldn’t take it. So I didn’t. It is a movie that would haunt me.
There was a big stretch where we never saw movies, when the kids were small, but we used to go, before we had kids, all the time. My husband rents movies, but I read instead. I don’t know what it is, but if I’m in the house… I don’t really watch anything. I read or write or do a myriad other things that need to be done.
But I do love going to the theater. I love the escape, the surround sound, the larger than life on the screen… I love snowcaps and the smell of movie popcorn. I truly enjoy the escape, we just don’t seem to make the time for it very often. However, with summer upon us, and the boys getting bigger and bigger, able to enjoy movies that WE enjoy, we shall be going more often.
My husband took the boys to see Spiderman III. He gave it an “ehhhh it was OK, not great” and of course the boys were all over it. They loved it. Shrek III is next on the list, and although many have said it was just OK, we’ll see it because… I just love Shrek. (Plus, what woman can resist listening to Antonio Banderas? Good Lord, as logic driven as woman as I am, even *I* cannot resist that!)
Pirates of the Caribbean III is out shortly and the whole family will see that too. I love Johnny Depp’s character. He cracks me up. And then there is Evan Almighty that I’ve really wanted to see. It may end up being dumber than dirt, but I have to see it. I’m hoping for silly laughs. Plus, I really enjoy watching Morgan Freeman. I hope it’s more than a cameo.
So here’s my list… and maybe a brief ‘why’ on each. For what it’s worth…
1. When Harry Met Sally- The only true chick flick on my list. I don’t do chick flicks much, but this one came out when I was single and dating my husband. There is a line at the end of the movie “when you realize you want to spend the rest of your life with somebody, you want the rest of your life to start as soon as possible”. We had been dating for about 6 months when we saw this and I already knew I was madly in love with him… the problem was, he didn’t realize he loved me. That took another two years, I think, of my running him down like a damn dog.
2. The Last of the Mohicans with Madeline Stowe and Daniel Day Lewis. Let me tell you, Daniel Day Lewis was a honey and a half in this flick. It’s a battle movie, but a love story. I loved the soundtrack, the scenery and the movie. (Sidenote: I told Morrigan this was one of my favorite movies and she said "It was? are you kidding?" and I said "Well, yeah, have you seen it?" And she said, "Yes, I have! The guy RUNS everywhere!" Evidently its not one of her favorite movies...)
3. Crouching Tiger Hidden Dragon- Great action flick, but I think something gets lost on the small screen. I was taking Karate at the time I saw it. It has a wonderful love story intertwined as well. I like the manly man who is good to his woman.
4. Casino Royale- James Bond. Probably the only recent movie to make my list. I really like this new Bond. Daniel Craig. Phew. Day Pass material.
5. The Princess Bride- Oh I loved this flick. And it provided me with a BIG warning light that I should not marry the man I was dating. He was a Naval Aviator and we’d been dating quite awhile. It was getting serious… and so he had me fly to his folks’ home in Texas and meet them. His Mom… she did NOT like me. I’d actually never run across parents that didn’t like me. I’m smart, independent (read: not needy), polite and well mannered, I had a GREAT job with one of the leading aerospace firms and there is nothing trashy looking about me. I wasn’t looking to hook my claws into a Naval Aviator, I genuinely cared FOR HIM. Please. I’m the daughter of one. I grew to consider his career a detriment… not an asset. (The wife of a Naval Aviator is a bitch of a job. It may sound all glamorous… but its not.) I was at that time, the poster child for the girl next door. (Now I’m the Mom next door.) But his Mom… she did NOT like me. He kept telling me not to worry, that all Irish Mothers were wary of any woman who loved their sons, but I wasn’t buying it. Meanwhile, his Dad didn’t say much. I left him alone. During the weekend, we were looking to rent a movie and I convinced my boyfriend we should rent The Princess Bride since they had not seen it. His Dad had a fit. He couldn’t believe that his son had let this girl talk him into such a foolish movie. We all watched it and his Dad LOVED it. Inside I was thinking, “Yeah, I’m done with you…” I had no use for either of his folks at that point and since you do marry a family afterall… it was a BIG red flag that I should seek elsewhere. Which I did. If his Dad and I had gotten along… perhaps I would have been OK, but nope. Thank you Princess Bride.
6. Four Weddings and a Funeral- I LOVE this movie. I’ve seen it… Good Grief. I have no idea how many times. My clue for this movie was going to be, “They say F*ck, 17 times in the first minute.” I can never tire of watching this movie.
7. Waking Ned Devine- I watched this movie alone. My husband fell asleep during it. For those of you who have seen it, remember the scene where the main character is trying to put the corpse’s false teeth in and they kept falling out? And the character was laughing so hard? He seemed like he was genuinely laughing and I in turn started laughing so hard, I nearly peed. An oddity, yes, but I loved that movie. (The fact I would laugh because someone in a movie is laughing is the oddity. Not the laughing until I peed. That's... well... it just is.)
8. Shawshank Redemption- I had no idea what this movie was about. NONE. Sometimes… those are the best flicks. I’d never even heard of it when my husband brought it home. The only reason I watched it was… because it had Morgan Freeman. I don’t like movies that don’t have happy endings and when the guy ended up in prison immediately I thought, “I might hate this…” but I didn’t. I loved it.
9. Finding Nemo- I know. Y’all are shaking your heads. But I frickin’ ADORE this movie. When we went to see it in the theater, when Dory started to speak like a whale, I started to laugh uncontrollably. My kids kept nudging me saying, “MOM!!! STOP!” We saw it again… and the same reaction occurred. When they watch the DVD, that scene will still elicit a giggle from me. The movie makes my heart happy.
10. Lord of the Rings- Actually, I loved all three, but I had to pick one, so I picked the first. What a great trilogy. I’d go to the theater and PAY to see them again.
It's all about the escape...
Peter’s comment over at VW’s post HERE, on her son smacking his head on a dresser after jumping off a bed, reminded me of the things I’ve heard myself say, only to later think later they weren’t soo… nice.
I’ve definitely heard myself say, ‘Don’t you bleed on my carpet!”
But I’ve also said, “Don’t you throw up in here!” or “If you’re going to puke, get the hell off my rug!” or “You get in the bathroom if you have to vomit! You get off my couch!”
That goes hand in hand to our being in the car and saying, “If you think you’re going to vomit, you tell me now! You find something to hurl in! Don’t you DARE throw up all over my car!”
When they were smaller, I was of course… nicer. For instance, when I had a preschooler/toddler type that I had just potty trained and I caught them grabbing themselves in public, having to pee, I’d swoop them up to carry them into the bathroom. My thought being it was much faster for me to RUN with them on my hip than it was to drag them along. Plus, I figured if they didn’t make it, it would be vast humiliation to have pee all over the floor of the grocery store or mall or wherever we were, whereas if they were on my hip and didn’t make it… our clothes would absorb it and we’d just leave. That said, I never wanted my kids to pee on me and for the record, it never did happen. But as we’d run through wherever we were, beelining for the bathroom I had a chant I’d sing to them, “There’s NO peein’ on the Mama!” I recently heard one of them say that to me. It kind of made me laugh.
But I will say, when it comes to bleeding and vomiting now, that they are older, I’m not sympathetic. I am… don’t get me wrong. I feel bad for them and do comfort them, but there are rules in this house. One does not bleed or hurl on my furniture or carpet. NO.
They’re old enough to plan better than that…
Since my husband is out of town, I try to think of things to do the kids will enjoy. We did breakfast for dinner one night, Mexican another (he is not fond of breakfast for dinner or Mexican food)… and last night we went to the beach for dinner. I picked up some fried chicken from the grocery store, French fries from McDonald’s and we were off. They rolled around in the surf and threw sand balls at each other for about an hour and a half then we headed home to drop wet clothes and sand all over my home.
I have to laugh at Bones. At nearly 8 years old, he still has NO qualms of getting in the water, nice and wet, and then coming out and rolling in the sand finishing up like a powdered doughnut. He gets sand places that are just… not supposed to have sand. Actually, I call it ‘Sandy Weenie’. I’ll yell after them as they’re scrambling into my house, “Don’t you dare take off your bathing suit without being in the shower first! You have sandy weenie and you’ll get that all over my house!”
I can’t imagine that is comfortable. I’m waiting for the day he thinks being the human powdered doughnut is not worth it. It is obviously not age 8.
Anyway, this morning they declared the beach was to be the destination of the day again. I told them we’d go at 3, I refuse to go at Noon. I figured we’d stay from 3 until 5, they’d shower, I’d cook, we’d eat at 6 and go from there.
We got in the asexual mom-mobile and started to head East. There were big black clouds towards the coast. They pleaded, “Mom, MAAAAAAYBE it isn’t really raining at the beach! We have to try.”
So try we did and we made it to the beach, we unloaded and as I put out my chair I said, “Boyz, listen to me, there are big black clouds over the ocean, it is obviously raining out there and I think it is coming this way. I don’t think we have a lot of time.”
Bones looked at me, at the gray from horizon to cloud and said, “That’s RAIN?” I answered in the affirmative. They started to play in the water as I watched the clouds gathering… coming in faster.
I called to them, “Five minute warning, guys. Its coming in fast.”
Not two minutes later Bones was at my side and said, “OK. We’re finished. Time to go.” I was kind of surprised. Bones never wants to leave. I called in the other boys and quickly put my chair away, wrapped towels around the boys and we made it back to the asexual Mom-mobile just as it started to pour.
We were driving to the grocery store and Bones said, “Mom, I am so afraid of the rain. Ever since we went camping… you know I was in that shower stall with Bobby and Mr. T and Ringo, and we were waiting for the storm to pass and Mr. T said, “You know, we could die right here on Peanut Island in this storm” and Bobby said, “I don’t want to die on Peanut Island!!! I want to die either at home or at a hospital!!!" Mom, who would want to die in a hospital. Ick.”
And so as I feared, the big storm we endured during the Great Camping Trip did in fact have a negative effect on at least one of my children. Bones is afraid of storms. It is not an irrational fear… at least we know from where it came.
But I suspect… he fully appreciates the full power of Mother Nature… and in some way this may haunt him the rest of his life.
The difference between my youngest two boys in elementary school and my eldest in middle school (Good Grief I can’t believe I have a kid in middle school…) is the following:
The younger two boys came home with permission slips for their end of the year parties. Both are pool parties and the slips came home on different days. Both said to me, “Mom! Mom! Mom! Can you chaperone at my party?! Please? Mom. Please? And can you wear your bathing suit? And can you swim with us?!”
I said yes to both, although I’m a bit aghast I said yes to the swim suit thing. I don’t think I’ve worn a swim suit in public in awhile… and its been exactly a year since I wore one around any adults I know. I’m a surfer shorts and tshirt kind ‘o gal. I don’t particularly care for wearing bathing suits.
Anyway, my eldest came home a couple days ago with a permission slip as well and his end of the year party is at the beach. I said to him, ‘Do you want me to chaperone?’
He said, “mmmm. No. that’s OK.”
Me: Dude, I can take off of work. Y’all are my top priority. I’m altering my schedule for the boys, I don’t mind taking off for yours.
Ringo: That’s OK. There are a lot of parents volunteering.
Today I said again, “Ringo, are you sure you don’t want me to chaperone? I don’t mind. I’ll be happy to do it.”
He shook his head and said, “Nope.”
Heh. VW brought to my attention the last thing he wanted was his Mom at the beach in her big hat and long sleeves. I think she has a point…
This is all related to the fact I’ve been dairy free for nearly three weeks…
My husband is away on business and was going out to dinner last night with the guys. I called him as he was in the cab and he told me where they were going to dinner. It was a place I knew of.
Me: Oh. Oh. In my honor, someone must have that chocolate casserole thingy that when you stab into it, chocolate oozes out. It comes with a big side of vanilla ice cream. Someone has to eat that.
Me: Yes. Tell the guys. For me. Someone has to.
Husband: Umm. OK.
Me: You realize at this point I’d be happy with a big bowl of ice cold milk and cocoa krispies, right?
He laughed. But it is true…
This morning I went to breakfast with VW and her boyz and she asked for scrambled eggs with cheese and grits. I had a plain bagel with Nova… no cream cheese. It was good. It hit the spot.
Her meal came and there were eggs and then there was this glass bowl that seemed to be filled to the brim with melted cheese… all nice and toasty and bubbly hot. There were little browned spots in the cheese as it has been heated thoroughly.
It was placed in front of her and I just stared and finally I said, “Are those your grits?”
She laughed and said they were and we commented that they messed up the order and I said, “It still looks SOOOOOOOO good.”
I think I said that a couple times and I may have drooled.
I miss cheese.
Holy crap. If it were not for the fact my face is about 80% cleared up and I’m not having any of the digestive problems I’ve been struggling with for a few years, I’d so be back to dairy… dairy is not overrated.
Y’all have a bowl of cocoa krispies and ice cold milk in my honor… I’m starting to live vicariously through everyone!
I got tagged. With a Meme. TWICE. Teresa and blog daughter, Mrs. Who. And this one asks for audience participation, but folks, I’ve been trying to do this at other people’s blogs and I just so totally suck at trying to guess… which frickin’ movie goes with these tags.
The rules are as follows, (Gotsta know the rulez): Pick out ten favorite movies, then look them up at IMDb. In the overview at the top of each movie's page, there are "Plot Keywords," usually five of them. (Plus more, if you click the link.) Take the first five, and post them. Then the rest of us get to play movie buff and see if we can guess them.
OK…. So my 10 are as follows and there are a couple here that I’m not thinking many people will get. Looking at my selections, I can tell you that three of them are not ‘American’ films, although I had to think about it as we tend to adopt a lot of films as our own. But I don’t think any of them ran under ‘best foreign film’. They are films that… just don’t have a lot of Americans in them. One of my selections is animated.
Update: Those bolded are guessed in the comments.
1. Sex / Lasting Friendship / Double Date / Writer / Christmas
2. Historical / Battle / Epic / Battle Scene / Interracial Relationship
3. Action Heroine / No Opening Credits / Asia / Martial Arts / Sword Fight
4. Spa / Shot In The Head / Madagascar / Gadget Car / Swimming
5. Magic / Self Worth / Sword / Poison / Suicide Attempt
6. Male Female Relationship / Aristocracy / Deafness / Homosexual / Marriage
7. Farce / Isle Of Man / Rural / Black Comedy / Telephone Box
8. Poster / Prison Break / Corrupt Prison Officials / Sadistic Warden / Death
9. No Opening Credits / Literacy / Friend / Father Son Reunion / Death Of Wife
10. Fantasy Life / Hungry / Doom / End Of Mankind / Group
I can’t tag 10 people. That’s a grunch of folks. But I will tag a few. First I’ll tag my blogdaughter VW, who I feel certain has probably been tagged, but I’m going to do it anyway in hopes it will keep her mind off things. She’s got a lot going on and maybe this will give her blog fodder. I’m tagging blog daughter Rave as well… not that she needs blog fodder, but hey, we’ll keep it in the family and I want to know what she likes to watch! Blogson PT of Titan’s Lair as I want to see what he’d put, although there is no way in hell I’ll be able to guess…
I'll post the answers very soon...
My brother sent me this link. I'm not cut out for surgery. The entire site is way way cool, but... Yeah. I picked the right profession.
And I've decided I need to work harder to make sure my knees stay healthy and that I never have to have knee replacement.
So. Interactive. Cartoon. Surgery stuff. Go HERE.
OK. I know everyone is talking about Prince Harry and how he can’t go to Iraq. I’m going to take this to a different level.
When in the hell did he grow up and where in the hell was I?
Good Grief. Have you seen him in his camies wearing that beret? Holy crap. When did he turn into such a hottie? And to think I thought for all those years he was growing up that it must be kind of tough to be the 2nd Prince and that too to one who is so nice looking.
Now? Phht. He is WAY WAY hotter than his brother. (And obviously has a spine.)
Good Lord. When in the hell did THAT happen?! He’s a MAN! And a mighty fine looking man if I do say so my self!
Yeah, I didn't say I'd take this to a higher level...
And is it just me, or doesn’t it feel like he was just born?!
As a parent sometimes you wonder how you’re doing. At least I do. I think that’s normal.
I wonder, are they social enough? Are they appreciative? Kind? Thoughtful to others? Civil? Are social graces taking? Do they absorb what is around them or are they totally tuned into themselves?
Am I giving them too much? Do I need to turn off the TV more? Do they play outside enough… even though 6 months out the year it’s damn close to too hot before 6PM? Are they on the computer too much? Do they read enough? Do they know how to play on a team? Can they lead? Can they follow?
And on and on it goes.
My kids are not deprived. They have a computer that they share on which they play games. They have a Game Cube that they received 18 months ago for Christmas and they do play it occasionally, mainly when Son#4 is over and they play James Bond. They each have one hand held game that come out for long car trips. Those tend to wax and wane. We’ll go weeks where they are taunting each other with their high score on a game or where their noses are buried, thumbs rapidly moving over arrow keys, completely immersed in some game recently found… anew. And then the game boys or DS will go away for months on end. We have a rec room that has a foosball table and a great used TV someone gave us. They can play their video games or watch TV and I don’t have to hear it.
Some days they spend all evening playing basketball and then nothing. There are evenings when they want to do nothing but toss the baseball. There are days where they leave the house with full eye gear and their air soft guns and spend hours shooting targets or exploring bugs. (Eye protection and safety rules are big in this house with air soft. They dare not even THINK of breaking those rules. Leniency is not ever forthcoming for certain rules broken, and air soft guns fit that billet.)
There are days I think I say ‘yes’ too much. But…
I know I say no a lot as well. They still don’t have a Wii, although I know when they get one, they will be beyond thrilled and appreciative. (They’re still saving for it. If they don’t get it as a gift, they’re buying it themselves.) I’ve said no to any other hand held gaming contraptions. They get allowances for tasks assigned in the house and they save or spend accordingly. I don’t frivolously buy them toys when we’re out and about. (Yes, they always ask… just to see.) I won’t buy certain things for them… books for my eldest is about to become one. It’s insane how much he reads. The library is his friend.
They get a good majority of their ‘stuff’ for Christmas or birthdays unless it is something my husband and I deem an item that they will enjoy OUTSIDE. Bikes, scooters, balls, bats, things that fly… we have them… but nothing motorized (excepting things that fly). NO. It is powered with human power or they don’t own it.
But I know they have a lot. They know they have a lot. They get frustrated with me. I get frustrated with them. The parent/child cycle continues.
My eldest has a friend at school whose parents buy him and his brother EVERYTHING. They own EVERY gaming station, all of them, from $800 down to $200. Every hand held gaming contraption as well… if someone comes out with a new Gameboy type gizmo, they have it the next week. Thousands of dollars in paint ball guns and air soft guns. (Literally $200 guns in some cases.) Motorized scooters, and motorized bikes, the nice iPods, TVs in their rooms, computers in their rooms, and… cell phones. Their parents are not ‘rich’. They are both engineers. They earn good livings but they aren’t of the stinkin’ rich we hear of. They just spend every penny on this stuff for the kids.
The cell phone is still a huge argument for my eldest and me. It is a BIG no. BIG. I told him to talk to me when he’s in high school. We’ll discuss it then… but for now… NO.
One day he’d spent all day at his buddy’s house, playing everything. He really enjoys going over there. Who wouldn’t? But he never asks me, other than the cell phone, for anything his buddy has. Never.
I picked him up that day and he said, “Daniel just got such and such. His parents bought it for him yesterday.”
I sat there for a minute listening and then said, “Ringo, I have to ask you something. His parents have NEVER said no to any material object. Never. He owns it all. And always does. What is going to happen when he leaves home and has a job and can’t afford to buy what he wants? What a shock that’s going to be.”
Ringo sat looking out the window and then replied, “You know Mom, I have wondered the same thing. He’s going to have to make A LOT of money because the things he wants are only going to get more expensive. When he has to pay rent and make a car payment and buy food… there isn’t going to be a lot left. And he’s probably going to want a REALLY nice car. I wonder how he’ll deal with that.”
My son is 12. That was his response to me.
I know we have issues. I know that I personally brought baggage into this Mother/Son relationship as we all do. I know I’m pushing some of that baggage onto him, even though when I recognize it I try like hell not to. It is what it is. And I know he is no saint and that there are times he makes me nuts and that I make him equally so, and that I wished he’d study more, and try harder in school. I know he’s bored and I think he is grasping that we all do things we think are boring in life… you just… do it.
But his answer to me, gave me hope. Sometimes he says things that are so adult. And I quietly smile to myself. And sometimes he says things that make me think… that we’re going to be OK.
That was one of them…
Oh this is just great.
I was putting my eldest to bed and just as I turned to turn off the light he said to me, "Mom, what's a condom?"
Gah! I nearly choked. I stood there for a minute, being thankful that he remembered that certain questions are asked without siblings.
"Umm, where do you know this from?" I inquired.
"Some kids found one on the soccer field today during recess, " came the reply.
Lovely. Nothing like finding a used condom on school property. Good Grief.
So I explained to him what one was and how it works. I thought he needed to know. Something too brief was going to only make him think it was something to be ashamed of or make him wonder more. Besides, this is a hazard of having a parent that is an engineer. You get operational instructions on everything.
I do think however, that the hand motions I used as I described how it fit and what it did, the whole 6 to 8 inches thing I did with my hands while I described how it unrolls and gets bigger, may have been a bit much. There was a bit of a wide eyed stare when I said "Well, you know during sex the man is hard and about this long, so it fits right over, slides right on..."
Good Lord. I feel like frickin' Dr. Ruth.
I said to him, "So, were there kids in your class who actually knew what one was?"
Ringo: Yeah. A whole lot...
Me: Hmmm. Really. So... how did you act? Did you act like you knew what one was?
Ringo, grinning: Yeah. I did.
Me: So... did you ever think that hardly anyone actually knew what it was, but they were all acting too? (And I gave him a quick wink) I suspect that many are still aren't in the know... but you are.
As I left the room I thought, "Wow, if I really wanted to blow his mind I would have said, "And if a condom fails, you end up with Bones"", but that treads into both TMI and the forbidden territory of one's parents having sex.
One day though... One day they will all know... muwahahahahaha.
I can’t frickin’ believe it. I have a rat in my garage. How do I know? The boys were out playing basketball today and watched it run from the bushes into the garage.
And we don’t get small mice or anything here… we get big black canal rats.
And one of them is in my garage.
And my husband is out of town.
I can’t capture it alive and set it free or capture it alive and do anything with it. Some people are skeeved by snakes. Some people have conniptions with spiders. For me… its rats. And even though Mo thinks they’re just like squirrels except squirrels got the better outfit, they’re not. Rats are nasty. Just thinking about them makes my skin crawl and the bile rise in my throat. Ick.
And I can kill it… I’ve mastered that even though those rat traps scare the crap out of me and they don’t have directions in English, but in French, which somehow seems fitting… but I don’t get rid of bodies.
Dead body dumping is the husband’s job. I think its written in our marital contract somewhere, something like, “To have and to hold, and all dead bodies from bugs, vermin, or any other mammals such as armadillos that die in the yard even if they are being feasted upon by hundreds of vultures, or rabbits that run up into drain spouts to escape crazy big dogs with long teeth that proceed to puncture the drain spout of the gutters with the bunny in it, thereby crushing it to death, leaving pieces of fur poking out of said metal spout, shall be removed by the man.”
Not that I have personal experience with any of this.
But, I’m pretty sure it says that.
So I can kill the rat, but then he has to get rid of the body, and he’s not getting home until Sunday. And it’s already hotter than three hells here, so if I leave a dead rat in my garage from Thursday until Sunday… it will get nasty. Probably. I don’t want to find out.
I am so not happy.
I wish I lived next door to my parents… or that maybe they were visiting. Gah!
Sometimes… the best part of my day is when we sit down for dinner as a family.
I don’t get why this is so rare in American families. Trust me, my family is crazy busy. I don’t know if it appears that way here, but we are. My husband gives me a target time of when he’s coming home… give or take 30 minutes. We have sports at night sometimes… meetings, and events. So we do miss out on some family dinners, but overall? I bet we nail it, on a crazy insane busy week, 5 out of 7 nights.
I make sure we do. And when we did not have children? My husband and I still sat down together every night for dinner.
I understand that some parents work 2nd shift or that some parents are away on travel… but that’s not the average American. It’s not.
Our family dinnertime is too important. Too much is hashed out at the dinner table. TV is OFF, table is set with napkins and silverware in the right place. Civility is taught… although some days I do wonder if I’m failing miserably at the whole civility thing. Everyone helps set the table and everyone assists in the clearing.
I do the cooking. I’m cool with that. I take suggestions, however, and that is a BIG help. (Tomorrow night is Taco night since their Dad will be out of town. He hates Mexican food.)
The boys LIKE having dinner around our table. Sometimes their friends join us.
Sunday is family dinner and we get with my brother in law and his wife and daughter, and my father in law and his best friend and/or girlfriend and whether my sister in law and I cook or we order out… we sit down all 10 or 11 of us and break bread.
And we laugh. And family business is hashed out. And memories are made…
So I don’t get why family dinners are falling by the wayside. There are days that dinner is when… I laugh the hardest. We talk about grades, friends, school, upcoming tests, who did what to who on the playground, movies, what teacher tanks and which one rocks, and… it is endless. It is the best time to get a pulse on the family.
I wish often we had a video camera because our dinner conversations alone could be an entire blog. Live stream video… dinner at the house of Bou.
I cannot even imagine not doing family dinner…
My husband is nearly six years older than I, which is not a lot, however, it can make a difference in how you grew up. He was a teenager in the mid to late -70s. The six year difference made me a teenager in the early 80s. That’s a difference in music as well as clothing and hair styles.
Additionally, he had older siblings, who are nearly half way in age between my parents and me. His eldest sister will be 53 this year. So his older siblings were listening to music and doing things that were just not in the home I grew up in… being I was the eldest in my family.
My husband grew up in New Jersey. I grew up as a Navy junior. I also think the places where one grows up can make a difference as well. I was overseas as a pre-teen, coming to Pensacola, Florida pretty naïve and seeking out my own… and finding it. Growing up near Newark, he went to a pretty rough high school. Kids grew up FAST there. I’ve heard stories.
So tonight he was flipping through the channels on TV and I heard a song I knew so well, a flood of memories came back to me. Memories of sitting in the school bus, the local pot head dictating what we listened to on the bus 8 track.
Ahhh… good times. He was a nice pot head. There was that…
I said to my husband, “I know that song. What is it?”
He looked at me, on the verge of rolling his eyes, “It’s a "Whole Lotta Love" by Led Zepplin.”
Me: Oh! Yeah. That brings back memories. The school bus every morning, that’s what we listened to.
Me: Those aren’t the kind of memories it brings back to you, is it?
My husband: Uhhh…no.
Me: You have memories of those times… right?
My husband: Hell yeah. I saw them in concert. I think they could very well have been the best band of all time… and on and on and on and on.
Cracked me up...
Thank you. Rain tonight. No Lightning.
I’m lovin’ life…
P.S. If it rains this weekend, my boys and I will take the asexual Mom-mobile out and wash it in the rain, ala writersblock. *hint hint* And we’ll be happy doing it. Mmmm… well, warm rain is nice for car washing, but rain is rain! Really, we’ll take any!
Wouldn’t you know it? I give up all frickin’ dairy and this week’s carnival of the recipes is macaroni and cheese. Good Lord… I had to go over and look. I’m depressed now… I want cheese.
I had this weird dream last night that I binged on Krispy Kreme doughnuts. I don’t know whether I dreamed it because it’s not on the list of foods I can eat right now or because the KK store nearest us just closed. (I’d never been there before, but was still sad they closed as I wanted to go… one day.) Anyway, I awoke from my dream thinking, “Thank GOD that was a dream!” Krispy Kreme doughnuts can do a real number on my blood sugar and it can take me all day to feel ‘right’ again. Blech.
Mo and her Beau are currently stuck in New Delhi. There was an intercontinental flight they had to take to get to New Delhi that was delayed 3 hours, which made them miss their New Delhi to NYC flight… so they’re currently bumming around New Delhi, HOPING to get on the next flight. If they don’t have seats for them on that one, they get out tomorrow.
Ick. I can think of other places I’d rather be stranded than India, but… I can think of places FAR WORSE as well. But they’re livin’ on love and they’re cool. It’s all good, its all good.
And as I was perusing blogs the other day, I found THIS post that cracked me up. Is it just a mother’s perspective? I am often heard to say, “No more baby mammals. I’m DONE with baby mammals.” That means no more children, puppies, kittens nothing. DONE. And although the post doesn’t sum up exactly why, it’s damn close. (For me it’s all the whining and neediness. Ick.)
Mother's Day cracks me up. It's the homemade cards. Mr. T is the KING of homemade cards and I never know whether to laugh or to cry with how sweet he is.
First, just to remind everyone, we play this game called, "I love you more." I tell one of them, 'I love you' and they in turn say, 'I love you' and I reply, "Ahhhh, but I love YOU more" to which they say, "NO! I love YOU more."
And with my eldest two boys, this is how it is played, with both of us declaring our undying love for the other, except for Bones, who upon hearing me say, "Ahhh, but I love YOU more" replies with, 'I know.'
Mr. T made me two cards. The first he made in computer class and it reads exactly like this, punctuation spelling and all:
Happy Mothers Day I love you
so much. I hope you like the
present I gave you. I hope you
have a great Mothers Day and
tuns of rest because I love you
so much. I will help you with
anything today because this is
your special Day. If you need
anything to make your day
great. I appreciate you more
then you no it. Ps. I love you
It has pictures of frogs and lions on it. Clip art was his friend.
My favorite card though... the one I cannot quit laughing about (that is laughter in a good way)... he made by drawing.
In the center is a big flower, covered in bugs. And it says:
Happy Mother's Day
I Love You
You complete me like the bugs complete the flower!!
I can't quit laughing at that. He's just so... smooth.
And then in the inside it says:
Mom I am so happy your my
mom. I love you so much
you don't even know how much I
love you. To me when the sun
is out I know that you are
And here I've been praying for rain! Heh! My little Poet...
Thank you for the rain this evening. We really needed it, my lawn in particular. Although I know this one rain doesn’t make a difference in our water issues, anything helps at this point.
Could you pass on the lightning next time? Don’t get me wrong. I’ll take a good rain storm with lightning over nothing, but really, if I had my druthers, I’druther not have any lightning. It makes me nervous.
It’s that whole fire thing. Kinda scares me.
I really just wanted to say thank you and Oh! I do have one small eensie weensie favor to ask. Could you turn in the ankles of those who aren’t obeying water restrictions? It would just be nice for them to really stand out in all walks of life, no matter where they are.
Not that I’m trying to be judgmental or anything,
Well, maybe just a little.
But I’m kind of done with them. It’s rude and selfish. Water, the life source and everything, they’re taking it for their grass. You have to see where I’m coming from.
So if it’s not too much to ask, a wee bit of ankle turnage against the water hogs will do my soul good.
And thanks for the rain again. Really! Even if the whole lightning turns to fire thing scares the stew out of me. I’m lovin’ that rain.
Well... if nothing else makes Morrigan and me sisters, it is the fact that she can't quit laughing during the stone scraping of the bottom of the feet during a pedicure.
It must be a familial trait.
And to make it funnier, the young pedicurist was laughing with us.
Its crazy frickin’ hazy here. Damn near the entire state is on fire. I think most of the Florida bloggers have been blogging it.
If we don’t have frickin’ ‘canes, we’re burning. One or the other. No middle ground… or so it feels… today and this past week.
It’s not been as hazy here in our part of Palm Beach County as it has been in Tampa or as Writersblock reported in the Orlando area. Today it’s more so than before.
Its 6:25PM as I write this and it looks like the sun should set soon. The haze gives us an end of day feel, prematurely.
VW is having to keep her kids in doors as her youngest has asthma. All those with breathing difficulties have been told to stay in, windows closed.
My sister lives in Georgia, my brother in LA and me here and all three states are burning. What is the frickin’ probability of that? Y’all should be thanking the Good Lord that TGOO found a most excellent urologist after the birth of Mo, for if they had continued to have children who had moved from home to other states, many more states would be burning. Heh.
Our paper published a website here that shows where the fires are located. This shows the daily wild fire report. (That big ass fire started in Georgia called the Bugaboo fire is nowhere close to being contained.) This site shows what roads are closed. I don’t think I could get to my folks’ home right now if I wanted to. Every major road has parts that are closed. (Sidenote, since I wrote this, a new fire has started in Escambia County... that's where Penacola is, called the Mother's Day Fire. Lovely.)
You can go here to see an animation of the drought spread over the last 6 weeks as it hits the South East hard. Go here and you can see the drought impact monitor. Click on the state, such as Florida which is still the one that’s in big trouble, and you can go county by county. Palm Beach County shows its still in a world of hurt, but if you scan through the other counties, you can see how many fires are listed per county.
I am just amazed… horrified…a wee bit nervous.
We had a fire a few weeks ago near where I used to work. They had to bring in water. The place I used to work had the nickname, “The Swamp”. There was a reason for that. It was like going out into the Everglades. And they had to bring in water… to put the fire out.
If we get a fire… we have no water. Our lawns are parched. Our canals are drying up quicker every day. I meant to go to the city of West Palm Beach water cachement today to take pix. Mainly I was going to see if I could get pix of gators for Jimbo, but I also wanted to see how bad it was. That will be more of a tell tale for me… and I know it’s bad. I can feel it in my bones.
And I have data.
And in case you're wondering... yes, I have all these sites bookmarked. And I monitor them.
It’s been 10 days since I’ve eaten anything with dairy in it. I know, a few of you are raising eyebrows and thinking, “What in the heck is she up to now?”
Well, my face started scaring children and I decided it was time for a change.
I’ve posted before that I have rosacea. I have it bad. They want to put me back on anti-biotics to try to control it as the cleansers and creams aren’t controlling it, my face has been burning like its on fire. I don’t want to take anti-biotics for a couple reasons, one being, I don’t like to take anything. Period. In this case, I feel like we’re just treating the symptoms. I'm a cause and effect kind of girl. What exactly is causing it to be SO BAD?
You can’t tell in the picture I posted recently of me with my son at the wedding, as the make up I was wearing was very heavy. I typically don’t wear it like that. My lack of make up one day prompted a friend of my second son’s to say, “Does your Mom have skin cancer?” When Mr. T said no, the boy replied, “Well, good, because wow, if she did, they’d have to take a blow torch to her whole face, wouldn’t they?”
Nice. But truthful. It has been that bad. My folks said something to me at Bones’ First Holy Communion. At that point I’d eliminated all coffee (I drank three cups a week) in an effort to control it. But that had not done enough, and they both expressed concern that with my face being as bad as it was, permanent damage could be in the process of happening… scarring being one on my mind.
I’m not into just treating the symptoms. I want to know WHAT is causing it.
But my other reason for not wanting to take drugs now, is my liver enzymes were elevated two months ago. I go for another test this month. I want to put nothing in my body that could make us question in the event it is more elevated. I just don’t know what the reading will be… so I don’t want to tamper.
That leaves me with a nasty case of rosacea and trying to figure out what to do other than hide it.
While at Mo’s wedding, her best friend from high school, who has always had bad skin, told me a nutrionist had her eliminate ALL dairy from her diet, and her skin looks great. That’s not just milk and cheese, folks, but also anything that has milk in it… most breads, most processed carbs such as cakes, brownies and all mixes, anything that has whey or casein.
That has meant I’ve also not been eating chocolate (although I think dark is fine, I’m not bothering) and ice cream… of course.
The left side of my face is nearly completely cleared up. The right side, which has always been the worst, is significantly improved. I’m doing this for two months and at the end, if I think it helped, I will slowly introduce back foods to see what I can and cannot tolerate.
Let me tell you… it has been TOUGH. I’ve had to totally change my eating patterns. No more cereal and milk in the morning. Now I eat a scrambled egg and a 1/2 bagel with jam. Lunch is salad, meat, and pita bread. I eat a lot of fruits and vegetables and protein when I can. I try to get the carbs… noodles and potatoes are good. But it’s tough as the carbs most of us eat do generally have some sort of milk byproduct.
I’m hungry a lot. Fruit and veggies don’t hold you over well. They’re burned off fairly quickly. I never realized how much cheese I ate, although I suspected it. I could have been the Poster Child for those folks who make cheese in Wisconsin. I’m eating more nuts and scrounging for protein whenever I can.
The other night the boys asked for ice cream. I braced myself for dishing it up… until my eldest boy said, “Hey Mom. I’ll have chocolate ice cream.” (We have a couple different kinds in the house.)
Asking me to scoop out chocolate ice cream… that is damn close to the equivalent of asking a recovering heroin addict to help someone shoot up. Holy crap. I couldn’t take it and ate a bite.
So we’ll see how it goes. I may need to be on the antibiotics as well eventually… but for now, I’m liquid-cow free. My face is still red, but most of the acne is gone. One day at a time... but man, what I wouldn't do for a big bowl of cereal with ice cold milk...
Bones had a job at the wedding. He carried the pebble basket and he was instructed to hand a pebble to each guest at the wedding as they arrived, before they took their place. Pebble makes it sound small. They were really stones.
Before the wedding we were saying it was for the ‘Traditional Stoning of the Bride and Groom’. Our own little joke…
Evidently Sissy arrived and there was Bones standing there, with his basket in hand, not handing out stones. Sissy, realizing something was amiss and hoping to head it off said to him, “Bones, aren’t you supposed to be handing out the pebbles as the guests arrive?”
Well, apparently independent thought had taken place and he told her, “I decided I’m going to hand them out when they’re all seated.” At that point, Ringo grabbed a couple handfuls and started passing them out while Bones realized he needed to do his job as instructed.
I’ve heard this 3rd hand, so Sissy or Mo will correct me if I am wrong.
And I heard also that one of Mo’s friends went up to Bones and asked for a second pebble, whereas he said to her, “No. You already have one. Why do you need another?”
He was not only Mr. Independent Thought, but he was the keeper of those pebbles. It was an important job. Dammit. He didn’t give her a second pebble.
I asked him about his job responsiblities and his take was this, “Yeah, I did that. I thought I’d wait, but then I started to hand them out. Do you know what people said to me? “What are these for? Are we supposed to throw them at the Bride and Groom?” But I told them, ‘NO. They are for you to throw in the lake and make a wish for the Bride and Groom.” Can you believe that?”
I was laughing and said, “Really?”
He continued, ‘Yeah. Really. And then SOME PEOPLE asked for TWO pebbles! Geez. What did they think they needed TWO for?”
I inquired, “Umm… what did you do? Did you give them another?
To which Bones replied, “NO! They had theirs! They didn’t need TWO!”
Bones had spoken…
And so near the end of the ceremony, all the guests were asked to take their pebble and go to the bay (not the lake) and make a wish for the Bride and Groom, tossing/throwing/skipping said pebble into the water. Every single person took part. It was so cool watching everyone walk to the water, cast their stone, and then take their seats again.
Bones said to me after the wedding, “You know what I wished? I wished that they never ever get divorced.” He has become cognizant of divorce this year. Bones, always the practical.
Bones the Pebble Bearer (Photo courtesy of Sissy who was the Photo taking Maniac)
OK. No matter how hungry you are, no matter what your cravings, it is NOT NICE to eat cabbage and beans at your desk for lunch at work.
And it’s just bad frickin’ luck to have the other person next to you eating beanie weenies.
Bad luck for me.
Yesterday was a stinky day at work…
Water restrictions continue to tighten here in Palm Beach County, as two municipalities had to shut down two wells this week for fear of salt water intrusion.
Our public buildings are being asked to keep their a/c at 78 (the big buildings like the court houses and the schools are following suit), in hopes that it will help the power plant. The power plant that produces all the power is cooled by… water.
On Thursday we will be down to one day a week watering and I foresee them forgoing watering all together eventually. Someone commented once that our grass will grow back. Actually… no… most of ours won’t. Our days are long, our sun is hot, and they’ll burn up, causing us to have to re-sod. That said, I’d rather lose my grass than my water, so if they have to say no watering, at all, they need to do it.
I’m really pissed off about the entire situation, for many reasons. First, I do think our water management district has not done a great job. I just don’t. One minute they’re flowing water from the lake into the ocean and the next minute there isn’t enough water in the lake and we’re fearing a water problems of epic proportions. And perhaps it is not their fault, as the last five years has had such an influx of population, that they're doing OJT. Which brings me to...
Second, I’m pissed as hell at our cities, counties and state for allowing this building to continue. Just this week I got something in the mail from some developers soliciting my help in getting my elected officials to vote for their new 10,000 home development in what used to be an orange grove. I am letting my elected officials know… that the madness must stop. It has been tolerated too long that our schools are overcrowded, our entire social infrastructure is being put to the test, and our roads are becoming a disaster all because of the raping and pillaging of every open piece of land.
But now we’re talking about water. A life source. Did nobody see this coming? I did. I’ve been saying for years, as thousands upon thousands of people moved down here, “Where is this water going to come from?” We're on a peninsula, surrounded by it... but we can't drink that stuff!
And I’m pissed at my neighbors. Really really pissed at my neighbors. My grass is a light green with big burn spots. Why? Because I’m adhering to water restrictions. Most of my neighbor’s yards are bright green. They water at night when nobody will see them. It irritates me to no end.
I’ve emailed the head of our POA and asked him to put something up on our big neighborhood notice sign about water restrictions and just received an affirmative reply. I’m about a hairs width away from calling the Narc line and telling them to come patrol my neighborhood at night. We’re all on well water. When the wells start drying up, we can’t go to city water. I pray every night that the people using water when they aren’t supposed to will have their wells dry first. Of course it won’t work that way.
The whole thing just irritates the ever living stew out of me.
Bones and I had some errands to run after school today, while his brothers had after school activities. His preoccupation today seemed to center around babies. All three of them wouldn’t really mind having a baby in the house, but the factory is closed.
As much as I love them. Babies, that is. AND my boys.
And so we walked through the mall, his little hand warmly tucked into mine, and he chattered like he does, when the topic was suddenly babies and he said, “So wouldn’t it be great if you had a baby on Mother’s Day? The Dad could leave to get you presents and when he came back, you’d get all these presents AND have your baby!”
I said, “Well, yes, but the presents aren’t needed. The baby is enough.”
Bones: Really? Is it a happy time to have a baby?
Me: Yes. Absolutely. One of the happiest times in one's life.
Bones: Is it always happy?
Me: Yes. Babies are a gift and are wonderful.
Bones: So. What is the first thing the doctor said to you when your babies were born?
Me (laughing): It’s a boy!
Bones: Really? How he could he tell?
Me: Umm… because… boys have weenies and girls don’t?
Bones: Oh. Yeah. *blush* You mean, I was born naked?!
Me: Yeah. Of course. What did you think? Who would get those clothes on that baby inside the tummy?
Bones: Isn’t that embarrassing to the baby?
Now, a bit of a side comment here, before I wrap up this conversation, but this last comment really had me do a double take. Embarrassing? Coming from a boy who is content to run around in my house in his underwear? From a boy who dries off from the shower and then can evidently only put his underwear on while standing in the middle of the family room where everyone is congregated?
Me: No. Babies don’t care.
Bones: And then the nurses clean them off, wrap them in a towel and give them to you?
Me: Yup. Pretty much.
And he started to grin from ear to ear, it was so funny, the loving grinning expression he had picturing this baby all swaddled up and being handed to a Mom. It was the oddest, but most heart warming conversation.
I’m still kind of taken back that he thought he was born with clothes on, but I’m taking solace in the fact that perhaps that means… THE talk is really a long ways away.
Because you know… I have no clue what he’ll throw at me during that talk. *shudder*
My father in law has a girlfriend. They’ve been dating for nearly 18 months now. Although there was initially great family resentment (although for me it was astonishment that any woman would want him), I was the first to invite her to everything and she has become an accepted part of our lives, although astonishment seems to still be the most pervasive thought, we have all grown to care about her greatly.
She’s a good woman. She stumbled upon my father in law when he was in his 6th year of grieving, which wouldn’t be a problem except he never allowed anyone else to grieve. It was always about him. Eh, but it was always thus. It is what it is.
And upon her finding him, she seemed to have lifted him out of this ‘funk’ and they go out and do things. Movies, the theater, symphony, museums… they do things. I think it is nice that in his twilight years, that he has someone to spend it with.
Today I found out her son, who is but a few years older than I, has lung cancer, Stage IV, and it has metastasized into his bones already. It’s not looking good. To make it worse, he has no insurance, so one hospital pretty much tossed him into the streets to die, until they found a hospital that would take him and a doctor that WANTS to treat him. I’m not sure how this is going to work, and I’m not asking.
The hospital that cast him out was a private hospital. The one that has taken him is a not for profit. I don’t know exactly why this man did not have insurance, but I know he supported himself as a carpenter or painter… he had a solid job, but one that did not have benefits and for whatever reason, he found himself in this plight.
Of course Pop’s girlfriend is devastated. Pop is staying with her, driving her to every doctor’s visit (scary thought his driving), making sure she eats and is a shoulder for her to cry upon when her son is not around. She holds it together around her son, but that is what we Mom’s do.
I was talking to him about it tonight… and telling him that he has for so long felt blessed that ‘God put her in’ his life, but perhaps He put them both in each other’s life, that this was in her future and she could not be alone.
I’d like to think that there is something, somewhere, that would do that. The choice to believe sometimes, that there is a goodness somewhere that will see us through…
The fickle hand of fate… it is on my mind. You never know. One minute you are fine, the next you are told you are terminally ill. One minute you are with family and the next… they are gone. One minute you have it all together… and the next… you have lost everything.
I never think, “Oh that could never happen to me!”, but instead, “Wow… that COULD be me.” Take nothing for granted…
My eldest boy, the one that likes to make me nuts as of late… he has inherited my addiction to reading and books. If logic didn’t step in and tell me the library is a better answer, I could spend entire paychecks on books. Barnes & Nobles is to me what some men complain about clothing stores are to their wives. It’s bad.
I love the smell of books. I love books. Period.
And so does he. And he would have no qualms spending MY entire paycheck in B&N either.
Yesterday we stopped in to take a look at some books he’d been wanting and that we can’t get at the library. I was standing with my younger boys, looking for a SpongeBob book for Bones (anything that gets Bones to read makes me happy) when I looked over to the side and there stood my shaggy brown haired 12 year old, oblivious to those around him, completely immersed in a book, with books scattered around him.
And I thought, “That is me. He is my son. He is mine. He is me…”
I could not quit staring. Watching his facial expressions change as he read… engrossed, laughing, serious, thoughtful.
The mothers at school laugh at me as I always have a book. One of them said to me the other day, as I sat in the car reading in carpool line while other mothers were out and about speaking to one another, “there you are. You and your books…”
My reply to her? I said, “Yup. When I read, I’m someone else, traveling somewhere else, doing someone else…”
I still laugh when I remember her expression as she busted out laughing. I’m not sure that’s the answer she expected, but, hey, it is what it is.
Anyway, Bones was into SpongeBob and it appears he is taking a liking to reading. He WANTS to read to me, and although the last thing I want to do is take 30 minutes of my time to hear him read to me about SpongeBob and Patrick, its not like I don’t hear it on the TV enough, I am more than happy to do it as… I want him to love reading as I do. I want him to look forward to picking up his book and escaping when he needs to.
My eldest boy feels the same way and when he realized that Bones really wanted to read, he went searching for books for Bones.
Good Grief. He came up with this book called… Bunnicula. It’s this bunny that is Dracula. Frickin’ Bunnicula. He sucks the juice out of vegetables.
I just stood there staring and finally said, “Bunnicula?” as I saw a picture of a bunny with fangs staring back at me.
Ringo said, “Yeah! I think it looks GREAT!”
It looked a bit above Bone’s level so we put it back, but Mr. T, who I cannot get to read to save my damn life, said to me today, ‘Mom, I think I’d like to read that book Bunnicula.”
Holy crap. I’m going to buy it tomorrow. Hopefully it’s a series. I’ll buy it all. I don’t care. I’ll listen to SpongeBob being read to me for hours and I’ll buy every evil bunny book ever made… I do not care.
I just want them to love reading…
My husband has been on travel, and so I’ve spent most of the week keeping up with the boys and trying to find things to keep them occupied.
We went to the beach one night for a picnic. Another day we went to some friend's house for lunch and swimming.
Last night I said, “Hey! It’s Cinco de Mayo! Let’s go to Moe’s!”
If y’all don’t have one, Moe’s is a Southwestern Grill, kind of fast food, but not like Taco Bell. My husband is not fond of Mexican food, so any chance I get, I try to sneak it in when he’s not around. Since Moe’s just opened, I’ve not been able to take the boys due to long lines. I refuse to wait to eat. There are too many other places to go.
As good fortune would have it, we got there at 6 and were the only folks in line. When we left it was filling up.
As we were sitting and eating, my eldest looked at me and said, ‘Mom, what is the first thing you think of when you think of Mexico?”
I just sat there. I didn’t want to answer. I’m not going to lie to him, but I was hoping we could avoid it. I said, “Well, what do YOU think of when you think of Mexico?”
He replied, “Sombreros!” Of course he does…
He didn’t let it go. “Come on, Mom, what do you think of?”
Finally I took a deep breath and said, “Illegal aliens.”
He just kind of looked at me and said, “Really? Well… what’s the 2nd thing you think of?”
I shook my head and said, “Drug trafficking.”
I want to be 12 again. I want to think of Mexico and think of Sombreros. Being an adult can be so depressing…
Morrigan is currently in India with her Beau, who is not her Beau any longer, but I have yet to find a new name for him, so he remains… Mo’s Beau, until I can think of a more fitting name now that they’re legally a team.
Anyway, Mo and her Beau decided for their honeymoon to go to the Maldives, pronounced Mal-deeves. It’s a small group of islands off the coast of India, closest to Sri Lanka. I have no real clue how they chose it except I know they wanted to go to Greece, but you have to book a year in advance to use your frequent flier points. I also know they were doing a search for some place cool to go and she and I had a conversation as they were looking into a venue, that went something like this, to the best of my recollection.
Mo: Greece is out. We didn’t book far enough in advance. You have to book one year in advance to use your frequent flier points.
Bou: Oh. So. Where next?
Mo: Ummm… I’m on line. I’m thinking maybe Bora Bora.
Bou: Bora Bora?
Mo: And then there is Peleliu…
Bou: Peleliu? What is this? The WWII historical tour? Why don’t you just add Midway to your list?
And then they ended up out of the Pacific and ended up in the Indian Ocean because… well… you gotta know Mo. These things just sometimes make sense.
So with stockpiles of frequent flier points, they set forth to some tiny islands you can’t even see on the frickin’ globe. For those of you with Google Earth… put in Maldives and you can see what I’m talking about.
Now I’m not real keen on going places I don’t blend anymore. When I was young, before 9/11, that didn’t make me nervous. Now? No thanks. Scratch any place I don’t look the norm. Seriously. If I look like an American when I visit, if I can’t seem to look like a native, forgetting even the fact I may dress and speak differently, I don’t want to go.
I will stay right here and be the homebody I am becoming more and more every day.
I still want to see the Grand Canyon and Mount Rushmore. The Grand Tetons? Never been. I’d like to go. Alaska, Washington State, Oregon, Montana, Wyoming… those Northern Lights. All on my list.
India, Sri Lanka, any country smacking of the Middle East? Nope. I’ll pass. I'm particularly not thrilled with the thought of going to any country that is heavily Muslim, which will eventually take out most if not all of Europe, the way things appear to be going.
But Morrigan has always been the adventurous one. And so the dart was thrown and she and her Beau are on their way to the Maldives by way of India and Sri Lanka (where they will stay at the airport due to some ‘civil unrest’).
They have internet, so we’ve been getting little email. This was the first one, an excerpt I feel certain she will not mind me repeating, “I'll tell you now....I would not recommend this. It's once in a life time but I feel like I have 2 heads. Everyone stares at you. I can't wait for the beach.”
To which I started to laugh. Morrigan is all of 5’ tall, has auburn hair that is crazy curly like… Nicole Kidman, weighs 115 lb clothed and drenched, has white skin and hazel green eyes.
And she’s in IN-DI-A. Yeah. I think people would stare… she probably looks like some Celtic Goddess who has come to visit.
Cracks me up.
Of course I sent her back the following note: “…I don’t like going places where I don’t blend. You know… like living in a ghetto! Heh!!!” Because if you recall, she lives in one of those ‘transitional neighborhoods’ where an occasional crack ‘ho ends up sleeping on your front stoop.
But this entire thing started to get me to think, of all the people I know, who would stand out the most? And the answer that quickly came to me was my Aunt, TGOO’s older sister.
She is now in her late 60s and has that white hair that is like spun cotton. White. Not gray. Not the salt and pepper stuff. Not wiry brillo pad gray. I mean WHITE. SNOW white. And soft.
I love her hair. If I were to go gray, which it appears as of now the chances are remote, I want my hair to be like hers.
We are of Celtic extraction, obviously, and her skin is white as well… it is white like milk. And so with this white white hair and this white white skin… her eyes stand out as it is the only color about her, an ice blue. Her eyes are ice blue.
I’d love to see her in a place like India. She is exotic looking in her own right now. As a young woman she was attractive, but to see her now, it can be startling. And that’s in America. I can’t imagine her in the streets of India.
**Update: Upon IMing Morrigan today, it appears she was most uncomfortable when they entered the country of India and went from Delta to Air India, for their 1 hour flight, where she was wearing cargo pants and bright blue tshirt, sitting, thankfully, in the very last row of seats in the plane, surrounded by Muslims, with all the women wearing Burkas. She said that was a bit uncomfortable.
To say the least. Heh.
Mr. T thinks he’s in the know now that we’ve had ‘the talk’. The first thing he said to Morrigan when we arrived for the wedding weekend was, “So. Are you and Mo’s Beau going to have a baby?”
Didn’t that equate to, “So. Are you and Mo’s Beau going to have sex?”
She kind of laughed, a bit horrified and said they were going to wait awhile and Mo’s Beau said something about storks or having one on order.
Oh and at Take Your Child to Work Day, Mr. Magoo has a picture of meerkats on his cube. (Each meerkat is labeled with someone’s name. Typical office humor.)
Mr. T looked at them and said, “He has a picture of meerkats. I’ve watched Meerkat Manor on animal planet.” *pause* He leaned over to me and said quietly, as if telling me a secret, ‘I’ve seen them… mate.”
Tonight I was walking through the family room and he was watching TV. I overheard something along the lines of (the stats may be a bit off), ‘Statistically, 48% look at the chest where a mere 20% look at the butt.”
I stopped in my tracks, walked back into the dark room where my 10 year old son was sprawled out on the couch and said, “WHAT are YOU watching?”
He looked up at me innocently and said, “Discovery Channel, Mom.”
I turned to the TV and there were monkeys. Big monkeys. With Big Red Butts.
“What were they talking about?”, I inquired.
He said, “Oh, well, the other type of monkeys are almost always attracted to chests, but this monkey… they only like butts.”
I nearly choked. I felt so… dirty.
Last week was Take Your Child to Work Day. Since we were leaving town, I had not anticipated any child going with me or to their father’s place of work. Only one child expressed any interest of knowing what I do or seeing it or meeting the people.
One out of three. The others are still enamored with their father’s profession. The one child who expressed interest in what I do, has never wanted to do what his father does.
This would be my second son, Mr. T.
Upon realizing he really and truly wanted to come… I had a change of heart and decided to take him for the morning.
The day before TYCtWD, we were told to go to the front desk in the lobby and ‘pick a badge’ for our kids. There was a spiral notebook full of cartoon characters and every child would get a cartoon character for their picture and then their name typed on and laminated, just like their parent’s badge… except theirs weren’t to work and well, I guess some of us are cartoonish anyway, so yeah, just like their parent’s badge.
I flipped through the book and there were all the super heros as well as Bugs, Daffy, Mickey and the likes. I narrowed it down to two choices for my 10 year old, Shrek and Sponge Bob. The super heros are not as cool anymore when you’re 10. As I was doing the ‘eenie meenie miney moe’ to determine his ‘likeness for the day’, of which I was seriously leaning toward Shrek, the head of security, who had been temporarily filling in for the woman who works the lobby desk, said to me, “You don’t want that sissy stuff for your son! You want something cool! You want… Venom!”
I looked at him blankly and said, “Venom? Who’s that?”
He continued, “He’s only the coolest of all cool super villains. Look at him…” and he pulled up a picture of Venom on the computer. Venom is this dark spooky villain guy.
I was hemming and hawing when this young engineer who was probably all of 16 and who I am most definitely old enough to be his mother, walked up to get something and the security man said, “Who would you pick, Venom or one of these other guys?”
And the 14 year old engineer said, “Phht. Venom. Of course.”
So I said, “Venom it is…” and as I was about to walk away the woman who runs the front desk came up to him and said, “You gave her little boy VENOM?! I created all these characters! They are all happy and cheery, nothing dark and sinister!”
And as they kind of sort of went at it, I slipped back to my desk wondering if I’d made the right choice…
Flash forward to the next day, my son was with me in the lobby and he got his badge and he looked at me bright eyed and said, “Venom!”
I said, “Yup. And you are the ONLY child with Venom. You’re it Dude. You’re the man. By the way, if you had a choice between Shrek and Sponge Bob, which would you choose?”
He looked at me as if I were an idiot and said, “Sponge Bob. Of course.” Hmm. Good thing that the security guy was there.
Later on, ensconced at my desk, buried in papers and prints, with 15 different dazzling systems up and running on my screen, he leaned over to me and said, ‘Mom, you know the guys who write those movies? They always make Spiderman win because they have to, but in real life? Venom would win every time. He’d tear off Spiderman’s face and eat him for lunch. Venom is better than Spiderman. Any day.”
I suspect I now know what is discussed amongst the 10 year old boys at school. I suspect also it is not about a show down between Shrek and Sponge Bob. It appears that Venom rules…
This is one of the few pictures I’ve seen so far catching Morrigan coming down ‘the aisle’. It wasn’t an aisle really. She stood on top of the balcony of the O’Club and then walked down stairs to meet TGOO, who walked her down the path to the beach to meet her man at the place the ceremony was to be held.
Acutally it went more like this…
I was standing next to the officiate, opposite Mo’s Beau, waiting… as we all were… for Mo. The Piper was piping, TGOO was at the base of the stairs looking up… and there was no Mo.
So the Piper continued to Pipe and Mo’s Beau and I continued to look up the path, and TGOO continued to wait until finally TGOO climbed the stairs to get her. I have no idea what he said. Knowing him, he probably made it ¾ of way, put his hand to his mouth and yelled, “Mo! Are you coming?! You’re late!”
And with that, he made his way back down the stairs to wait for her, where she wound her way down, to make it down the path… a very long path.
And they did not walk fast.
I heard Mo’s Beau say to his Dad (his best man) and the officiate, something to the effect of “She waited so long for this day, she probably thought she better make it count. No short walk…” We all laughed. He was mic’d for the video, so she’ll know exactly what he said. It was funny.
And so… Mo at the top, making her way down.
No blogging yesterday as chaos reigned and tempers flared in the House of Bou. Ahhh... life. Yet another day my 12 year old managed to live through the shrugs, blank stares and monosyllabic answered peppered with, "I don't know" which really equates to, 'I don't give a crap...'.
Actually, life persists in his body because his mother, realizing she was about to lose it, sequestered herself in a small corner of the house until the father arrived home at which point she threw him a Hail Mary saying, "I can't deal. It's yours. I might beat him senseless if I see him again..." and thankfully said husband deftly caught the ball and took care of the rest.
Anyway, on that note, I give you a frickin' funny post over at Sissy's, one of the guests at the wedding. She saw something of which I was completely unaware.
Setting: Mustin Beach O'Club on the beach an hour before sunset
Time: About 5 minutes before the wedding was to commence