I have a migraine. Again.
I'm turning in early as I also have jury duty tomorrow. I'm so hoping to get released early. It is a real pain in the ass for me with three kids to have jury duty. A real pain in the ass.
Yet they offer exemptions for people over 70. Right. What about the Mom who works and has three kids to pick up from school and haul all over creation?
There is always the thought that my bright sparkly personality will see me not chosen as a juror. It could happen.
Last time I had jury duty was three years ago, a medical malpractice suit. I was dismissed for one of five reasons, or a combination of all five:
1) My husband is in the medical profession.
2) My brother in law is an attorney and the prosecuting attorney knew him. (I have a VERY odd last name and my bil has worked opposition to that particular prosecuting atty.)
3) I'm an engineer. You do not play on my emotions. I just want the facts.
4) I am not a black immigrant from the Islands where English is my 2nd language.
5) I'm not a kindergarten teacher.
I don't say #4s or 5 in a disparaging way... except that was pretty much all that was picked on that jury. I kid you not... 3 black men from the islands, 2 kindergarten teachers (whoda thunk there were so many in one pool?), and a couple young women.
Wish me luck. I want out. I don't have the time for this crap... they don't EVEN want to think about putting me on a drunk driving case.
I Miss my niece and how she smells.
I miss my niece and her sneaky baby tricks, like trying to eat acorns and rocks when she thinks we aren't looking.
I miss my niece and her dirt eating ways.
I miss my niece and how she drags that right leg and uses it as a rudder when she crawls.
I miss my niece and how she will crawl for five or six good fast crawls and then stop, sit and *sigh* because it is such an effort.
I miss my niece and how she grunts and groans to get from point A to point B in particular when she has to crawl over something, for it is as if she is crawling over the Himalayas. Treacherous and difficult.
I miss my niece and her fascination with the football or basketball, full sized. She likes to lick them.
I miss her sweet baby voice.
And her two sweet little baby teeth.
And her little hands with the splayed out fingers when she claps.
And how sometimes she will put out one hand to shun you... or will sometimes pull her Mama in for a big open mouthed kiss.
I miss her.
What is wrong with us, as Americans? What is wrong with us... that we relish the thought of good people fumbling in life?
Just a few months ago, America was on the edge of their seats waiting to see if Tiger could pull it off again, this time after having knee surgery. Would he be able to play the game to what we have come to know and expect of one of the greatest golfers of all time?
And now? People seem to be salivating at the thought that... ooooooo... something may be amiss in his personal life.
Drinking? An affair? Domestic squabbles?
Do we care?
Should we care?
Because... it is not our business. Instead, as we have all cheered him on all these years, we should be turning a blind eye and hoping all goes well for the man and whatever he is dealing with... none of which is our business.
But the media won't and the public won't... the public will clamor for more information, waiting for some shred of evidence that a man they love to cheer for while watching paint dry, did something they can look down their noses at.
I've been at a bit of a loss about it today as I have read the headlines and saw he was in an accident and it reminded me... of Tim Tebow.
You may be wondering what in the world Tim has to do with Tiger, but they are very similar. Both young driven men, both tremendous athletes, both private, both doing good... both appear to be decent humans... good humans.
Yet, I hear or read on a daily basis someone saying something disparaging about Tim Tebow.
I was getting new tires a month ago and was sitting in the waiting area while Tennessee played Georgia. Sitting next to me was a huge Tennessee fan. Something came up about football and he looked at me and said, "I hate Tim Tebow."
You hate a man because... what? You're jealous he does not play for YOUR team because then you would hold him up on your shoulders? You hate a man because he is a good leader? You hate a man because he walks the walk and talks the talk of his religion? You hate a man because of his given natural athletic prowess? You hate a man because he isn't beating his girlfriend like other football thugs? You hate a man because he's not holding up liquor stores like other football thugs? You hate a man because he is a good decent human that has brought charity work to the forefront of a highly acclaimed football team? You hate a man because... he works hard? You hate a man because... the press doesn't leave him alone and puts him on the front page of every sports section on Sunday morning?
Or maybe you hate a man because he makes you feel bad about YOURSELF.
Maybe that is what it comes down to. These people hate Tim Tebow because they feel so poorly about themselves, self loathing or inadequacies, that it is easier to hate a young man who is trying hard to be what he should be, than to better yourself as a person.
And it is easier to throw rocks at Tiger Woods and what may or may not be happening in his personal life... than it is to take a personal assessment in one's own home and improve upon it.
Sad, sad, state of affairs.
I find it even more ironic that we scream from the hilltops that we don't want our children using sports figures as role models, but when we do find sports figures actually WORTHY, we want nothing more than to hate them and tear them down.
Makes you want your children not to be 'too successful or too good a person'... lest America catch wind, hate them and drag it through the streets.
On our way home from my folks', there was a horrific traffic accident on the turnpike that killed a child, possibly two, and injured many. We didn't see it, but I looked it up when we got home because... we were stopped on the pike for two hours.
Everyone had their motors off, and milled around waiting... knowing it had to be horrible as we saw two Trauma Hawks come in and an ambulance or two.
We were all trying to make the best of it, not knowing exactly what had occurred. We spent the first hour and a half listening to the rest of the UF FSU game. After that was over... we were left to our own devices.
Ringo decided he was hungry (surprise!) as it as 7:00 and he was foraging around the mini-van looking for someone's, anyone's leftover sub sandwich from lunch.
He'd gotten that desperate.
Meanwhile, Bones, who had been hanging outside dancing around the car, was not burning off the energy fast enough. I was about to have him start doing laps up and down the turnpike to get that little body to burn it off faster.
It was *bounce bounce bounce* around the car. Press his face against someone's window. *bounce bounce bounce* some more. Yell at Mr. T through the window. *skip skip skip* beside the car. Push his face against a window and make faces at all of us sitting inside.
Wash, rinse, repeat.
The pike, as I said, was a parking lot. So it was safe and we kept an eye on him, with one of his brothers joining him every now and then. I banned him from inside the car at one point as I thought he was going to make me ape crap crazy. Besides, the motor was off and how much open door/close door/open door/close door/radio on for two hours/off light/on light/ off light/on light can one car battery take?
After the game was over, my husband finally got out of the car to stretch his legs with our bouncing blonde haired ball of energy.
No wonder the kid is so boney.
And the following conversation occurred, with some changes I am sure, as it was relayed to me... this is 2nd hand.
The scene: It is DARK. A guy was out with his golden lab. His wife had gone to the bushes to pee. (A woman after my heart... I was so nearly on her heels.) The dog was running back and forth, back and forth, people were walking, Bones was bouncing, my husband was standing at the side people watching, dog watching.
Man with dog, as dog starts to come back: What in the hell does she have in her mouth?
My husband looked out and saw the dog happily dopily trotting back to his owner with something biggish and darkish around her muzzle... as in carrying something.
My husband looks at the dog: Road kill...
Man with Dog: What?
My husband: Road kill...
Man with Dog *horrified*: Ahhh... NOOO! You are kidding me?!!!
My husband: No... looks kind of dried up...
Man with dog: Oh man. I have 50 lbs of dog food in the car. You think she'll eat it? NO. Instead she has to find the nastiest piece of filth and bring it back to eat!
At that point, the wife came back completely horrified...
Bwahahahahaha! That is yet another reason... we do NOT own a dog.
Today has been spent wrapping up our visit as we start our way home tomorrow. Traffic is notoriously bad on the Sunday following Thanksgiving, in part to normal holiday traffic and in part to UF/FSU traffic as that game is held every year on that Saturday, so we leave on Saturday to avoid the extra 5 hour delay.
It's been a wonderful week with my niece. She is so yummy and sweet. When next we see her, she will be walking and saying definitive words.
My oldest boy likes to hold her and I whispered in his year today, "Hey, in a 3rd world country or an American ghetto, you're old enough to be her Dad..." He just shook his head. This goes hand in hand with my other saying to him, "Hey, if you lived in a 3rd world country, you'd have a rifle in your hand and you'd have been fighting for two years."
Bones was all about going to the beach this evening to look at lights. He'd heard somewhere there would be lights on the boardwalk.
My mom said to him, "Oh! You'll see a lot of tourists!"
To which Bones replied, "But tourists are bad to see."
Bones, "Wait. That's terrorists..."
And of course my Mom and I laughed. Another Boneism.
Dinner revolved around using sour cream. We're not sure how it happened, but at one point we had 8 cups of sour cream in the fridge. We got it whittled down to three cups and made sure we had baked potatoes tonight, leaving my folks with but one cup left.
If any of you receive Southern Living magazine, the November issue has a Pumpkin Pie on the front cover. I came home on Saturday, started planning my designated day and said to my folks, "Hey, did you see that Pumpkin Pie on the cover of Southern Living? I want to make that for dessert..."
And my father replied, "You can't. I'm making TWO of them for Thanksgiving."
Holy crap. We think it's the best Pumpkin Pie we've ever eaten. Save that recipe. And don't scrimp on the gingersnaps. Buy a named brand you KNOW you like.
Damn. It's good.
I made my Dad's favorite dessert tonight, Banana Pudding. I pulled it out of the oven and the mergingue was nice and pokey and light brown. It looked fantastic; the best I'd ever made.
The family was sitting around the table talking when one of the kids asked about the pudding. Said someone, "What flavor pudding is it?"
Said someone else, "Banana... right?"
Said I, "No, it's vanilla. Wait..."
There was a silence until I continued, "Dammit. I forgot to put the frickin' VANILLA IN!!! Dammit. It's just... plain frickin' pudding today..."
There was much laughter, my Dad assured me there is much he's forgotten to put vanilla in and Morrigan said, "This is just NOT your baking week..."
It did turn out very yummy. It made me think I may have forgotten the vanilla in the past and just didn't know it...
So we're off tomorrow, back down south. I've slept better this week than I have in months. Sound sleeps, very little awakening, no nightmares, no aches, no pain, it's been nice.
It's time to get ready for Christmas. I need drugs...
I call it the 6 degrees of Northern Palm Beach County. If you work hard enough, you'll find common ground with anyone you meet in the northern county.
And it took me less than a minute to find the commonality with the little girl who was murdered on Thanksgiving. I know not her family personally, but many of my friend's children danced with her at the studio she took ballet. My friend's children were to be in the Nutcracker with her today.
I am sickened for this family, for their friends, and for the children to whom explanations must be made... when we as adults do not have them.
I am speechless and the word sad doesn't begin to encompass the depths of grief I feel for them.
I have phone calls to make this afternoon...
Because I had to post it...
Perhaps I'm not the best influence...
No real dirt, leaves, sticks, rocks or acorns were swallowed at the park today.
Although there were many attempts...
You'd think she'd be a bit more appreciative of my constantly trying to save her life. But no. She just kept trying her sneaky baby tricks, trying to eat dirt or leaves when she thought I wasn't paying attention.
Happy Thanksgiving. May your home be merry and warm, may you remember all we have to be thankful for, and may you have more to eat than dirt...
My niece does two things I think are very funny. Actually she does a lot of things I think are funny, but only two I have capitalized upon. At 10 months of age she loves to make what I call, 'monster face'. It's when babies scrunch up their noses and breathe in and out really really fast.
All my boys did it. We added it to our repetoire of stupid pet tricks by actually CALLING IT Monster Face and then eventually when we'd say, "Monster face!" they'd make the face.
But it didn't take so much with the Great Flambina and now instead of my having to actually say, "Monster Face!" she just does it when she sees me.
Because.... *I* am monster face.
As if this were not bad enough, she sometimes makes this gutteral sound and then purses her lips like an O... but more oval. And she does this thing with her eyes and it looks like she's choking or about to vomit. This is the second thing that cracks me up.
And of course... I had to do it back. And so today we had what appeared to be a vomitting contest.
She'd pretend to choke and vomit.
I'd pretend to choke and vomit a little louder.
She'd pretend to choke and vomit.
And I'd pretend to choke and vomit.
And so it went for about 2 or 3 minutes, a 10 month old vs. a 44 year old on who can choke and pretend to vomit the loudest.
She got tired of the game first.
That does not speak much for me.
And now when she sees me, if she doesn't just come to me, give me stoic face or give me monster face, she pretends to choke and vomit.
When she sees my husband she gets all flirty and waves.
I made note of this at the dinner table tonight, how my husband gets the sweet voice and the flappy waves and I get the monster faces and vomitting sounds.
Morrigan said, "Hunh. I wonder how that could be?"
So little time... so many stupid pet tricks to teach. Not one of them has stuck yet...
What is interesting through the years, is watching my children's relationships change with various people in the family. As my children grow, the way they relate to people changes.
On a bit of a segue, I'm not sure what is being watched on TV in your homes, but my home is full of The History Channel, The Food Network, and anything dealing with building or adventure, hence my walking in on them watching some guy teach them how to survive living in a desert by living in a camel carcass or hearing incessantly that 'insert something I say here' has been proven wrong by "Myth Busters".
Mr. T is the King of the Foodnetwork. Being a farmer at heart, the kid is up at 6AM on the weekends and will watch how to cook food while everyone else chooses to sleep. He knows all about the Neeleys, Rachel Ray, and other assorted chefs and can identify the show based on music. If he isn't watching the Foodnetwork, he's watching WWII HD or some other historical show on our military.
I honestly don't have a handle on this kid and his brain. It's like he has to know something about everything.
Anyway, so fast forward to this week. I walked in last evening to find my brother sitting around with my three boys. Everyone else was asleep. Monday Night Football was on as my kids have also become football freaks.
Keep in mind now, I watch NO TV, other than an occasional SEC football game. So my ability to relate to certain aspects of their lives is nill. I try to fake it.
So the four of them are sitting around watching Tennessee and ... someone wearing a red jersey... Houston I think, when Mr. T says, "Mom. You have to start watching Antique Roadshow! We always watch it and guess how much things are worth."
When speaking to children, when the word 'always' is involved, one must wonder... always as in truly all the time or always as in... we did it once and so therefore it is always?
And so I queried, "Always? And who is We?"
TN started to laugh.
Mr. T said, "Well... tonight we watched it..."
And TN continued, "Yeah, Dad, Mr.T and me."
Clarification, my bro, my Dad, and my son watched it one time. But it is always.
As I suspected.
Evidently a good time was had by all and now this is another show that Mr. T will add to his odd repertoire: Football, FoodNetwork, History, Myth Busters, Adventure Reality crap, and Antique Roadshow. Did I say he wanted to go to Georgia Tech? A straight A student... I'm at a bit of a loss as to his variety in taste.
And so we continued to watch football and I think it is the relationship with my brother and my sons that intrigues me the most. Coming from the same family, there is a similar sense of humor. Sarcasm can reign here and it is lost on no one, not even Bones, who can be the worst.
I was questioning something about Percy Harvin when the following conversation ensued to the best of my recollection:
Me: I wish Percy played for Tennessee.
Mr. T: No you don't. Tennessee sucks this year.
Me: How is Minnesota?
Mr. T: They're doing great.
Something came up about Brett Favre.
Me: He plays for Minnesota?
Bones: Oh yeah, he's with Percy.
Me: I thought everyone hated Brett...
TN, laughing: Not anymore. He's having one of his best years ever... *and he proceeds to give me the run down on Brett and what he's done in his career*
Me: Hunh. I thought everyone hated him...
Bones: Yeah, well, they hated him because he got those two dogs to fight.
Ringo and T: *blink*
Me: I don't think that was Brett...
TN: You mean Michael Vick?
Bones: Oh. Yeah.
Me: Why don't we just make Brett a bigger jerk... make him fight two dogs...
And it continued...
It was just so daggum funny. It was just my three boys and my bro, talking football and what not and honestly, laughing themselves silly at times. TN was laughing so hard he was crying.
I loved it.
Sidenote: I cannot get enough of my niece. I am so in love with that baby...
A funny story from last night's dinner fiasco...
The pie had already been deemed a disaster in my mind and was sitting in the fridge. The prime rib, however, was sitting in the oven, roasting... the scent of garlic and spices wafting throughout my parents' home.
The directions had stated leaving it at room temp for an hour, then 500 degrees for 20 minutes and then 325 for just over an hour remaining until the center was at 145 degrees. (The recipe was wrong... that is too done.) And so as the allotted time came closer, my Mom said to me quite animated, "Wait until you see what your father has! He has this GREAT thermometer. It is state of the art. You'll love it!"
And the scene and conversation played out... pretty much accordingly.
Me: OK. Let's see it...
Mom: See. You just flip this out and poke it in the meat and it digitally reads the temperature within seconds.
*bing bing bing* went the buzzer, sounding time for the meat to be done.
Me: OK, let's see it. Go.
Mom opened the oven, poked in the handy dandy state of the art thermometer and said, "Something's wrong..."
Mom: Something is wrong. It's... hunh. It's going... backward. It says 60 degrees...
Me: So much for that... no way in hell. That sucker has been in there for an hour and 20 minutes, with part of it at 500 degrees...
Mom: Hunh. I took it out and it's climbing back up to 80 degrees...
Me: Really? Let me see...
Sure enough, she poked the meat, and it didn't register but 60 something degrees, took that sucker out and the temp gauge moved upwards of 80 degrees.
Mom: I'm going to talk to your Dad...
I heard her leave the house to go back to his woodshop where he was working with Ringo. I heard her saying, "Hun! (she used his real name) There's something wrong with your meat thermometer..."
I couldn't hear the rest as her voice trailed off into the garage/woodshop.
She came back in with eyes wide.
Mom: He said it's not broken. That if it says 60 degrees, than that meat is 60 degrees.
I sat there incredulously... puzzled, trying to figure out how in the hell it could be. How could I have so royally screwed up AGAIN?
TGOO came into the house, opened the oven door, poked the meat and it registered 65 degrees. He took it to the fridge where it registered the correct temp, and then back to the oven.
TGOO: Your meat is 65 degrees...
Me: That's impossible. I left it out for an HOUR AND A HALF! A full half hour LONGER than the recipe stated! Then 500 deg for 20 and 325 for over the past hour... It can't be!
And that is when he came to the conclusion that our meat... had been purchased...frozen on the inside.
So, lesson to all, if you buy a big hunk of meat, check to see if it's frozen. It didn't say it was on the package, it was in the fridge section of Sam's... but it had to be frozen in the center.
That prime rib was doing it's best Sam McGee imitation. If it could talk when we first opened the oven it would have said, "ďPlease close that door.
Itís fine in here, but I greatly fear youíll let in the cold and stormó
Since I left Sam's, down off Davis Highway, itís the first time Iíve been warm.Ē
When we visit my folk's home, we all take a day too cook. I picked today.
As I spent time through the week, trying to figure out what I'd make, I decided I wanted to make it more like a Christmas dinner that we'd have at my home, something out of the ordinary, since we would not be gathering as a family this Christmas.
As good fortune would have it, or so I thought, TGOO had just checked out a new cookbook from the library, a cookbook whose name I will not mention for good reason you will soon see.
And starting with the dessert and working backwards, I decided upon Black Bottom Pie and Prime Rib, rounding it out with fresh steamed green beans and mashed potatoes.
I cook a lot. I bake a lot. I'm known for knowing my way around a kitchen.
And today, bordered on... an absolute disaster in every damn way.
Today was a day that the Cooking Gods were looking down and laughing at me, daring me to tempt fate.
Yet I did not hear their laughter.
Unfortunately for everyone.
And at 1:30 I started on the Black Bottom Pie, bringing the milk with the half a split vanilla bean to a simmer and at 3:00 I realized... I was royally screwed and this was a bad bad gig I was playing.
Because it was 3:00 when I decided my custard was finally a custard without it ever doing what the recipe said it should do... I now had only 1 cup of custard left instead of the two... and I'm not even sure how to make sense of this in writing without making you fall asleep.
But suffice it to say, I followed the recipe to a T, a horrible recipe as we have analyzed it to pieces, only to end up with the most hideous looking chocolate dessert one can imagine, with a graham cracker crust, turned to brick with a thick chocolate custard, topped with a meringue infused with shards of brandy custard which looked like yellow pieces of fat floating in white puffs of cream, or as one son said, "pieces of snot', topped with a thin layer of homemade whipped cream.
As I went to cut it, I needed a frickin' chisel. Then I realized we needed bowls.
Consistency issues wouldn't even start with its problems. My brother, who will eat absolutely anything, or as Mo says, "He's a disposal", got halfway through it, looked at me and said, "I'm really really sorry..." threw the rest away.
Meanwhile, Mr. T has had four slices, but we think it's because he has a cold and can't taste it.
And the prime rib? Following a recipe I'd downloaded, eating 2 hours later than we had planned due to the fact we think the meat I bought was frozen inside and we didn't realize it, and the fact I overcooked it a half hour, meant that it was WONDERFUL to my eldest boy who prefers his meat close to ash in 'doneness' and a near abomination to me who likes my meat slightly warmed, a quiet Moo as I cut it is OK with me.
Unfortunately, the potatoes and green beans were finished 2 hours in advance as well, best laid plans and all that, so my Mom put them in her warmer, and saved the day with that.
Add to that, my bro and I love horseradish sauce and I thought the last time we had prime rib at home with his horseradish sauce that we nearly ran out, I double the recipe only to find out that last time we had in fact over a 1/4 cup remaining.
We now have a cup of horseradish sauce in the fridge. I am hoping they go good with eggs.
So let us recap, shall we?
Horseradish sauce to feed the masses.
Overcooked prime rib (yes it was good... even though over done).
Beans and potatoes that were in a warmer for a better part of 2 hours.
Black Bottom Pie/Soup with shards of fatty looking custard within the meringue, skeeving out absolutely everyone with the exception of my 12 year old who has hit a growth spurt and eats so much he has been heard to say to me in exasperation, "Mom, why can I never get full?" at all of 80 pounds, and has a cold so there is no sense of taste.
And the rolls from Publix were fantastic.
What a mess.
Update: I forgot to add, we ate so daggum late, that my sister jokingly said to my boys, something like, "You have to go to bed RIGHT AFTER we eat dinner!" to which her husband added, 'Everyone take a side of toothpaste with you to the dinner table!"
I can't believe how late it took to eat! I couldn't quit laughing...
It is an odd title... but it is what I kept thinking tonight as I watched my son play in band tonight at their concert.
My heart swelling for him and all he has accomplished in three short months, I kept thinking of that one phrase from The Grinch That Stole Christmas.
My son didn't read music in bass clef, only read something called Tabs, when he played his electric bass. Since June, he has learned how to read bass clef, figured out how to play it on his electric bass, learned how to play it on the double bass which has no frets by the way, and has been playing... with other people... and holding his own.
He is the only freshman in Jazz Band. He practically sleeps with his instrument... and the double bass, which he calls Bab (short for big assed bass) he has learned to enjoy and not to loathe.
Tonight may very well have been the best band concert I've ever been to because tonight was the first time, I truly knew where these kids started and three months later, there was true music.
As the band director said tonight, as he explained the beginning band, in August they truly started with, "When you put your case in your lap, keep the label facing up before you open it..." and now, I heard them play real music.
I watched Son#4 who is also a freshman, play with the more elite band, the Juniors and Seniors, the only freshman, a young man who has been so diligent about practicing that I know one day soon... he will be first chair.
Ringo and Son#4 were the only freshmen who wore tuxes, reserved for those in Jazz band or highest level concert band.
I was so proud of the both of them... and so moved by the music they all played.
I needed it.
It made my heart grow three sizes today.
My house smells like burned green peas. Long story.
I had to prove to my eldest, once again, that I am the expert on finding crap on the internet that he swears cannot be found. I am the Queen. He needs to bow to me. He may have made an A on his English project because of my 'mad search skillz'.
I was informed today by the guys at work that they prefer working for me because I explain things well, I'm prettier and I smell nicer than their other bosses.
My father asked me if they realized if they screwed up that I'm the type that would rip off their heads and sh** down their necks. I informed him that they in fact did since one of them was in the room when I lunged at and nearly struck that sack of crap that I thought was cheating our customer. (Commonly referenced on this blog as not my finer moment.)
I think that means I must smell REALLY REALLY good for them to still prefer me given my occassionally 'intense' personality!
This is day three of a headache encroaching on a migraine. I wonder if I stuck an ice pick just above my left eye if it will finally go away...
Starbucks hot chocolate made with skim milk rocks and is saving my ass.... or making it bigger. It's worth it.
Did I say my house smells like burnt peas?
There is much going on here, both at home and at work. I am not catching a break anywhere. I got home tonight for the first time at 9:00PM... I'd left at 6:30AM.
My Tech Lead is out, I'm the 'boss lady' according to the guys, and the screws have been tightened.
Sleep is unobtainable, the nightmares are back and my silver lining is that at least my nightmares are steeped in sorting through benign crap in my head and not of any real horrors that played themselves in real time in my real life.
Then of course there is the visit I had last night. I'm not sure who he was or what my mind was doing... but it is bothering me on a deep level and will probably make sleep that much more difficult tonight.
I confided in it of a friend today who said to me, 'Your home is new... it shouldn't be haunted.'
True, that. But nevertheless, it occurred and perhaps I'm hoping that just by putting it out here... it won't happen again.
As if the other sh** I dream about at night, when I can sleep, is not bad enough...
Blogging will resume when the stress levels come down. Expect Saturday... ish.
I'll be seeing the Great Flambina then. The smell of a baby, the sound of their tiny voice, the touch of their soft skin... can make it all go away.
I was at work today, we have a project coming due, my Tech Lead is out on business starting tomorrow evening until Friday, I'm off next week, this week is crazy, and I'm trying to figure out how my group is going to get it all done.
I was looking at my calendar, set to leave to pick up a kid from school in 10 minutes, trying to make sense of who was working when and doing what when the following conversation ensued... to the best of my recollection:
Me: Hunh. Is today the 16th?
Someone in the office from their cube: Yup.
Me: Hunh. Today is my anniversary.
*laughter in the office*
Someone in the office in their cube: Really? You just realized it?
*laughter in the office*
Me: Yup. Dang. I think he forgot too...
Woman voice: I bet he's at home right now planning a big dinner...
Me: I bet he forgot *beep beep beep- beep beep beep beep* *dialing phone* too.
Me, trying to talk over the whrrrr: Hey. Did you know today was our anniversary?
Hunhead: Is today the 16th?
Me: I can hardly hear you...
Hunhead: Sorry, I'm blowing up the kids' tires to their bikes. Is today the 16th?
Hunhead: I knew it was coming up. I just didn't know it was THIS week.
Me: Me either. We're not going to dinner tonight. Ringo has double bass lessons.
Hunhead: Yeah. Wow.
Me: Love you. Bye!
Hunhead: Love you too. Bye.
*Laughter in the office*
Me: He forgot too.
Someone in the office from their cube: How long have you been married?
Me: 18 years. We're obviously in some sort of groove...
And it kind of deteriorated from there.
Eighteen years. Dang. And they said it wouldn't last... (That's a joke...)
I can't watch UF play anymore. Seriously. They aren't the power house team of last year. 'Bama is better. Every game I wait for UF to goof up and lose. It stresses me out. And if 'Bama doesn't beat them for the SEC championship, Texas will beat the snot out of them during the BCS bowl.
I can't watch anymore.
Yes, I'm rooting for Mississippi State today...
I was at work the other day and this new young engineer right out of college passed me in the halls.
"When did we start hiring 12 year olds?" asked I as I walked into my office.
One of my co-workers said, "Yeah, I noticed that."
I continued, "I had to bite my tongue from asking him whether his mother dropped him off or if he rode his bike."
They keep getting younger and younger. Surely it is not I getting older...
I spent today with about 200 10 year olds, Webelos, teaching them about circuits at a weekend for them to earn badges, including their engineering badge.
Last year I helped and it was a frickin' DISASTER. Good God, I'm not sure where I'd start it was so bad. It wasn't even organized chaos. It was just chaos.
Crap was thrown in the middle of the table, the kids were supposed to build a closed circuit with a battery pack, a light bulb and a switch. We didn't have time to prepare, I had no idea what kind of supplies we were going to get, and next thing I knew, there were small electrical fires, the pungent smell of burning plastic (battery packs), unhappy kids, unhappy me, all the while the guy who headed up the table, a retiree from our local power company, kept talking about all the dead kids he'd seen due to electrocution and Dads looking at me with raised eyebrows and mutterings of, "Wow, this is a cheery table."
I left there and said, "NO." I got hold of the guy who runs the engineering section and said, "Next year, we fix this process..."
He got me some volunteers, the dead child guy didn't show, and the main volunteer is a retired boat captain that can fix frickin' ANYTHING. Two weeks ago we stream lined it, this past Thursday we came up with a plan, and today we set it in motion and it was FANTASTIC!
We went from the worst station to one of the best. Kids loved us. (There are stations for pulleys, A/C circuit (we have traffic folks come in with traffic lights), D/C circuit (me), bridge building, catapults, and creating floor plans.)
I was halfway through the morning session and I was starting to drag when I sat down with a boy, had him set up his circuit, explained why it worked, took it apart, showed him what would happen if I altered it, had him put it back together, and he sat there for a minute and quietly said, 'I get it. I really get it. This suddenly makes so much sense to me..."
And my heart was grinning, if it is possible. I swear to you, it was like I watched the light bulb above his head go from not lit to lighting up the campsite.
And I started to pay more attention to the facial expressions and I started to realize that my buddy and I were making a small difference. Sure, some of the kids already knew it, maybe had done it, but there were so many that got it, loved it, and then would come back to my table and ask to play with the boards we'd made up.
And it made it a good day... even though I'm beat to hell.
My boys had their own Boy Scout advancement and learned leatherwork. I think that Ringo may get into it.
Work is crazy. Feast or famine. I went from being told to cut my hours in half to being asked to work nearly full time again. Good grief.
I'm not a big fan of Sarah Palin. I'm not THAT Conservative. I've said here repeatedly, I'm an independent.
I don't think the press was fair to her, however, and I'll remember that forever.
Beyond that, what is the deal with that punk that knocked up her daughter? The press keeps putting him out there, making him feel relevant, when in reality he looks like a low IQ classless dork. Meanwhile, the mother of his child, of whom he is no longer seeing I gather, must surely be singing to herself the old Country Western song, "Sometimes we Thank God for unanswered prayers" in the fact she didn't marry this dumbass.
What comes to my mind? WHERE.IS.HIS.MOTHER? Why has his mother not sat him down and said to him, "STFU, you look like a simple minded classless dork and are shaming the family."
Perhaps because... the apple didn't fall far from the tree?
Lastly, I don't watch TV, but tonight I was watching the
Alabama/Mississippi State game Alabama beat the crap out of Mississippi and a commercial came on for a Windows phone? They make phones?
Anyway, have you seen it? This guy is sitting in a meeting and I guess he's about to go on Facebook, and this Facebook icon shows up at the office and he has it go under the table.
I looked at my husband and said, 'OK, that's weird. It looks like he wants that Facebook icon to give him a blow job...'
My husband shook his head and said, 'I know. I seriously thought the same thing the first time I saw the commericial. Under the table. It's weird."
Get this, I found it on youtube and it's called, "Meetings are better with a Windows Phone."
I was in the car with Bones and Mr. T when the frickin' ODDEST conversation came up. I swear it went exactly like this:
Bones: Mom, if you date a guy and he is mean to us, would you stand up for us or would you not believe he was being mean to us behind your back?
Bones and Mr. T:
Me: I'm lost.
Bones: IF you date a guy and he is MEAN to us, would you stand up for us or would you not believe he was being mean to us behind your back?
Me: *long pause* Bones. I'm married to your Dad. I'm not going to date again.
Mr. T: Yeah, but IF...
Me: There isn't an if. You don't date if you're married and your Dad and I are married...
Bones: No, we get that, but like if you and Dad got divorced and you started to date again.
Me: We're not getting divorced. Everything is FINE. Really.
Mr. T: You're not answering.
Bones: yeah, we know everything is fine and you're not getting divorced, but if something happened and you had to date, what then?
Me: Of course I'd stand up for you and believe you. Of course. You are mine. I love you. You come first.
Bones and Mr. T: Good.
So WTF was that about? Did they watch something that I don't know about? Holy crap...
(And no... we are having ZERO marital problems. We don't argue. There is no tension. We laugh alot... Good grief.)
The most haunting Memorial in DC I find to be... the Korean War Memorial.
I spoke of it to my father today, where he found this picture.
It is haunting to see in the summer... in the winter, I cannot imagine.
For those who have not seen it, the artist sculpted our soldiers in the battlefield. Individually. When I think of it, I still have the feeling of... loneliness inside that I felt when I first saw it.
Go HERE to find a picture of every individual.
May we never forget what our Veterans have given to us... have done for us.
The sacrifices made... since the formation of our Country.
Always one to look for the silver lining... we have this.
Bones received a 2 out of 6 on his last OPEN book Religion test, which is progress since the last one he made a 0 out of 6. It appears he just KNEW he knew the answers to the other 4, so he never looked them up. He looked up only 2... the one's he got right.
My husband is about to stroke. He keeps saying to me, "I don't GET IT. I.DO.NOT.GET.IT. When is he going to learn that in an open book test he is supposed to LOOK UP the answer and NEVER expect he knows it. WHEN?"
To which I replied as I continued to read, "Never. This is the kid for two years would say, "We're going to win this time, Mom!" as the elevator doors closed at your office and his brothers raced him down the stairs. We took the elevator every time, they took the stairs. Every time we lost. We did it what... 30? 40 times? And even that 30th time he said, "We're going to win this time, Mom!" He's never going to learn..."
We just keep repeating it.
Bones, however, was excited. We're on an upward trend and he truly had good answers, even if they were wrong.
Bones said, "And you know what? Mrs. P could TELL I looked up those two answers I got right. I quoted them right out of the book!"
My husband held back as he said through clenched teeth, "YES. You were SUPPOSED to look them up in the book. It's an OPEN book test!"
I replied, "Hey. Let me see your test..."
I perused it, and found the question, "What did the breaking of the bread at the Last Supper mean?"
Bones got it wrong, but said, 'Jesus was the bread of life'.
I was impressed. It sounded good.
I looked at him and said, "It's not the right answer, but I'm happy to see you didn't say, "Because Jesus was hungry."
From the other side of the room I heard my husband mutter, "THANK.GOD."
Silver lining. Jesus wasn't hungry.
Our life revolves around food now. Everyone's life revolves around it when the teenager's life does.
I call it... Feeding the Furnace.
He was in a foul mood last Wednesday. From the minute he got in the car from school until he went to bed, cranky cranky cranky. He's 14. It's going to happen... the mixture of self loathing, "Why can't I be like
We've all been there.
I'd not go back.
I gritted my teeth through most of Wednesday, just listening to him vent, occasionally adding my two cents, never getting through.
Finally I said, "Are you hungry?"
He said, "Yes."
I replied, "Feed the furnace and let's move on..."
Shoveling the coal didn't help that much. He was still a crank, although a slightly lesser one.
Bothering him on that particular day was his lack of stature and how much he eats. At 5'1" and 100 pounds, he probably consumes over 3000 calories a day.
I'm not kidding.
The kid can put away the food.
And I guess his friends who are far bigger, eat far less, and like to tease him. He came by this all naturally. Both my father and his father had huge appetites and lean frames at this age. They both remain lean, but it's through curbing the intake as the furnace has required less fuel.
He was grousing about it in the car. The conversation went something like this:
Him: None of my friends eat like I do.
Him: None. I went to Peter's house the other night and his folks had ordered pizza. We were all eating and they had ordered a lot. They told me to eat as much as I wanted. I just kept eating after everyone was finished. I ate an ENTIRE pizza. Alone.
(Sidenote: Peter is a big football player freshman.)
Me: *blink* You ate an ENTIRE pizza? The whole thing?
Him: YES. YES. And they said it was OK. I ate a WHOLE pizza! And WHAT do I have to show for it? Look at me. I'm 5'1. But I have size 10 feet and big hands. Big deal.
And so it went. We had gone from food to self loathing to 'I'm short and hate it' to 'why am I so out of proportion?'. He's like a frickin' Clydesdale.
Saturday, we had a family baby shower to attend. The entire family was invited. He was less than enthusiastic. So finally on Saturday as I grabbed my keys to go, my husband already being there with Bones, I said, "Are you coming or not?"
He stood there, staring, and finally said, "Will they have food?"
"Yes," I replied. And with that he said, "Yes. Fine. I'll go."
That was the tipping point. Food = yes. He's all about eating.
Afterwards I dropped him off at a girl friend's house while he waited on a buddy to come get him to spend the night. This is a girl friend who is just a friend; one of his best friends since Kindergarten.
She is an only child.
They have only one girl and they kept my son through dinner.
I said to him today, 'Did you have enough to eat at Mr. and Mrs. C's house the other night?"
I continued, "Really? Were you full? I mean, they only have Caroline, were you hungry still? I can't imagine they were ready to feed an extra let alone feed YOU."
He grinned and said, "No, I was still hungry. But it would be rude to ask for more. I ate enough to function."
And that brings us to today. He didn't go to school today as he threw up last night and this morning. Throwing up means no school. I did stop by the school to pick up his double bass so he could practice.
Not having thrown up since 8AM and not having eaten all day by 4:00PM, he was STARVING.
He went with me to pick up his double bass..."Please, please, please, Mom," he begged, "McDonalds. Let me get a fish sandwich. Please!"
Me: That crap is so bad for you...
Him: Please. I'm starving.
Me: Seriously, bad for you... *I pulled into McDonalds*
Him: And an Oreo McFlurry!
Me *glaring*: No.
Him: come on... I'm really really hungry.
Me: One day you're going to be really really fat...
And so it went, he ate his fish sandwich, his oreo McFlurry, and he'll eat a full dinner.
The guys at work think he may have gotten sick from putting too much weird stuff in his stomach yesterday at the school picnic. He ate... from 1PM until 4PM. All.Day.Long.
Everytime I would see him, he'd be at some long table with a plate of food. He'd quietly give me a nod or a quick wave.
They may be right...
There is amongst us a group of people who do amazing things. They work tirelessly for others, never looking for a thank you or for recognition.
They just... do.
When the Fort Hood shooting occurred, this group immediately had something in place. I received an email immediately letting me know... things were in the works for the families and soldiers.
Angels among us.
This is their annual drive, Valour-IT.
Originally it started as a way to get voice activated laptops to our wounded warriors. It has grown considerably and now they provide technology. GPS assist those with short term memory loss... so they can still be mobile. Wiis or whole body gaming systems, donated only to medical facilities, when used with physical therapy can speed recovery.
Something that started out so simple and wonderful has continued to grow... helping so many... giving hope.
I was late this year, cash was short and it didn't feel right for me to put it out there, only for me to not have donated. It is the yearly competition between the services with the Marines in the lead! We're not doing quite so well with Team Navy!
This competition ends Wednesday, Veteran's Day. Consider helping our troops. Whether you give via Navy or one of those other guys, consider it.
However, please feel free to click the button and give on behalf of Navy! Go Navy!!
Well our bathroom has finished being remodeled with the new toilet installed yesterday. A toilet that took on much marital stress and many weeks to decided upon.
At the risk of embarrassing the stew out of myself, this is the conversation had between my spouse and I upon the installation.
Me: It sits taller than the other one.
Husband: It's the comfort height.
Me: My feet barely touch the ground.
Husband: You're kidding. They don't touch?
Me: Well the balls of my feet do, but not the heels.
Husband: But it's the comfort height.
Me: Not if you're 5'2...
Husband: But it said it's the comfort height...
Me: NOT if you're FIVE FOOT TWO! I'll be fine. Really. It's probably comfortable if you're 5'4 or taller or something. I'll be fine.
So essentially we have a big girl potty, but I'm not a big enough girl. Yes, I think it's funny...
And the lesson is... if you are under 5'4 or your spouse is, rethink the comfort height. Seriously, if I were under 5'2, my feet might be dangling like a high chair...
Meanwhile, I've been going through all the crap that was in my vanity. I don't think I've done a thorough cleaning of it since we moved in... 13 years ago.
I must've thrown away one large garbage bag of... stuff. Mr. T came in and said, "Mom, you sure do have a lot of crap." Nice. And spot on.
Crap no more... here are my observations of some of the things I threw out.
I actually got rid of a curling iron I believe I've had since 1980. It was cream and pink. I assure you, Mo is reading this gasping with a hand over her mouth, aghast I still had it. So to my sister, "It's gone, OK? But I'm still keeping my 1986 red Forenza sweater."
I don't need anymore Q-tips, cotton wipes, or sponge make up applicators. I consolidated and think I have an entire drawer full. I'm at a loss since I don't use Qtips... ever. Why two big boxes? And sponge make up applicators? When was I using those? Some make up person must have convinced me using my hands was a 'bad thing'. Right. I'm keeping it all in case some art project comes up where my kids need them. You never know when in 5th grade you may just have to create a replication of the Eiffel Tower using Qtips and make up sponges.
Dear Make Up companies: No more cute little totes with your samples, Mmmkay? I had... 10 of them? 12? Little ones, odd shaped ones, leopard print, canvas, suede or velvet, red plastic... and on and on.
Follow up to the make up totes... half of them had feminine hygiene product in them. What in the hell was up with that? Have I spent the last 13 years wondering if I was going to just spontaneously bleed while traveling? Or was it a secret stash in case I ran out... I knew I had back up? No clue. Luckily there is no expiration date... and I've not hit menopause yet.
Good Grief, I had tons of old costume jewelry screaming to be thrown out. I was separating it all and Mr. T said, 'Mom, why are you throwing this out? You can take it to Cash for Gold."
I had to inform him it was just gold colored... How old was some of this? Do you remember when button covers were in? Yeah, I just threw away... scads of button covers.
And so it is cleaned out and I'm moved in. Old make up, make up brushes, powders, lotions... gone.
Kept for oddly sentimental reasons, eight pacifiers stuffed in the top of my medicine cabinet. Ringo's. 13 year old pacifiers. One day those will go as well.
But not today.
I am very in tune with the horrors that have happened this week at Ft. Hood. I read... I listen...
I don't post on these things when they happen for a couple reasons.
One, this is my mostly happy place. I vent here about life frustrations which I am also very aware are petty compared to life frustrations to those serving this country. That is never lost on me. My worrying about my children pales in comparison to watching your buddy get blown up or being caught in a fight for your life. Worrying for my children pales in comparison to having to travel to Dover to greet your son or daughter for the last time.
I like to laugh at the chaos that swirls around me. We laugh a lot in this house. Laughing makes the great times seem greater and the hard times... well it takes off the edge.
So at the end of the day, if I can put the words together, this is the place where I come to decompress. I have grown to have warm feelings for my readers, something I think I do not convey enough. I don't know if I can put in words sometimes what it is like here in my home... sometimes I think it is like a comic strip. My Mom and Dad say often that they wonder if people laugh as hard as they do since they know the characters, they know how they move, how they sound. I told them the other day I think they do, because with our imaginations we conjure up the characters.
If not for the bad people out there, I'd put them on Youtube so you could see. But that scares me so I don't.
Y'all can imagine, like you hear Calvin's voice in your head when you read the famous strip. It works.
Two, I don't often post on what goes on such as at Ft. Hood because... I just don't know what to say. The horror runs so deep within me that it truly leaves me speechless. 'Tis better to say nothing if there is nothing you feel can be said. Besides there are far smarter people than I that say it all far better than I ever could, and I quietly lurk and read... and agree. (Sometimes I'm not so quiet on those blogs, Lex in particular, but there is nothing I can add to his posts. So I sit quietly.)
Three, I think I don't blog on events such as Ft. Hood mostly though because I feel so overwhelmed with grief for the families, for the friends, for the soldiers who worked side by side with the fallen. And to the core of my soul I am frightened for my children.
As a commenter said over at one of Lex's posts (one of my favorite reads... for although I do not always agree with his politics tap dead center, I find his writing so well thought out and his thinking so grounded, I take comfort in it) the Muslims need to fix this mess. They disagree with it... they need to fix it.
But they won't.
Which I think may be the crux of what pisses off so many of us. The Muslim community is angry that we lump them together, yet I don't actively see them doing anything to correct what is going on in their countries. If in fact their religion has been hijacked by a minority, why do I not see the majority rising up to revolt and put an end to it once and for all?
Perhaps they are and I'm just not being made aware... our wonderful media may not be reporting on it.
But I suspect they are not. They are the silent majority allowing the minority to run amok.
And for that perhaps I feel less sympathy in lumping them all together.
What is to become of my children? What is to become of this country for my children? My eldest is but four years from being allowed to vote and serve his country should he so choose. What is he inheriting?
As we watch Europe become a Muslim continent... what does that do for my children? What kind of world will they live in with the Godless Russians, the Muslim Europeans, and the ruthless Chinese... who will eventually rule this world again.
That is what I see for my children when they are my age. That is 30 years from now... my eldest will be 44. That is what I see for him.
And it scares me.
I do not blog on Ft. Hood because I do not feel... but perhaps because... I feel too much and then cannot make heads or tails enough to make sense.
May God keep the families of our fallen soldiers in the palm of His hands. May they feel our grief for them and know... we are angry, scared, and horrified and we keep them in our prayers.
(I missed posting so much, keep going. There is a post after this one too...)
Remember I Love Lucy? Remember how she always found herself in the oddest binds?
That would be me. I think my life sometimes is an I Love Lucy episode except it's 2009. I'm the modern day version... minus the red hair. And the comedic flair.
With my son in Parochial High School is a requirement for all parents to do 15 hours of volunteer work. During the summer, I received a phone call from a band parent asking me if I'd run their fundraiser, a Poinsettia Sale.
"Sure!", said I, for how many Poinsettias can 100 kids sell? Really?
Afterall, I've run some serious fundraisers. I help with the school carnival that brings in more cash than I'm comfortable putting on the 'net... suffice it to say I have armed protection at times when I'm at the school carnival. I run the logistics of money and all that may go with it.
I've put on fashion shows at hotels such as the Ritz Carlton. I mean big fashion shows that I coordinated the entire thing... from fashions, to hotel, to food, to seating... all of it. Big. Easily 250 in attendance, sometimes 280.
So? What's a little Poinsettia sale? Besides, it would all be over by 9 December, I'd have my hours in and bada-bing, bada-bang, done.
Keep in mind as well that I've received no binder of history on this... how it's been done in the past. I get bits and pieces here and there, which is fine, but proving to be quite enlightening, to someone completely unfamiliar with, 'the little poinsettia sale'.
I was told I needed to get hold of the nursery and pick up some samples for the front office. I called them and this is pretty much how the conversation went:
Me: We're very excited about this fundraiser. I think it's going to go very well. It's the big talk. Everyone keeps telling me how beautiful your plants are and how the community looks forward to our sale.
Nursery guy: Oh yeah. Well, your Poinsettia fundraiser is the largest Poinsettia fundraiser in all of South Florida.
My first thought? F***.
I got to work and said to our assistant, who pretty much has a full time job keeping me in line, "You're not going to frickin' believe this..."
And I finished off the story with, "You know how I pictured that little nursery truck pulling up and dropping off a couple hundred poinsettias? I'm now realizing it's going to be a F*** SEMI. A SEMI full of POINSETTIAS!"
She shook her head and said, "You do this to yourself you know. You do it. I watch it..."
Me: It was supposed to be a little poinsettia fundraiser! This is poinsettia fundraiser on STEROIDS!
I was right. I got to school yesterday to hand out my flyers and someone said, "Could you tell the Nursery to drop off the load after school drop off? The semi blocks all the parents dropping off and it's a real mess..."
I think I quit breathing for a minute. It was confirmed...
Add to that I was at my younger boys' school this morning talking to my girlfriend whose kids went to my older boy's school and participated in the fundraiser. It went like this...
Me: You're not going to believe what happened to me. You know that frickin' Poinsettia fundraiser?
GF: *pause* You aren't running that are you?
GF: Holy crap. Bou. That load comes in a SEMI. You're running it? Bwahahahahahaha...
Crap. Merry Frickin' Christmas... this should be interesting.
She ended it with this classic sentence, "Bwahahahaha... you know what this means? You are doing it for FOUR YEARS!"
I'm back on line. Sometimes computers are such a pain in the neck.
I haven't been posting on Valour-IT because I haven't even made my donation. It didn't feel right to make a big push if I've not put my money where my mouth is... or my fingers for that matter. That comes Sunday. I'm thinking.
As usual, a few stories, starting with this one.
Ringo is struggling in high school Honors English. It is completely his fault. He has an awesome teacher who expects a lot from her students. It's a lot of work, memorizing, writing. He's being lazy and disorganized and I support her whole heartedly in not only her expectations, but her approach.
She is an amazing teacher.
When I met her at Open House last week, I thought she'd hug me. It seems that not all the students not faring well have parents who 1) check their grades or 2) bother to call and find out what they can do to assist in correcting the negative course.
So he got in the car today and said to me, "I think I didn't do well on my vocab test today..." and the following conversation occured to the best of my recollection.
Ringo: Because she gives synonyms and the ones she gives aren't necessarily the ones I memorized.
Me: *blink* *pause* Ringo... that's ridiculous. A synonym is a synonym... they all mean THE.SAME.THING.
Ringo: I know. But. Mom. She picks these long words that are confusing and nobody is ever going to use. Ever. I mean... it's bad.
Me: Did you make flash cards? I'm helping you study for the next one.
Ringo: Flash cards? There are SIXTY FIVE WORDS!
Me: Hunh. I'm helping you study. I want to see them.
Ringo: Fine. They're in my vocab book at home. Words like... atrophy. I mean, who uses a word like atrophy?
Me: *blink* *blink* ARE YOU NUTS?! I use atrophy all the time. For instance, "Ringo, I think your brain has atrophied due to lack of use..."
Ringo: Ok, bad example. Still.
Flash forward to getting home and finding Ringo beside me with his Vocab book.
Ringo: Fine. Apathy.
Me: Apathy. Not giving a sh**. YOU are apathetic about English.
Ringo: Nice. Arbitrary.
Me: I can't frickin' believe this. I use these words all the time. Random. Pick something. You were arbitrary in your selection for answers on your vocab test.
Ringo *glare*: Arbitrate...
Me: Good Grief. Your uncle goes to arbitration. He's a lawyer. He uses that word every frickin' day. Probably every hour.
Ringo: Here you go. Assimilate...
Me: Please. Children assimilate... for instance...
Ringo: Forget it. Astute...
Me: Ringo. I use these words ALL.THE.DAMN.TIME. Are you kidding? Really? On top of things. Perceptive. Please.
Ringo: You know what? Only you use words like these. No. Only you AND Big Daddy. You all are weird. You're the only people who speak like this...
And for the purpose of this post, I skipped the words, augment, atone, attrition, and austere. As I looked through his vocab words, I use all of them. Benign, belligerent...
But you know... I'm weird. Me and my Dad. We're weird. According to a 14 year old... and this is from the kid that's a reader. College level at that.
Connectivity issues persist.
Hopefully I'll have them fixed tomorrow.
I have so much to blog upon, and not the time.
1) Valour-IT has started and I will start posting on that this week. There is an auction. Go shop!
2) My race. I lived! I'm not crippled! I have only one big blister on the side of my foot and it looks like I won't lose any toenails and the newskin and powder kept the blister on the bottom of my foot at bay.
3) The blogmeet at Eric's where I had the most wonderful time with people I have really grown to care about.
But you're stuck with a post about Bones. I'll get to the rest. I assure you.
I couldn't pass this up. It's another post on testing.
So my husband has been going through the chapters Bones needs to study before every test and making 3x5 cards with information Bones needs to know. I quiz him, my husband quizzes him, Bones carries them around with him. I made sure he had the patch for this last test because just because he knows the information doesn't mean he'll not Christmas tree the test.
All that work for him to make patterns in the bubble sheet or just pick answers he likes.
We have high hopes for this quarter.
My husband said to me today, "The good news is he made an 89% on his last Science test." Woot! He made a D in Science last quarter. This is progress!!!
"The bad news," he continued, "is he made a 0 on his Religion open book test. A zero. He says that he couldn't find ANY of the answers in the book. None. So he decided to answer them on his own..."
Uh oh. That does not bode well. Next thing you know, you are hungry during Salvation and we should all be breathing car exhaust.
"One of the questions was, "What are the fruits of the Holy Spirit" and not knowing it or finding it, he put apples and peaches."
I started to laugh. My husband looked at me and said sternly, "It's not funny."
I replied, "I'm sorry. It is. I have a bunch of stories I'm collecting. This one gets added."
He said, "I'm not laughing..."
I continued to laugh.
The rationale? Yes, there is a reason...
It would seem that Bones read the question and looked through the chapter for... fruit. Being literal, he thought they truly meant fruit. And so over the chapter he poured, looking to any reference to any fruit and of course... did not find one.
And so he thought and thought and finally said to himself, "Wait! Eve fed Adam an apple. It must be an apple" and so he answered, "Apples", we couldn't figure out where the peaches came from, until I asked tonight.
Bones said to me, "So you get where I got the apple?"
Me: Yeah. I get that.
Bones: Adam and Eve...
Me: Yeah. But son, where did the peach come from?
Bones: Well... *sigh*... I couldn't remember what Eve gave Adam, an apple or a peach. I got confused. So I figured if I put both, I'd get one right. I mean, I knew she was looking for a fruit...
And I still can't quit laughing...