My husband’s best friend’s son’s Bar Mitzvah is next weekend.
I’ll get to the relevancy of that to me in a minute.
We’ll be traveling down to Miami to attend. I’m very excited. My husband’s friend is pretty orthodox and I love being with his family and being immersed in their faith.
When he got married, my husband was in the wedding party, and took part in everything, except for standing under the Chuppah.
The day before, we’d gone to the Aufruf. We just had the best time… their faith is absolutely fascinating to me. At their Temple, the women sat upstairs and the men down, and the women showed me everything to do, as I attempted to follow along during the Aufruf service.
So their eldest boy’s Bar Mitzvah is here and I remember when he was born and I’m blown away that… time is passing so quickly.
There will be a big luncheon afterwards.
And that’s where Lent and I come in.
I don’t think there is a culture that does dessert like the Jews do. Their pastries… are… to die for.
And I gave up sugar for Lent.
And I think I may just have to shoot myself.
GRRRR. I cannot frickin’ believe this. Dammit.
I think most of you know, I cook a lot. I'm not gourmet, but I do cook a lot and my kids will eat just about anything. I've always had the rule, 'I cook one dinner'.
The bonus to that is my kids eat.
The negative is... we go out and my kids are like, "Can we order a filet mignon steak and stuffed lobster with a lobster bisque and fried calamari as appetizers and a Caesar Salad?"
Just so you know... the answer is "NO." But give them a taste once and they like it... they will forever request it.
We eat a lot of salmon and today's recipe was such a big hit, I thought I'd post it. I know I got it off the internet... but I don't remember where. My commentary is included.... for free. Heh.
Pineapple and Soy Salmon
• 1 1/4 cups pineapple juice
• 2 tablespoons low-sodium soy sauce
• 1/4 cup dry sherry
• 1 teaspoon light brown sugar
• 2 tablespoons miso (More on this...)
• 4 6-ounce skinless salmon fillets
• 1/4 teaspoon fresh-ground black pepper
Side note on miso: I did not find miso in my grocery store. I did have to travel to an Asian market to buy it. It's in the refrigerator section and is a soy paste. Some groceries may carry it, but ours did not.
• 1. Create salmon marinade: In a medium saucepan bring the pine-apple juice, soy sauce, and sherry to a boil and then lower temperature to a simmer for around 15 minutes. (The recipe calls for 20 minutes on high, but I burned it to my pan... it got too thick. Evidently I had to throw it out and start again.) You want it to cook down to a slightly thicker consistency. Stir it occasionally to see how its doing... you don't want it carmel thick... just not thin like juice.
Stir in the brown sugar and simmer for 5 more minutes. Using a whisk, stir in miso. Remove from heat and allow the mixture to cool. (I put it in a cup and set it in the fridge to take the edge off.)
Season the salmon fillets with the pepper and place them in a shallow baking dish. (Make sure the baking dish can go from fridge to oven or marinade them in a separate pan, transferring for cooking.) Pour the pineapple glaze over the salmon fillets, turning to coat each side, and chill for 30 minutes.
Preheat oven to 425°F.
• 2. Roast the fillets: Place the salmon on the top shelf of the oven and cook until the flesh turns opaque—about 7 minutes. Change the oven temperature setting to broil and cook until the glaze begins to brown—2 to 3 minutes. Serve immediately.
1 serving: Calories 329; Carbohydrates 17g; Cholesterol 94mg; Fat 11g; Sodium 644mg
I chaperoned a field trip yesterday for the 3rd grade. My car was filled, of course, with boys. Bones got to pick what kids would ride with us and he chose his three closest buddies.
I listened to them chatter the whole way there and back. It was non stop motion and sound. Exhausting, actually. ADHD kids tend to find their own, I have found, and then add a kid or two with their own little personality quirks and you start looking for movie cameras as certainly this is being filmed for some movie.
It can’t actually be real.
But it is.
And they spoke about what they wanted to be when they grow up and someone said they wanted to be a cop and Bones said, ‘Yeah, but everyone knows… there is no one tougher than a Navy SEAL.”
I think I *blinked*. Evidently he listens to his Mom.
Bones came in today and said to me, ‘Mom, feel this.’
He took the back of my hand and put it up to his nose.
“What am I feeling,” I asked?
“Nothing,” came the reply. “See, no air is coming out of my nose. It’s all stopped up.”
I stood there for a minute and then said, “Are you telling me you would like some dimatap?”
He said yes and I replied, ‘Dude, all you have to do is tell me… I don’t need a show and tell.”
You know… for the longest time when he’d do things like this, I attributed it to his being a bit of a drama king.
Well, he is big drama.
But now, I’m not so sure. He is the child that learns through doing. He is very tactile and learns through hands on experience. I am wondering now if for all these years it is not a case of his being drama, but by showing me how he learns best.
It has made me wonder…
A lot of Florida was out of power yesterday. We were not one.
When I heard a nuclear reactor shut down, my first thought was, "CHERNOBYL!"
Yeah, I have a rather active imagination, why do you ask?
Boy wouldn't that have just oh so totally sucked. Gah!
I took Bones to the orthodontist today. Bad news is… he genetically inherited part of my mouth. The good news is early orthodontics will take care of most of the problem. No pulling teeth and braces for 3 years like when I was a kid.
The bad news is he starts head gear at night on Tuesday. The good news is this first phase of head gear and braces will only last a year.
The bad news is he will whine a lot and I’m bracing myself for that. (No pun intended.) The good news is… well. Hmmm. I’m not past bribing him to get him to comply and to stop whining… and if that means lots of milk shakes and smoothies… I’m game.
Speaking of milk shakes, I have not cheated since I started the ‘no sugar’ for Lent. I have lost 4 pounds. That is the only positive in this whole thing.
I am fantasizing about food. Homemade chocolate chip cookies to be exact. Fresh out of the oven. Everyone else will be breaking into their Easter baskets on Easter morning and I’ll be making chocolate chip cookies for breakfast.
And probably dinner.
People have asked me, “So do you have more energy?”
No. Not at all. As a matter of fact, I feel lethargic at times and the grapes just aren’t doing it. I truly miss refined sugar. I’ve tried all sorts of fruit and nothing is a substitute in any way shape for form for… chocolate.
Or any other carb.
Overall, I honestly don’t crave it. The only time I had a tough time was when I had to make a chocolate cake with my homemade chocolate buttercream icing. We had to take the cake somewhere and I said to my husband, “The cake gets eaten there or thrown away. It does NOT come home.”
And yeah, I did take a taste of the icing. It was too much… but it was one little taste and I don’t feel bad for it.
The kids asked for breakfast for dinner tonight as their Dad was out. I made bacon, scrambled eggs with cheese and ham, blueberry crepes and waffles… and did not feel the urge to cheat at all.
But those chocolate chip cookies… hot out of the oven… are all I can frickin’ think about.
Easter morning. They’re mine.
Yes we have power.
That whole situation sucked, didn't it? Gah!
There are things to read... and things to read.
Some people experience extraordinary things and either aren't aware or don't appreciate it.
Others experience it and not only appreciate it... but write about it as well.
Zonker emailed a piece to me the other day, knowing I'd be interested. I love knowing about our veterans... we are losing our WWII veterans so quickly.
He got the link from this blog.
Go read what Zonker sent me HERE, entitled Soon to be Forgotten. You won't regret it.
I am realizing now that I’ve not blogged on Mr. T’s apraxia and that time in our life, what caused it, what we did, and some of what occurred during that time. I’ve never mentioned it here and part of me is kind of surprised as I’ve been blogging for nearly four years and another part of me realizes that I view it as something that we overcame as a family and it’s in our past.
But I’m going to put it out there. It’s a lengthy story, so skip along if you’d like. There are people who read me who were there for some of this… they will remember.
I wrote that he was born with it. I wrote that to gloss over the fact he has it and so I didn’t have to explain myself. Most of you know me, that I’m steeped in logic, and that I’m not flighty and prone to thinking someone is ‘out to get us’. So I’ll put it out there.
Mr. T was a normal babbling baby until his 6 or 9 month inoculations, I forget which, and then he went silent. He still laughed, but there was no ‘buh buh buh’ no sound other than laughter. Nothing.
It was brought to my attention as we struggled with our situation, that they had added a new shot to the infant/baby shot schedule a couple years before and many of the vaccines had mercury in the preservatives. Nobody had bothered to add up exactly HOW MUCH mercury our babies were getting. Everyone will deny that this was a problem… but I find it interesting that now NONE of our inoculations for our children have mercury in them and they have changed the inoculation schedule.
I view our government as inept when it comes to the vaccinations. All of my children are vaccinated and I am one who believes in them, but every time a new inoculation comes out, I tell the pediatrician, “Give it a couple years on the general American population and then talk to me about it. Let other children die and have side effects first.”
It is what it is and there have been inoculations that I have been offered for my children, that have not been mandatory, that I have said NO to, only to find them pulled off the market when children died.
I have no faith.
By 18 months he had developed his own sign language. I still remember some of them. He’d blow on his finger for ‘hot’. For ‘Dad’, he would pump his arm up and down like he was cheering. That came from standing at the window watching his Dad cut the lawn and his older brother doing, ‘the Daddy cheer’ and cheering him as he drove by the window on the riding lawnmower.
I had no faith in the pediatricians we went to. The final straw was a misdiagnosis of one of my children when Mr. T was 15 months, so I moved the boys to a group now that I love. In particular, I LOVE and ADORE one who I will call Dr. B. I love this man and feel a great debt of gratitude to him for what he did for us… for believing in me (and has always believed in me) and for looking ahead and being proactive.
When my boys are old enough to leave him as a doctor, I am definitely going to do something for his office.
I had never seen Dr. B before, but he came highly recommended. He didn’t know me. As far as he knew, I was just some flighty Mom worried about nothing. I walked into his office tired… I had a 3 ½ year old, an18 month old, and I was pregnant with my 3rd, so you can imagine that I didn’t exactly look like Miss America.
He asked me what was wrong and I said to him straight out, ‘My son doesn’t speak and I am worried.”
I remember this conversation like it was an hour ago.
“Doesn’t speak? Not Dada, Mama, nothing?,” he replied.
Me: No. Nothing. He’s developed his own sign language.
Dr. B: Not even Dada.
He looked Mr. T over and looked at me and said, “I want you to go to call this number and get him evaluated immediately. They’ll check his hearing and see where he is all around developmentally. I’m worried too.”
And with that we started into our long journey into the world of social services, speech therapy, and speech.
Mr. T tested out for comprehension as nearly 3 years old. I got him into testing at 19 months and he was testing as comprehending what was being said to him at nearly the same age as his older brother.
His verbal communication came in at 9 months. He had none. His ability to convey what he wanted came in slightly higher. His hearing was fine… perfect actually and it was fascinating how they tested it. If he’d not had such an enormous ability in comprehension, they’d not have been able to do it the way they did, but they tested him like an older child.
He was so small… sitting on my lap in that booth. It was hard to keep my 3 year old from wanting to help him… to keep him entertained while my younger one tested.
We got him in private therapy immediately with a wonderful woman named Donna. The Federal Government picked up the tab until he was 3… and at that point he was speaking, but you couldn’t understand him. They don’t pay for therapy for articulation. At that point we paid for it out of our pocket, as well as sending him to a local ‘summer camp’ Donna held.
One of my fondest memories during this time is watching him sit with my Mom at the kitchen table. She is so patient with my children when she teaches them. And she sat there with him going over his ‘homework’, looking at pictures, rewarding him with the little candies we had.
His improvement was marked and amazing. We had him in a public school for preschool that was designed just for speech therapy when he reached preK 3. He qualified for two days and I knew some speech therapists at a school we were not zoned for. I worked the system and got him in.
By the end of that pre-K 3 school year he was dismissed… he was 4 ½.
There were some really really dark times for us. I was still working so we could afford to ‘throw money at it to make it go away’. But that didn’t come without a price. I was always tired.
I remember having to call 911 when Ringo was 4 as he wasn’t breathing right, his lips losing their color and his chest retracting. Dr. B wasn’t in the office the next day, so I had to see some guy on call, that I never saw again. I had Ringo who was 4, Mr. T/Marcel Marceau who was 2, and a brand new baby.
I have no family in town.
The doctor we saw told me that he thought that Ringo probably had a growth in his throat (what an idiot, scaring a parent like that) and that we needed to go for X rays. As he was going through the items that I need to do, as I was struggling to keep my 2 year old entertained by feeding him goldfish, and rocking my infant, I said, “You need to write this down. All of it. Step by step. I have three children, one of them a newborn, my 2 year old is in therapy for an apraxia, I get no sleep, and if you don’t write it down, I’ll forget even coming here.”
He looked at me and said, “Who is helping you?”
What an idiot.
I looked at him coldly and said, “NO ONE is helping me. My husband has a job and works long hours. I’m flying solo on this. Write it down so I can get it done.”
I think most Moms fly solo nowadays. I don’t know many people who live near family anymore.
Ringo had asthma. There were trips to pulmonologists, trips to speech therapists, trips to pediatricians for an infant. Work, whining, crying, sickness… it was a very very bad time for me. Driving home from work praying I’d not fall asleep on the highway.
It was during that time I saw the homeless man sleeping under the overpass and instead of wondering how he got there and what happened in his life leaving him homeless, without feeling a pang of sympathy, or thinking of the fact he was sleeping on concrete, instead I thought, ‘Oh… he is sleeping. That looks comfortable. Sleep.”
And here we are today. I am walking testimony that lost sleep will not kill you… unless of course you are operating heavy machinery or driving a car. But Good Lord, did it feel like it at times… lost sleep over children awakening through the night and lost sleep over… worry.
Ringo no longer has asthma, Mr. T is able to communicate, and Bones… is Bones.
And although it doesn’t feel like yesterday… it doesn’t feel so long ago either.
Mr. T was Mayor on Friday for his field trip.
He got out his ‘Mayor’ clothes, blue sports coat and burgundy tie, button down shirt (blue), and khaki pants. He looked smart. We got his hair cut on Thursday in preparation.
He looked spiffy.
Unfortunately, however, his father was out of town and they didn’t leave his tie in ‘noose form’ last he took it off, so I was left that morning, scrambling to get everyone ready for school, pack lunches, get myself ready and… tying his tie and looking up how to on the internet was not something I had time to fool with. I knew how to tie one 15 years ago, but now? No.
So I told him when we got to school, we’d have the principal do it. He felt sure his teacher knew how.
We arrived, he went to his class, I walked into the office only to find the principal was out, but the secretary said SHE knew how to tie one. I figured Mr. T would find someone…
It turns out he hit up just about every Mom he knew on his floor and his teacher, nobody knowing how, making his way down to the principal’s office, only to find him not there, but the secretary offering to tie it for him.
He got back to class and I guess this story made its rounds through the adults at school and Coach heard about it. I didn’t even think about going to find Coach. I just knew the principal had five sons and for sure, he could tie a tie as if looking in the mirror.
Coach made his way upstairs to check his tie, telling him, “A girl doesn’t need to tie your tie. Let me check this…” and he fixed it and tightened it for him.
Now… some may find what he said sexist… but I don’t. The fact remains, there are some things that can be learned from a woman, but are best learned from a man. Emulation. I know Coach… and the fact he took the time to FIND my son and check his tie… I personally find it touching.
I am thankful for both the secretary, who I know well and adore, and the Coach… she for helping my son and he for being the man that needed to stand in and make sure it was squared away.
I will be making a point of finding both of them this week and expressing my gratitude.
My husband came home from his trip and immediately started to teach him how to tie a tie.
And so I chaperoned and assisted in the bank while my son played Mayor to this small town. This Biz Town is put on by Junior Achievement. The children interviewed for jobs, they spent 6 weeks studying how to write a check, fill out a check book, and how to run their small businesses. When they arrived, they went to their assigned locations, made deposits, ran businesses, and spent money.
The bank is crazy busy, writing loans to the businesses, keeping up on who hasn’t paid their loan and calling the CFOs of each delinquent business telling them to come pay, making deposits for the kids into their ‘personal checking accounts’, etc.
This is the 2nd time I’ve helped in the bank. The first time, when Ringo went, I thought it was a fluke. Now I know it’s because I’m the school Treasurer. Heh.
On a side note….
I never tell my children they aren’t capable of something.
My middle son was born with something called an apraxia of speech. (I am realizing I’ve not ever really blogged on his apraxia.) We recognized something was wrong at 18 months old when he was not only not babbling, but had developed his own sign language to communicate. We spent a lot of money and had him in all sorts of government speech programs. At age four, there was a breakthrough and he somehow overcame it.
He had a mild form, obviously.
His speech, until last year, has always sounded a bit different than other children’s. He has been more monotone, speech development was slow for him… the baby sound of his speech didn’t change until sometime in 3rd grade, and he has had struggles reading. Whereas the normal children, new speech patterns develop normally, with him, it was never that way. Even in 1st grade, he still sounded like a four year old.
His teachers in 1st through 3rd grade kept an eye on it, without my ever having to tell them there was an issue, it was that noticeable, and had him evaluated every year. He was always within the normal range... if not the low end.
He doesn’t like reading as it’s a lot of work for him. It makes me sad, but I have hope he’ll come around.
When he was smaller, I would say to people who inquired how he was, “He’ll be fine. He’s just never going to be my orator” and I’d laugh.
Never have I said that to him. Anything he wants to do, I support him. I refuse to hear, “I can’t do that.” My answer is, “If you work hard enough and you want it… yes you can.”
So imagine how my heart felt when I saw my son, stand up in front of 60 kids and give two speeches. He had inflection in his voice, he was expressive, and I thought I’d cry.
The little boy who I used to call Marcel Marceau, my mute, was giving speeches and people enjoyed it. He was GOOD!
And he is funny and can laugh at himself. During the last speech, it was a canned speech provided by Biz Town, it read, “and to the volunteers today we should give them a round of applause.”
That is not what he saw when he read it. Specifically he did not see the word applause.
And as he stood before his classmates, in tie and starched shirt and sports coat, looking so very spiffy, he asked them all to give us a round of…
… apple sauce.
He stood there for a minute as he realized something wasn’t right. He went back to the word and stammered…
His classmates and the parents starting to laugh, he turned pink and shouted, “Applause! We should give them a round of applause!”
Ahhh, but it was too late. We were already laughing so hard we were crying, one of the mothers hugging him and laughing with him as he laughed at himself.
It was hysterical and he was so good humored about it. He still shakes his head and laughs when he talks about it. It was endearing and his classmates have always been good to him.
Immediately the man who runs Biz Town looked at the mother/volunteer who was running the media center, taping the speeches, and said, “Did you get that?” to which the answer was yes.
His apple sauce has been immortalized.
It was a fun and funny day. What an absolutely GREAT experience for all our children.
And I’m so proud of my little orator… the child I never thought I’d see do any public speaking. The child who at age 18 months had developed his own little sign language. He spoke in public… did well… and enjoyed it.
We visited a Boy Scout Troop tonight as Mr. T will be crossing over next month.
I walked in and one of the boys... has a beard.
A full beard.
I looked at the Mom who is a friend of mine and said, 'He... has a beard. He is part of this Troop?" (I thought it could be some man coming to assist...)
And she said, 'Oh yeah. We were so surprised when he grew it. He realized he could and the next week he had a beard!"
I replied to her, "The boys! They are so... BIG!" Of course... this is not a stretch since most boys in 7th grade have outgrown me, but there were a lot of FULL GROWN boys in there. HUGE kids. Like 5'10 and up! Much bigger than I!!!
I think beard-boy is a sophomore in high school. Obviously this kid is like my husband... part Chia Pet. They shave and *POOF* they have 5 o'clock shadow.
It's just so... different... than Cub Scouts. There are 5th graders through seniors in high school. Boys who... drive... and SHAVE!
And who don't shave. But could shave.
Holy crap. Its doing a mind warp on me... Mr. T is excited. I've liked every boy I've met so far; they seem like genuinely good kids.
I'm just... adjusting.
Bones came up to me in the school parking lot at pick up the other day and said excitedly, “MOM! MOM! MOM! MOM! Our next book report we are to do a biography on a rock star and we have to dress up as them when we give it. I’m doing Elvis! Some of the girls are doing Hannah Montana.”
My first impulse was to bang my head against the asexual mom-mobile repeatedly and say over and over, “No…more… projects. No… more… projects. No… more… projects.”
We still had Abe hanging over our heads at the time for my middle son.
I looked at him and said, ‘Bones. I don’t remember the project being like this. If I recall, you read a biography on anyone famous and dress up as them.”
“Nope,” came the reply. “A rockstar. Pick a rock star and dress like them for the report.”
He was emphatic. But… he is my 3rd 3rd grader and I just could not believe they were narrowing the field of people so much.
Ringo did Bruce Lee, showed up in his gi, and even did a kata for the class. This was back when we were training. Piece of cake for him to dress.
Mr. T did Johnny Appleseed. We put a pot on his head, got him a flannel shirt and gave him some apples. Easy Peasy Lemon Squeezy.
And now I’m picturing a class full of kids… half dressed as Elvis and the other as Hannah Montana. Good Lord.
We got in the car and I went through his backpack and sure enough, *I* was right. How he got that everyone had to do a rock star… I have no clue. But he is still doing Elvis. I’ll be purchasing an Elvis costume soon as I sure as heck can’t make one.
Is it summer yet?
Mr. T said to me the other day, “And he got hit in the recess equipment!”
I sat there for a minute and said finally, “Recess equipment? Y’all were on the playground?”
And he said, “Nooooo, that’s what we call our privates. Our ‘recess equipment”.
Now I don’t know who came up with this new adage, the 5th grade boys. I strongly suspect, however, that they have no idea how much ‘recess equipment’ their body parts really will be one day.
I know how men sometimes ‘name’ their appendages. If I hear that Mr. T, as an adult, eventually names his the ‘Jungle Gym of Love’, I will know from where it started.
Meanwhile, I’ve been studying with Bones for Science… body systems is what they are learning. He could not remember for.the.life.of.him that the intestines were in the digestive system. He kept saying, “Nervous? Muscular?”
It didn’t matter how many times I told him.
Finally in the car this morning, out of great frustration, I said, “BONES. LISTEN TO ME. Your food goes into your stomach where it is digested and sent into your intestines where the nutrients are absorbed out of it and it gets further mashed and turns to POO.”
A light went off. He remembers now. And will quote what the intestines do at great length.
Because you know… life is all about the snacks and… the excrement.
And on the same line, I was having dinner with the boys alone tonight as their father is away on business for the week. More came up about bodily systems and the following conversation ensued, to the best of my recollection:
Bones: Hair. What system in hair in?
Me, after having answered a barrage of similar questions: Dude, I’m tired. You win. I don’t know…
Bones: Oh. Fingernails?
Me: Please. I’ll look it up after dinner.
Bones: OK, fine, how about those little balls in our bladder?
Me: *blink* What? Balls in your bladder.
The other two boys are starting to laugh.
Bones: You know… the BAAAALLS.
Mr. T: The ones that are in the sack?
Me: Wait. That’s not your bladder! Your bladder is HERE (and I poked him about where it would be.)
Bones: Oh yeah. I knew that.
Me: Allow me to reiterate, your ‘sack’ does not hold pee.
Mr. T: Yup, your sack holds the balls.
Me: And your balls do not hold pee. Are we clear on all this?
Bones: yeah, yeah, I knew that.
Me: Reproductive. Your balls are part of your reproductive system. I’m going to clean the kitchen now.
I’m going to bed. I’m beat. It’s the questions that beat me down. Maybe it’s the type of questions that are exhausting me… but… it just does not stop. And I KNOW on some level... that these conversations get repeated with their friends. I pray he doesn't ask these types of questions to his teacher. Gah!
Then again… it could be worse. My husband is in Chicago… where it’s something like 5 degrees… some horribly insanely cold temperature. Blech!
When I wrote the title to my last post, it reminded me of this story.
We all stay after school on Tuesdays and Thursdays and walk the fields of the school. I’ve posted it before… it’s a big push in exercise for the kids and we have nearly 300 people participating now.
This afternoon, one of the Moms was there with her 4 year old, who I will call ‘Belle’. Belle checked out with the ‘coach’ as we log all our miles. All the miles are added up and there is a big map of the equator in our clinic where the miles are posted… we started around the equator last year and are almost finished. The kids love watching the progress.
Anyway, Belle checked out and said she did 4 laps which is 2 miles.
She is FOUR.
I said, “Four! Holy crap, Belle! That is AWESOME!!!”
She was proud as she got a prize for doing her mileage and she walked off.
My eldest looked at me and said, “Mom. She is FOUR. You can’t say that.”
Ringo: You said 'Holy crap'.
Ringo: You can’t say that.
Me: Why? Its not like I said Holy Shit…
Ringo: Mom… she is FOUR. To a four year old… that’s like cussing. You can’t say that to her.
Me: Oh geez. I forgot. Its been so long since we’ve had a four year old in the house. You’re right.
And at that, he did this head bobbing imitation of a California girl, rolled his eyes and said, ‘Well… yeahhhh.”
The things we forget…
The problem with blogging at night is sometimes my kids have worn me down so much, I’m pretty much too damn tired and nothing seems funny anymore.
Tonight would be one of those nights.
So a bit of stream of consciousness about nothing and everything or just a couple of things.
As I posted earlier, I bought my husband an iPhone for his birthday. I never know what to get him and had actually thought of going the easy way and getting him a gift certificate somewhere, but finally I said, “Is there something, anything, that you WANT but will not buy yourself?”
His answer was, “Well, yeah, I’d like to have an iPhone, but I can’t bring myself to do it.”
So I did it for him.
But when I asked him what it was that he liked about it, other than his being the y chromosome techno geek, he said he liked how big everything looked on the screen.
My big peeve with cell phones is the numbers are so small. All of you under 40 don’t have this problem yet, and actually I don’t yet either, but my husband does. It’s the problem where your arms aren’t long enough for your eyes to be able to read.
The visual genetic trigger that happens to most around age 40, give or take, where farsightedness robs even those who had been blessed with Eagle eye vision.
Cell phones are a bitch to read when you have this post 40 visual degradation. I have wondered why the cell phone companies don’t care. The screens aren’t all that bright, the writing is small… what a pain in the neck for us that are not as… youthful.
But Apple may be on to something. It has the techno appeal for the youth and it has a bright screen and bigger lettering for those of us in the ‘non-youth’. When I walked into the ATT store to look at it, I noticed quite a few elderly people in there looking at the iPhone or getting something repaired for their iPhone. The store wasn’t full of young techno-junkies.
You can even get your phone to pop up a picture of someone instead of their number when they call. Not bad…
I may be wrong… but iPhone seems to be targeting a niche. It’s not a bad niche to target. It could prove to be very profitable…
Staying on tech, but away from phones… lets talk about my blog.
I know that commenting sucks wet socks here. I am frustrated as well. If you think you’re frustrated, you can just imagine those of us on munu. It is 100 fold.
So many are wondering why I haven’t just moved… but it is not so easy.
First, Pixie was very good to me, providing me a home when I was ready to move off of blogger. It cost me nothing. Actually, my blog father Harvey who got me to blog, also chided me to move to munu and set up a real home that was ME. Pixie set it up and off I went. It wasn’t actually quite THAT smooth, but I had Pam help me… she designed this entire site.
This has become my home.
Whereas blogger is where I started to write… Munu is where I finally felt like I was me… my tartan plaid, the sword, the knotwork, all of it. It is very very… me. I can’t leave my home… this is where I am me now. I am attached to the window dressing if you will… non-fashionista ME is attached to the dressing. It is true.
So there is this thought of going to Minx, where Teresa is, but the templates don’t lend the freedom for me to keep my blog look as is… which is a requirement for me. So Minx is now out.
I’m doing some research and I will more than likely move. Whereas blogger provided me my first place to write, Munu provided me my first home… and of that I am extraordinarily appreciative. Pixie has been nothing but kind and generous with his time.
But it may be time for me to leave. My biggest issue is… I just flat don’t have the time folks. I don’t know if it seems it on my blog, but I’m incredibly crazy busy. My life is a combination of sheer insanity and chaos hanging by a thread. The thought of adding trying to move my blog to my life is more than I can take.
“When you get the bugger or spam message, just RIGHT-CLICK in the comment box. You’ll be given the option of “back”. Go back, your comment is there! Copy your comment in case you get another error or total loss, and re-submit.”
I’m officially spent. Long day. Trying day. My kids won this round.
I need to start keeping a log during the day of what I want to post, so when night comes and I get like this, I can remember. As of now, I’d not remember what I had for breakfast if I didn’t eat the same damn thing every day…
I’m going to rant again about 5th grade.
And the art projects.
For book reports.
I so frickin’ hate this. I hate it I hate it I hate it I hate it I hate it.
‘We’ just finished making a miniature parade float for Abraham Lincoln. Mr. T had to create this float based on reading about a President and putting specific information on it.
OK. What do I hate most about these art projects? No way in hell can a kid do them by themselves. The requirements are too… weird and difficult.
For instance, this one had to be made of natural materials. Making a float dealing with a President wasn’t a big enough pain. It has to be made of mainly natural materials.
So Mr. T wanted to make a log cabin. He got out yarn and twigs and thought he’d be able to make it that way. Right.
Kids don’t understand what WILL and WILL NOT work. Add to the fact they get this picture in their mind and frustration ensues when they can’t create it.
Mom and Dad end up stepping up to the plate to assist. I never make it MY project, but he certainly has not done one of these without my guidance.
Then there is the grading. What may look to her as in ‘You spent 10 minutes” can in actuality be hours and hours of failed versions, ending with one that finally took. NONE of that is accounted for.
The last project, he spent literally 5 hours on, cutting and pasting, and doing all sorts of stuff to be ‘creative’ as they always say to be ‘creative’ and he got an 80 because she didn’t like parts of it.
Each time he finishes one of these projects he says to me wistfully, “I hope I get an A”.
How screwed up is that?! The kid reads the book, puts HOURS into a project and then goes to bed praying that he has done it all right so that he can get an A.
And if he doesn’t get an A this time… I’m marching in to talk to his teacher. This is an absolute crock.
I’m done. I.Am.Done.
And from this I learned... Abe Lincoln didn't have a middle name. I feel as smart as a 5th grader now.
Mr. T and I think that mosquito poison is a time release
We had to put up our tents in the dark on Friday. Evidently that is very common with this Boy Scout Troop. As soon as we got out of the asexual Mom-mobile, we were eaten alive. I could not get the repellent on fast enough.
Sunday morning… 2AM… every bite started to itch at the same time.
Mr. T said the same thing happened to him. Two points don’t make a trend but…
We’re pretty set on our time release theory
I have taken on another student for tutoring Algebra II. I’m up in the air on her… she’s got a lot going against her, including a lot of negative people around her.
That bugs me. I told her that. I told her no more negative thoughts. NO.
She says it’s the teacher as well.
I told her she will always have at least one bad teacher a semester, even in college when she’s paying the big bucks.
I’m not so sure it’s the teacher. I think in this case it’s a 50/50 deal.
My other student? Absolutely the teacher. When the only kid who gets an A in the class has a tutor… there is an issue. When the highest grade in the class was a 75 on the last test and it was gotten by the kid with the tutor… there’s a problem.
But… this one? My goal is to get the basics into her. She has missed some big stuff. Big stuff. She looked stunned when I explained to her what she’d done wrong on some of her tests.
Her goal is to pull a C both semesters... she currently has an F.
My goal is to get her to pull a C THIS quarter and an A the next.
I think she can do it… she just needs to think she can.
We’ll see if we last together. She seems receptive… but completely negged out. I don’t have the time to deal with people who don’t want to try. If she tries… and I know it… I will do everything I can including standing on my head if that’s what it takes. If she doesn’t want to try… then I walk.
This should be interesting.
The thing is… I really really believe in her. I do. I just hope I can convince her to believe in herself…
With my sister this afternoon:
Me: I am thinking of hiking the Appalachian Trail eventually. I want to do parts of it. Would you come with me if I did it?
Mo: No. That does NOT sound fun to me.
At the end of the conversation:
Me: OK. So I want you to think about this Appalachian Trail thing…
Mo: Umm. OK. I’m thinking. NO.
And TGOO’s knees are shot. He would have been perfect! But his knees can’t hack it. I told him when they get bad enough that he gets them fixed, we have to do a portion of the Trail. I don’t understand why they just can’t shoot foam into people’s knees to give them back that cush that goes away with time… in particular when you were a marathon runner like TGOO.
(Sidenote: YES, I'm aware of all the planning that goes into hiking the Appalachian Trail.)
With my husband, yesterday:
Me: Wow. You’re 48 today. You’re going to be 50 in two years. You know that in two years you’ll be the same age my Mom was when we got married.
My husband: Hun, I’m the same age NOW that your Mom was when I met her for the first time.
My husband: That’s what happens when you’re together for almost 20 years…
That was kind of humbling. Luckily I’m 5 years behind him. I’M not the one who is my Mom’s age when we met! Heh.
And tonight’s conversation… a little background. I bought him an iPhone for his birthday. He needed to download all his contacts from his old phone into this new phone. ATT made it sound like it would be easy.
“We’ll download your contacts from your sim card onto a stick and then just plug it in your computer and it will sync up and they’ll be in your iPhone.”
Right. That’s not how it works. After four hours of struggling with it on my desktop, I finally got it done, but that was by calling iPhone support and having them send me a link to an ATT site that had me download MORE software onto my desktop so we could then load his contacts into Outlook and then sync the phone.
Anyone see a problem here?
Other than all the frickin’ time?
MY Outlook has TONS of MY contact email addresses and in following the yellow brick road, now his contacts were merged with mine and now his iPhone has all my Outlook contacts as well as his old phone contacts.
‘tis easier to delete than to add. For sure.
Also, I don’t clean out my Outlook contacts. Once you’re in there… you’re in there for life… and death. That computer is about 8 years old.
I finally downloaded the kajillion contacts and started to flip through them.
Me: Hun. You have dead people in your contacts.
My Husband: NO, Hun, YOU have dead people.
So just so you know… if you’re in my contacts folders on my computers, you’re there forever and ever and ever… AMEN.
Oh and a side note, I went to take my anti-biotic today, I'm on a 6 month dose for my Rosacea, and I accidentally grabbed the Ritalin that Bones is on. Luckily his is a capsule and mine is a pill... no confusing.
But it made me wonder, Good Lord, can you imagine ME on Ritalin? I'm frickin' 90 mph hell on wheels as it is, and exceedingly focused. I'm not the one missing the stimulant. I sure as hell don't need it added!
Holy crap. It's dizzying thinking of it...
Craziness. Craziness this life of mine.
Camping was GREAT. Today is my husband’s birthday so I got in the door, unpacked the car, headed back out to the grocery story with boys in tow so they could get a card for their Dad and I could get salad ingredients for supper. (We had 10 for supper tonight.) Every single kid got their father a singing card, two of the Hoops and YoYo and the other… from Bones… of course… a St. Patrick’s Day card he loved.
Mr. T said, ‘MOM! He’s getting Dad a St. Patrick’s Day card!”
To which I replied, “If it makes Bones happy, then let him do it. Think out of the box.”
Who says you can’t wish someone Happy Birthday with a green card that plays a jig?
With each card that was opened, the family laughed harder and harder. I’m not sure what it was, but all the noise and wondering what would be next, was somehow just… funny.
So he had a good birthday. Family was around and a lot of laughter. Bonus for us, my fil was in a good mood and was entertaining.
As for camping, I drove up in the asexual Mom-mobile, and the first thing I noticed, as I told one of the Boy Scout moms was… Boy Scouts shave.
I literally got out of my car, walked up to a Boy Scout mom I know very well and before I even said hello I said, “Boy Scouts… Shave!”
I know, it sounds ridiculous, but its doing this whole mind bend on me, that my son is going to be spending so much time hanging with boys who are shaving and getting their license to drive soon, although I was assured only parents drive Boy Scouts.
Port-o-lets. They are fine to use… in the dark. Which I did. As I finally made my way to one, as a mom was saying to me, “Use it now while it’s clean and take your lantern so you can see…” I said, “This has so much potential sitcom material. I can just see myself dropping my daggum flashlight in the toilet.”
In the daylight? It is more than I can handle. It’s bad enough in the dark sounding like you are peeing down a well. Seeing it all… the entire sensory port o let experience, is one I cannot take. It’s too much for me. Too much.
I laid in my tent last night, hearing well peeing throughout the night. That would be the wimmin folk. The men? I know they were watering trees.
How do I know this?
I would hear the tent unzip and then silence. Not that I was listening, but I wasn’t sleeping so I was listening to the wild life and what not.
The what not varied.
Anyway, light of day Port o let using is just… well… it is just. And I kept thinking, ‘I could not be a construction worker.’ Blech.
And one mother said to me, “Use it now! It smells pretty good!”
Me thinks she needs to get her sense of smell checked. It smelled like an airplane bathroom, that sickening sweet nasty smell. Good God… yuck.
And I realize, I’m ready for real hiking and camping. I’m ready to do the whole ‘Bear trick’. I’m ready for a pack and to really commune with nature with a little tent to park wherever I decide to sleep.
I want to do the Appalachian Trail.
Meanwhile, it became obvious that in our little tent city, that you can hear EVERYTHING that goes on at night in those tents. Good Lord… every conversation when not whispered, everyone was privy to. Last night, the family next to us… well… someone passed gas around 4AM and some kids heard it and laughed, but I managed not to…. Laugh that is.
So juvenile of me to want to laugh. I think it’s from hanging out with my boys so much.
And I also realized, I was meant to be a boy Mom. I know now why I only have boys. It just feels… right. My little Webelos… they frickin’ tell me everything. Some of the things that come out of their mouths… I am torn between doing a *gasp* and covering my mouth in horror and laughing. I do neither, and instead just listen, nod my head and say, “Yup”.
Boys crack me up. They absolutely crack me up.
So that’s two things I learned this weekend… well three. “Clean Port o lets” at night are doable. NO port o lets are doable during the day, no matter the state. I want to hike the Appalachian Trail. And I’m glad I’m a boy Mom.
It was a good fun weekend.
Mr. T won for Mayor of his class. He ended up having a campaign manager and they were awesome together. Both are middle children of three boy families, they seem to think on the same wave length.
The posters were done in red, white, and blue… as if it was some patriotic campaign. Mr. T had me make copies of fliers for him to hand out to all his classmates. One of the fliers (all hand written in bubble letters) read, “A Vote for T is a Vote for Truth.”
I saw that, raised and eyebrow and said to myself, “Hmmm… because the other 5th graders are a bunch of frickin’ liars?” Heh.
His campaign manager had his Mom help him make a little lemon jelloy snack in Dixie cups to hand out to each kid. All the classmates loved it.
And then came speech day today and every child was to dress for their interview or in Mr. T’s case, for giving his speech. We rummaged through his big brother’s closet and found a blue blazer, button down and tie. Mr. T was snazzy today.
Unbeknownst to me, his campaign manager rummaged through his older brother’s closet and found a blue blazer, button down and tie.
The two of them cracked me up. It was completely unplanned.
His speech rocked and he won, but it was close. His strategy of his running against six girls pretty much backfired as they had a primary to bring it down to one girl. One girl vs. Mr. T.
It was a great race. The little girl who lost cried I guess and he said he felt awful. One of his guy friends had him go over and give her a hug. I guess all is well now in the world of 5th grade.
Meanwhile we are getting ready for our camping trip. TGOO, ever the funny guy, sent me a link to THIS book today. I had to shake my head. There will be no imitating of bears on this trip.
I’ll be back Saturday night… although its my husband’s birthday, so it will be a crazy evening.
Hopefully I’ll have stories. Ones not including the lack of bathroom facilities. Good Grief.
I went to see my doctor today. He is this HUGE Hungarian guy. Big. I feel very very… small when I shake his hand.
He pressed on my foot, which made me nearly peel out of my skin and said even though it’s swollen and I can’t walk, its tendonitis. It’s the tendon on the side of the foot that acts as a sort of stabilizer. I suspect now I know how I did it. I have flat feet. They are Fred Flinstone flat.
I wear orthotics in my running shoes and wear only expensive earthy crunchy sandals like Naots or Birkenstocks. I could never wear flip flops. They don’t provide the support I need.
Two months ago, I decided that I didn’t need my orthotics anymore.
Why would I think I no longer need the support?
I figured since I wasn’t really running anymore, just walking, that I could quit wearing them. Besides, with my new shoes, I was getting blisters with the orthotics inside.
Well… now I have tendonitis. I wear orthotics for a reason. They go back in the shoe tomorrow.
For now, my foot is wrapped until Saturday, with a dressing change on Monday, I’m icing 20 on and off, three iterations, every night, going for ultrasound treatments every 3 to 4 days, and have been told to take anti-inflammatories. I will take some… but not the amount he has told me to take. I like my organs too much and I just don’t see a reason.
Yes, I’m in pain… yes, I was up all night with my foot pulsing and I couldn’t walk… but I’m going to do it my way and it may take longer… but I don’t need an instant fix. I don’t do well with drugs.
I told him I was going camping and I wanted to make sure I could do the hike. I said, “Before you answer, I want you to keep in mind, I will do what *I* want to do… but will use your answer strictly as a data point. It’s my life.”
I think it all came back to him what a pain in the ass patient I am. He said, “Yes, go hiking, but you be the judge of the pain. YOU know your body… YOU know when its time to stop.”
I thought that was a very good good answer… and he is right. I know me best.
Meanwhile, Bones is extraordinarily concerned about this camping trip. He’s ‘Mr. Pee outside when camping’. He found out there wouldn’t be any bathrooms.
Now let me set the scene… I am camping with two tents and three boys (my Webelos... Bones and Ringo are not going), my foot is wrapped for the next 4 days, I am not walking well, and it is primitive camping. We’ve been discussing all of this.
Bones said, “Mom. There aren’t any bathrooms?”
Me: Nope, evidently not.
Bones: But Mom. Where are you going to poo?
I’m sorry, but that just cracked me up. I said to him, “Evidently I’m not…”
That’s his biggest concern. I can’t quit laughing…
And I am pretty much in agreement with Sugar Britches and what she said in the comments. I think I’ll go in the woods before I go in a daggum Port-o-let.
Hmmm… what to blog… what to blog.
I could blog on the fact I think I broke a small bone in my foot, but I’m really hoping for soft tissue damage. I’m on day four, its swollen, a spot of discoloration, and Lamaze breathing is coming in handy when I walk.
Or I could blog on the fact I’m taking my Webelos camping on Friday night with a local Boy Scout Troop. Primitive camping.
I always swore I’d not be caught dead primitive camping.
I hear they have port-o-lets. Y’all know how much I frickin’ love those. I’d almost rather let my bladder burst and die of some horrible infection than use one of those…
No running water.
But, the boys are excited so I am too… even though my foot is a mess.
Hey, I’m all about the life experience. Camping with a mess of boys with a messed up foot? Talk about LIFE experience!
Meanwhile, giving up sugar for Lent has gone pretty well. Well… until today. It did go well, but it was my first falter.
I think it was about 10:00. That’s when this want of chocolate hits. I was talking to Mr. Magoo when I started banging my head on my desk saying, “I WANT CHOCOLATE! GRAPES SUCK! THEY DON’T FILL ME UP!”
So other than that little episode, its going GREAT!
I’ve not blogged this in the four years I’ve blogged. Odd the things we just don’t tell people.
I have a couple close girlfriends down here. One of my dearest friends, a woman I absolutely adore, is 78 years old. I have never considered it odd, our age difference. Actually, I never think about it. We joke around and email and just do so many things together and I just always think of us as the same age. We even refer to each other as twins.
She called me today from the local hospital. She fell on Saturday. We don’t know exactly what happened, but she blacked out while standing in the bathroom and hit the back of her head. Her husband heard her hit and as he made his way into the hall, found her glasses flung from the room, only to find her laying in a pool of blood, a very large pool of blood.
She had me look at the size of the wound today as she’d not seen it. She called me as soon as she got out of ICU and they put her among the general populace. It’s a big gash they had to staple, probably 1.5 inches long and a good ¼ of an inch wide.
She’s weak from the blood loss so I suspect they’ll keep her a bit longer. She called me to bring her real food so I went down there tonight to take her fresh fruit. Why they don’t have fresh fruit in a hospital is beyond me. She was aghast when they tried to feed her French Toast and sausage for breakfast.
My friend is in tremendous shape and watches everything she eats.
And so tonight it was hammered home to me… and to her… that we are not the same age. I’m kind of struggling to deal with that. I know she is fine and will be going home, but for the first time today, I had to deal with her mortality.
I’m not ready for that. I just kind of expected that she’d always be here. But she won’t be. I guess I’m struggling with that still tonight.
She told the nurse she’d had today, who came in to say goodnight, “Well this is my twin. Obviously the years have been much kinder to her!”
I had to laugh.
I told her they picked a good color for those staples they used on the back of her head. They match her hair. And the room she has has a GREAT view! You can see the Trauma Hawk when it comes in. I watched it land tonight. Very cool... as long as you aren't a patient/passenger.
I’ll go tomorrow at lunch as well. I told her I’d call to see what the hospital would pass as food to serve the inmates and if she didn’t like it, I’d grab her something else and take it to her.
You know what it is going through my head the most? I can’t get past her husband finding her there. I can’t get past it to the point it is making me physically ill… to walk down the hall and to find one’s spouse of 55 years laying in a pool of blood.
I can’t get past it. That and… one day I’m going to lose her. Luckily it was not this week. It was not her time… and for that I am thankful.
And a thank you to all who emailed me to wish my sister a Happy Birthday! She said to me when I spoke to her, “You are NOT tall! And I CANNOT believe that you shorted me an INCH! I’m 5’1!!!”
I told her I write to amuse myself. I laughed when I wrote most of that post.
This comment issue with my blog has me pulling out my hair. I’m pretty done with it and have been conversing with another blogger on what to do about it. We may look into Haloscan comments.
I hate to leave my home. I like it here and I like my blog… but with blogging comes some sort of interaction and I find this very frustrating.
It’s crazy here in the House of Bou now… big stuff going on. Blogging may be light.
Then again… it may not. One never knows…
Today is the day of… Morrigan’s birthday!
She is 37 today.
Holy crap. My little sister is 37. Gah!
She’s the funny one in the family. For those who have just started reading within the last year, whenever my sister comes to visit, there is great blog fodder. I think she came one Easter to visit and I had a frickin’ post for every damn day. Here, Here, and Here are just a few samples. (When saved in archive format, funky symbols appeared.)
She’s a riot. She’s big energy in a little bitty body. Well. Parts of her body are not so little bitty. But mostly, she is. Heh. She has a lot of hair.
She’s the anti-Bou. I’m tall, she’s short. (Well, comparatively. I’m 5’2. She’s 5’.) She’s curvy and I’m shaped like a tree. She’s got reddish hair, although sometimes it’s blondish and one time it was blackish, and I’m always mousy brown. She’s got hazel eyes, mostly green, and I have gray.
She is the color version of me… if that makes sense. I’m like the Wizard of Oz movie before they get to Oz, black and white. Morrigan is all that comes with Oz…all the color. She is a beautiful person… inside and out.
And as she put in the comments to one of my posts, a comment that cracked me up, she sits on my rock. (Ref my always saying I live under a rock.) She is the hip and with it both fashionably and societally to my...umm... not so much.
Where as some people have said to me when they meet me in person having been reading me, that I am not what they expect, because on-line I can be extroverted and funny, in person I am… not so much, Morrigan is all that is on my blog. It is like I channel her when I blog.
(I am gunshy about meeting people now… I have had a few people say to me, ‘You aren’t what I expected’ with another person adding, “I expected you to be… funnier.” Ahhh… I hate to disappoint, but in real life I’m not so… extroverted. I live in my head.)
I will say, when with Morrigan, I can play off her wit, and I am much more at ease when she’s around. I come out of my shell more.
Morrigan is the funny, extroverted, beautiful Celt. She was the child that was born unexpectedly... the first baby ever born in NAS Mayport housing. TGOO delivered her. That should have been a clue...
There was the time she was convinced the meat man at our Publix thought she was my daughter.
And then the time I read that you can meet men through cycling (back when I was on a mission to find her a man, before she met her wonderful husband) and she decided that instead she would take a spin class at the gym. I did a big *blink* on that one. The key is... she can't ride a bike.
Oh and then the time she decided to donate her hair to Locks of Love and that if ‘we’ entered this writing contest, ‘we’ might win a trip to NYC. She knew ‘we’ would win. The ‘we’ being, ‘I’ would do the writing. I was scared to death. Luckily, a bad dye job turned her hair jet flat black and we were out of the game.
Oh and the stories I cannot even post.
She’s a nut.
We love her dearly. And we’re so happy we found a man who loves her as much as we do.
Happy Birthday, Mo. May there be many many more than another 37!
I'm the one on the right... the bigger older one. Heh.
Mr. Leon Rubinstein was interviewed
with Tim Russert and from what I understand it is showing on NBC tomorrow morning. He told Ringo's teacher that it should be around 10:30AM EST, however, I don't know if he's on during Meet the Press or after or what time it comes on in your time zone.
I'm going to do my best to see it, and if I do, and there is another showing, I will post the time.
*Update* It was a local channel! I was so bummed. This man should have a bigger audience than Palm Beach County. Someone nationally should interview him. I did watch it though and as always, he did a wonderful job explaining and educationg. It came on AFTER Meet the Press with Tim Russert*
He is a remarkable man...
Last night was the final dinner dance for Ringo’s cotillion class I signed him up for. He enjoyed last year, so I signed him up again. He has gotten to know a couple of the boys and it’s a good excuse to get close to girls.
At least, that last one is what I suspect. That’s not something he’d admit to…
So last night, the boys dressed in their coats and ties and girls in their cocktail dresses danced the salsa, the tango and the foxtrot while parents, dressed similarly looked on and clapped. Many pictures were taken and everyone was proud. For the most part, the kids looked as if they were having fun.
Shortly after dinner, dinner jackets were hung on the backs of chairs and the kids ended up dancing to music they REALLY wanted to dance to.
I was sitting with a girlfriend of mine of 20 years. She was my mentor when I started at Company X all those many years ago, and now we jobshare a part time job. As we were engrossed in conversation, she looked over her shoulder and said, “Wait, Bou, is that your son sitting on someone’s shoulders?”
Before I could say anything or see anything for that matter, another girlfriend of mine came over and said, “Bou… is that your son crowd surfing?” as evidently my son was now being passed overhead across the crowd.
We’re nothing but class in this family. I.tell.you.what…
The kids danced to something called the Cha Cha slide which sounded like the rapper version of the Electric slide, “Now, back it up, y’all…”
Then of course they all went nuts as collectively, this large group of mostly white kids danced to Crank That by Soulja Boy.
Now a little background info for y’all. At Christmas, when my folks were in town, my Mom and I happened to see Ringo in the Rec room with his iPod on, dancing. He was doing this little dance we’d not seen. I’ll tell you, the boy has rhythm. We couldn’t hear what he was listening to, but it was obvious he got the beat and he knew what he was doing.
My Mom told this to TN via email not so long ago, TN in turn did some research and found this instructional video on ‘How to Crank That’. Mom and I viewed it and there it was, the dance my son had been doing.
This is the vid he found. At 2:30 min you see it in its entirety without music. For your listening and visual enjoyment, you get the entire thing when the clock reads 3:06… just so you can fast forward should you prefer.
Yes, that’s pretty much what we were watching last night… except they were mostly white kids… in cocktail dresses and heels or shirt and tie. One big collective bunch ‘o white kids dressed to the nines dancing like rappers.
While looking for this vid to post, I did find two other renditions that I had to share.
This first one is the kids’ ballet version. Great rhythm these kids have. The front kid cracked me up. He’s great.
The second is… the MIT version. You gotta love it! Crank That in white lab coats…
Mr. T got in the asexual Mom-mobile the other day, quite giddy over him and his buddies’ feat at lunch.
It seems that he and the boys he sat with at lunch, drank more chocolate milk than anyone else ‘ever has’. He said this as if it was in the history of his school. There were only three cartons left in the cafeteria when they were finished.
I said to him, “Dude! You are lactose intolerant! You chose to buy Mac ‘n cheese at lunch today, topped off with THREE cartons of chocolate milk… you get REALLY gassy with two much lactose. What did you do?”
Mr. T laughed and replied, ‘They were all silent and I blamed it on Alex.’
Lovely. Blaming someone else. So much for personal responsiblity.
Ringo chimed in about his buddy that drank 3 bottles of water once at lunch. I took this as an opportunity to explain to them about drinking contests being ‘not so bright’. Even something like water can kill you if you drink too much.
I prattled on as I am apt to do, and at some point, I am sure they are hearing ‘wah, wah, wah, wah, wah…’ as I become the voice of Charlie Brown’s teacher. But something took. I went on to explain that in college, there could be drinking contests and even contests with water were dangerous and to walk away.
Flash forward to this morning. I took my Webelos to get certified in First Aid through the Red Cross. I was zoning in and out of the course, and something came up about drinking water and Mr. T raised his hand and said, “Yeah, and you know, when you get to college, when the gangs try to get you to get in a drinking water contest, you need to say no because even drinking too much water can kill you.”
The instructor just kind of stared at him and gave him a speechless *blink*.
The other mother looked at me and said, “Gangs in college? Where did he get that?” And as I stared ahead at my boy, trying to get in his head I replied, ‘I’m thinking I mentioned fraternities at college and somehow in his head they turned into gangs…’
It’s the only thing I can come up with…
Remember the Hippy/Hobo post where Bones said that a lesbian was a female Hobo?
Ringo informed me when I told him the story, "He got confused with HOMO."
OK. I'm so frickin' slow on the take... I never thought of that.
In the great brain of Bones (or Josh) where data assimilation occurs, someone said, 'a lesbian is a female homo' and not knowing what a homo is, one of them thought hobo, and then added hippy.
And there is our 3rd grade train of thought of the day, brought to you by my 7th grader, God love him for being able to bridge those boy thought gaps.
I have said it here before over the last four years and I will say it again.
Tornadoes scare the ever living hell out of me.
Hurricanes? We get days warning. Only the pinheads and those who think the government should take care of them don't prepare or evacuate when told.
We get more damage, but fewer deaths. Hurricane deaths are caused by a corollary to Darwin's Theory of the Survival of the Fittest. It goes something like this:
"He who uses a generator in their home, is too stupid to live, and should die."
Those are the deaths we get. Generator deaths.
Tornadoes? There is no stupidity ascertained to Tornado deaths. NONE.
It's frickin' random as hell. One minute you have a house and then next MINUTE you don't.
One minute you live in a neighborhood and literally within seconds, parts of it are leveled, people dead, dogs missing to never be seen again, cars toppled over.
I will take a hurricane any time of the day over a Tornado. Folks, y'all that live in Big T country, some of you will disagree with me.
But I am telling you now I will NEVER back down from my stance.
Tornadoes are scary as hell. I'druther have a 'cane any day of the week.
I haven’t really been taking care of myself the last few months, including the fact I quit lifting weights and running on 1 November. There are myriad reasons, none of them which will be expounded upon and all of them, by themselves, light weight. No excuses… but it is what it is.
We all go through times where we are better to ourselves than others. I’ve just hit a bit of a low in many areas.
It is a phase.
In an effort to get back on track though, I have used Lent as an assist. I’ve given up all ‘bad sugar’ or sweets as one would call it for the next 40 days, two exceptions being anything I would add to coffee to make it drinkable and family birthdays. I want to genuinely celebrate with everyone. Plus, if I make the cake, I’m going to frickin’ eat it too.
That whole ‘make the cake and eat it too’… or something like that.
I will say that the men at work are a bit worried about this Lenten pact I’ve made with myself. When I’m on the edge at work, which can happen with the stress and the various projects we work on, chocolate seems to be the magic that can keep me sane. They all know that. They have been known to shove chocolate in my desk.
Kind of a sacrificial offering. Give the Goddess Chocolate and all will be right in everyone’s world.
I have promised them I will try to keep my personality in check for the next 40 days as it’s surely not their fault. They haven’t done anything.
I am reminded of the time I was going through the class through the Episcopal Church to become… Episcopal… and the priest said to us, “Lent should be used as a reminder of Christ. When you decide to give up something, let it be a perpetual reminder of the struggles of his 40 days and 40 nights. If however, you give up smoking and drinking and start beating your wife, then of course, you’ve defeated the purpose and that is a BAD thing.”
He was a funny guy. We all laughed. But point taken. If you give up something that makes the people around you suffer, that is a BAD thing.
I will not make this a bad thing. This is a good way for me to remember what Lent is about and for me to get back on the right track for my own physical health and well being.
The men at work and my family need not worry. Heh.
At dinner last night, the following conversation happened with Bones:
Bones: I’m sick of Mr. T’s friend calling me names and teasing me.
(Mr. T has a female friend who is close enough to my family that she teases Bones like a little brother.)
Mr. T: She is being teased by some older kids about her acne.
Me: Well neither of those things is nice and really bother me.
(I sound like such a frickin’ Mom sometimes… when did that happen? How did that happen?)
Bones: Well, I’m sick of it and if she’s doesn’t stop, I’m going to call her a Blonde Lesbian and see what she thinks!
Me and Mr T: *collective BLINK*
Another *blink* as Mr. T looks at me.
Me: Dude. Where in the heck did you hear that?
Bones: Josh. He called an 8th grader that the other day.
Me: Do you know what that means?
Bones: Yup. Josh said that a lesbian is a girl hippy or hobo.
Nice. I love having to clarify about alternative life styles to my EIGHT year old. I sure as heck couldn’t let him keep believing lesbians are girl hippies or hobos. I could just hear him getting in a shouting match with a girl during recess and having a teacher overhear that whole dealie.
Because we’re talking about MY life and that would MOST DEFINITELY happen.
The following conversation ensued yesterday to the best of my recollection:
Mr. T: The pig is the Webkinz of the month for March.
Mr. T: I don’t own the pig.
Me: no, I don’t suppose you do.
Mr. T: If they had a pig on sale, I’d not buy the pig.
Mr. T: I only buy the cool ones.
Me: Mmm. That would be the ones that either kill or feed their babies their own poop.
Mr. T: Exactly.
I’m so glad that I’m slowly breaking the key into the boy code of thinking. (Ref THIS Webkinz post for those that the above did not make sense.)
This commercial did not make it on during the Super Bowl. TGOO said he saw it during the Pre-Game.
I was disappointed as I kept looking for it. Its one of my faves. I think my loyal reader George pointed this out to me a few weeks ago.
And don't worry about watching it at work and sound... there is none.
The kid I’m tutoring in Algebra II made an A last nine weeks. The only A in his class. I think his teacher, if not so full of ego and self importance, would do some self reflection and realize that he… as a teacher… sucks.
My student went from a C-, pushing a D, when he and I got together 6 weeks into the 9 weeks, to a solid C, and than an A the following 9 weeks.
The kid has it going on. He just needed someone to explain it to him.
What I want to know, from a different perspective is WHY, WHY, WHY, do I remember the formula for finding the summation of a polynomial to be n(n+1)(2n+1)/6+(n+1)/2+n BUT I cannot remember my brother in law’s phone number?
Why, WHy, WHY, do I remember the rules of series and sequences, yet for the last 10 years of my life, since they moved, I have consistently had to say to my husband when making a phone call, “Hun, what is your brother’s phone number?”
WHAT is THAT about?
I seriously think I am some sort of Idiot Savant. Call me Pinhead Extraordinaire.
In college, it was a big thing to my small circle of friends that I knew Pi to 26 decimal points. I know it to the standard 2 now. This great number knowledge of mine was not something I considered attractive to the male species. Don’t get me wrong, I ONLY dated guys who were very comfortable with smart women, but I did my best to not act like a geek around them.
It was plain enough I wasn’t all girly girl in the fact I went to bars with my girlfriend in jeans and a sweatshirt, not giving a crap what anyone thought as the other women had the big hair and 3 inch FMPs. I did, however, always wear my lipstick and eyeliner. Lipstick from training from home… eyeliner is MY hang up.
Anyway, one night we were at McGuire’s Irish Pub in Pensacola. We were in the midst of finals and my girlfriend and I had been at the books for way way too long. I’m thinking we were deep in Advanced Calculus which was the frickin’ BANE of my existence. It was a heavy load that semester, as I’d started taking graduate classes in Regression Analysis and Analysis of Variance, both of which I LOVED.
Our brains were burnt. We were running on babbling fumes. We both had a beer and McGuires was pretty full. We were just looking for a table to grab some Nachos and listen to the singer, who we enjoyed, when we ended up talking to a very very drunk Navy Chopper pilot. I don’t remember where he was from, but he was just passing through.
My girlfriend thought it would be funny, knowing that this guy surely would not be interested in me (she was engaged) if he knew that I could recite Pi to 26 positions. Great. So she declares this boldly to him, with my giving her the eye that equated to ‘wtf are you doing?’ but instead of his giving me the ‘GEEK!’ look and running away, instead he said, “Really? I want to hear it…” to which like a trained monkey, I closed my eyes and performed.
And if that wasn’t good enough, I used to be very adept at telling how old someone was, give or take 5 years, by the skin on their hands. After I finished I said, “Yeah, that’s not my only talent. I can tell how old you are by looking at your hands.”
Incredulously he said, “Really? Show me” at which point I took his hand, looked at it from both sides, grabbed the skin on the top of his lowest knuckle and pulled to see how much elasticity was left in his hand and said, “30… give or take 2 years.”
I was right. He’d just turned 30. Dumb luck too of course. Who would have thought the stupid game we used to play with TGOO and my grandfather would actually turn into a bar parlor trick?
And this guy was obviously drunk as hell and had some sort of beer goggles on because that didn’t make me geek enough. We finally just left. I wasn’t interested in dating anyone. I just wanted to get away from the Fundamental Theory of Calculus.
And now here I sit… wondering how I ended up not being able to remember phone numbers, where I parked my van, or how to find my tent after going to the restroom.
Oh. Wait. Y’all don’t know that last story do you?
Tomorrow. There are days I’m such a pinhead I truly amaze myself.
Truly. Pinhead Extraordinaire.
In my defense, I do think that one is not able to laugh at themselves unless they are truly comfortable. There is no doubt in my mind where I stand on the intelligence ladder. Confident I am.
However, given that, it makes me laugh all the harder when I do some of the dumbest things. Good grief.
So I got tagged by Contagion with this funky movie meme. Now he says if you've seen over 85 movies you need a life, but I disagree. There are movies in here from MY CHILDHOOD. It spans too long of a time.
I personally think you need to score at least 85 to show you get out. Obviously we do not get out much and I don't do movie rentals.
Also? I don't do horror. You can tell by my selections. There may be ONE horror flick and I remember the boy I saw it with.
Oh and which Freaky Friday? If its the one with Jody Foster when I was a kid? That makes it 69. If its the new one... I'm still at 68.
So here's the deal:
SUPPOSEDLY if you've seen over 85 movies, you have no life. Mark the ones you've seen. Copy this list, check the movies you've seen, add them up, and include the number in your post title.
(x)Rocky Horror Picture Show
(x)Pirates of the Caribbean
(x) Pirates of the Caribbean 2: Dead Man's Chest
() Boondock Saints
() Fight Club
() Starsky and Hutch
() Neverending Story
(x) Blazing Saddles
() Universal Soldier
() Lemony Snicket: A Series Of Unfortunate Events
() Along Came Polly
() Deep Impact
() Never Been Kissed
(x) Meet The Parents
(x) Meet the Fockers
(x) Eight Crazy Nights
() Joe Dirt
() KING KONG
Total so far: 8
() A Cinderella Story
() The Terminal
() The Lizzie McGuire Movie
() Passport to Paris
() Dumb & Dumber
() Dumber & Dumberer
() Final Destination
() Final Destination 2
() Final Destination 3
() The Ring
() The Ring 2
() Surviving X-MAS
Total so far: 8 (I saw PART of The Terminal!)
() Harold & Kumar Go To White Castle
() Practical Magic
() Ghost Ship
() From Hell
() Secret Window
() I Am Sam
(x) The Whole Nine Yards
() The Whole Ten Yards
Total so far: 10 (I saw PART of Harold and Kumar! Well, actually just one or two scenes.)
() The Day After Tomorrow
() Child's Play
() Seed of Chucky
() Bride of Chucky
() Ten Things I Hate About You
() Just Married
(x) Nightmare on Elm Street
(x) Sixteen Candles
() Remember the Titans
() Coach Carter
() The Grudge
() The Grudge 2
(x) The Mask
(x) Son Of The Mask
Total so far: 14 (I saw PART of The Day After Tomorrow!)
() Bad Boys
(x) Bad Boys 2
() Joy Ride
() Lucky Number Slevin
(x) Ocean's Eleven
() Ocean's Twelve
(x) Bourne Identity
(x) Bourne Supremecy
() Lone Star
(x) Predator I
(x) Predator II
() The Fog
(x) Ice Age
(x) Ice Age 2: The Meltdown
() Curious George
Total so far: 22
() Independence Day
() A Bronx Tale
() Darkness Falls
() Children of the Corn
() My Bosses Daughter
(x) Maid in Manhattan
() War of the Worlds
(x) Rush Hour
() Rush Hour 2
Total so far: 26 (I THINK I saw part of Independence Day)
() Best Bet
() How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days
() She's All That
() Calendar Girls
() Mars Attacks!
() Event Horizon
() Ever After
(x) Wizard of Oz
(x) Forrest Gump
() Big Trouble in Little China
(x) The Terminator
(x) The Terminator 2
(x) The Terminator 3
Total so far: 31
(x) Spider-Man 2
(x) Sky High
() Jeepers Creepers
() Jeepers Creepers 2
() Catch Me If You Can
(x) The Little Mermaid
() Freaky Friday
() Reign of Fire
() The Skulls
() Cruel Intentions
() Cruel Intentions 2
() The Hot Chick
(x) Shrek 2
(x) Shrek 3
Total so far: 41
(x) Miracle on 34th street
() Old School
() The Notebook
() Kippendorf's Tribe
() A Walk to Remember
(x) Ice Castles
(x) The 40-year-old-virgin
Total so far: 45
(x) Lord of the Rings Fellowship of the Ring
(x) Lord of the Rings The Two Towers
(x) Lord of the Rings Return Of the King
(x) Indiana Jones and the Raiders of the Lost Ark
(x) Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom
(x) Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade
Total so far: 51
() Waiting for Guffman
() House of 1000 Corpses
() Devils Rejects
() Mothman Prophecies
() American History X
Total so Far: 53
() The Jacket
() Kung Fu Hustle
() Shaolin Soccer
() Night Watch
(x) Monsters Inc.
(x) Monty Python and the Holy Grail
() Shaun Of the Dead
Total so far: 56
() High Tension
() Club Dread
() Dawn Of the Dead
(x) Chronicle Of Narnia The Lion the Witch and the Wardrobe
() 28 days later
( ) Waterworld
Total so far: 59
() Kill Bill vol 1
() Kill Bill vol 2
() Mortal Kombat
() Wolf Creek
() Kingdom of Heaven
() The Hills Have Eyes
() I Spit on Your Grave aka the Day of the Woman
() The Last House on the Left
() Army of Darkness
Total so far: 59
(x) Star Wars Ep. I The Phantom Menace
(x) Star Wars Ep. II Attack of the Clones
() Star Wars Ep. III Revenge of the Sith
(x) Star Wars Ep. IV A New Hope
(x) Star Wars Ep. V The Empire Strikes Back
(x) Star Wars Ep. VI Return of the Jedi
() Ewoks Caravan Of Courage
() Ewoks The Battle For Endor
Total so far: 64(I’ve never even HEARD of these Ewok movies.)
(x) The Matrix
(x) The Matrix Reloaded
(x) The Matrix Revolutions
() Evil Dead 2
() Team America: World Police
() Red Dragon
(x) Silence of the Lambs
Final total: 68
I'm not tagging anyone because I don't know whose done it. If you want to do this one, put it in my comments and I'll update this with it tagging YOU.
We are back from
sleeping outside camping. It was a great weekend, away from the general population, a beautiful state park, dirty kids having a great time, and just some good down time.
We went to Highland Hammock State Park in Sebring, Florida. I highly recommend it. And if you get a chance to take the Tram tour with their Park Ranger Rick Sanchez, I highly recommend it. He is hugely entertaining and a wealth of information you will not forget. We appeared with 5 adults and 8 kids for his tour and our kids could not get enough of him. Ummm... that would be seven little boys and a girl... they were all engrossed.
Setting up camp when feeling rather cruddy definitely was more of a challenge. I got the tent laid out and thought, “I could take a nap right now, on top of the tent, forget putting it up. We can lay out the sleeping bags right here…”
I got the tent up, crawled inside and thought, “I can nap right here in the tent, no sleeping bag, no nothing… sleep right here…”
But we got it together and it was a good night’s sleep. I think I’ve not slept as well as I did the last couple nights in I don’t know when. It was in the high 40s Saturday morning and the low 50s Sunday morning. I had my sleep pad, sleeping bag and pillow… and I’ve realized, it’s the pillow I was missing in this key to good sleeping in a tent. With my pillow… snuggled into my bag, I could have slept nestled and warm until 9.
I told Mr. T that we need to buy a smaller tent that we can put in the backyard when it’s nice and cool out. He and I can sleep in the backyard when it’s cold.
He thinks it’s a GREAT idea…
My husband thinks I’m a nut.
That is not so new. No.
So a good time was had by all.
I’m feeling very run down, but not so bad anymore. I’ve moved into that ‘unexpected random cough until you vomit’ phase. I give it a couple more days and I should be good to go.
On an odd tangent…
Do they teach Roman Numerals in school anymore? I could swear I learned that in 4th grade. It was part of my math class.
My kids had no idea what number this Super Bowl was. I had to explain it to them.
Roman Numerals are still used in this society. And we’re not teaching it?
I don’t think the Super Bowl is the reason to teach it, but if they don’t, when this up and coming generation starts to run things, you can kiss those Fancy Shmansy Roman Numerals goodbye. If they don’t know how to read them, they won’t keep them.
And… I’m glad this is a close game so far. I wanted the Patriots to have to earn this victory.