We were in the asexual Mom-mobile yesterday and out of the blue Bones says, "You know, this Halloween thing seems kind of stupid. We know where holidays like Christmas and Easter come from, but who in the heck thought that dressing up and asking for candy would make a great holiday?"
So I grabbed my phone, threw it in his lap and said, "Switch to google and look up Halloween and read me the history..."
He did and he now understands the origin of the holiday, but what was dang funny was when he said, '... and the holiday is celebrated with parties with things such as ... bob... bobbing... for apples...'
He looked up and said, "Bobbing for apples? What in the world is that?!"
Is this a generational thing, not knowing what bobbing for apples is?
I replied, "Well, they take a bucket, fill it with water, float apples in it and you're supposed to grab an apple with your teeth."
A look of absolute disgust crossed his face (my boys are on the edge of germ-phobey) and he said, "You.... MUST.Be.kidding.me. Have you ever played this game?!"
To which I had to admit, I had not.
So the question for this first half of the post is... have any of YOU ever bobbed for apples? Is this just a made up game we always read about or have people really played this game?
This evening we went out to grab a bite and after dinner, I looked down at my cell phone and I had an email from
Father Padre. As you recall, there is a priest at school both my boys have for a class and they both really like him.
This email read that my son had not turned in some homework, he does not accept late homework, therefore my son's quarterly grade was penalized 10%. (A funny side note, in the email
Father Padre strongly suggested that if this was happening in HIS class, a simple religion class, that perhaps we should check ALL our student's grades as this may be a trend. You had to see how it was worded. I laughed at that part.)
Anyway, I freaked. My son is a senior in high school and he's not turning in homework? Really? Are you kidding? And he's going to college next year? Where professors don't care... at all?
I sent my son a text as he wasn't with us at dinner. I was all over the road. "I can't believe you didn't do your homework." "What in the hell are you going to do next year when you're in college and I'm not there to badger you?" "What the heck are you going to do when you have some professor that doesn't want you hear excuses?" "You keep this up and you will FAIL yourself right out of college..."
I'm getting texts back telling me to calm down. He knew what homework it had to be and he wasn't there. It was a back and forth with really my sending and his occasionally replying because after 13 years of this homework issue with him, I am DONE.
We had gone for ice cream after dinner. I finally tell Bones, T and my husband about this email I got about Ringo's Morality and Ethics class and how I'm about to stroke, having extrapolated to his failing out of college.
T looks at me and says, "Ringo is taking Morality and Ethics too? That's my class..."
T is the most organized and motivated kid I have. In the 11 years he's been in school, he has NEVER EVER missed a homework.
I said, "Wait. That's YOUR class?"
He said, 'Yeah, but I turned it in. It must've got caught in his spam filter..."
So I emailed
Father Padre back and said "Which son of mine are you talking about? T has never in his life missed a homework, while Ringo lives in some disorganized ethereal state that I still cannot comprehend."
I also told him to check his spam filter if it was T he was referring to.
Meanwhile, we're continuing to talk about it... and my husband says to me, "OK, let me get this straight. You jump on Ringo for a homework he didn't turn in, except it's not his, but when texting you, he confesses to other homework he didn't turn in, that you didn't even know about?"
To which I replied, "Yeah... pretty much. I mean, I think I owe him an apology... I think..."
And at that point, Bones puts down his spoon and says, "Well... this is how I look at it. You yelled at him for nothing, but then figured out he did something, so it's a draw. I say you ignore it..." and he makes a football referee sign like, "SAFE".
So we're opting for silence at this point and I'm waiting to see what
Father Padre says.
My eldest son is always trying to find some way to convince me he really really doesn't need to go to school. It's always a joke... but he likes to think he can convince me to say yes.
Of course this has me concerned that when he's away at college next year, he'll so readily convince himself he doesn't need to go to class. But let's not go there, m'kay?
Also, as a side note, my boys call me "Mammy". It started a couple years ago. Actually, only Ringo and T call me that. "Hey, Mammy..." It's kind of funny.
And the boys have a favorite priest at their Catholic High School I've blogged on. They just call him, Father.
This evening, I was helping T with his Trig homework when Ringo started to hover, grinning.
Me: What's up.
Ringo *grinning*: Nothin...
Me: Why are you grinning? Are you happy you don't have Trig?
Ringo: No. *grinning bigger* I was just thinking about how you really don't want me to go to school tomorrow.
(Bones doesn't have school. He goes to Public School.)
Me: Oh really? And pray tell why I wouldn't want you to go to school tomorrow?
Ringo: Well, Mammy, it's like this. I'm feeling very spiritual, going to Catholic high school and all.... I feel the need to get in touch with my Inner Jew.
T busted out laughing.
Me: Your Inner Jew? Yom Kippur is tomorrow...
Ringo: Yeah. You know, really, I think Father would understand. Just shoot him an email. I'm sure he'd get it...
Right. I'll cook a Kosher meal tomorrow...
I've been out of town. So an update...
Mr. T continues to kick proverbial butt in his Fantasy Football league. This home seems to be obsessed with football.
We still wish Texas A&M to lose all their games. Rude fans we don't get.
Bones has been sick as a big dog and we actually had to go out and buy a humidifier last week, per the doc's instructions. We'd gotten rid of ours, not having used one since we had babies.
As Bones perused the internet to see what I would purchase in the store, he found they had some shaped like animals. He insisted... we must own an animal shaped humidifier.
We own a frog. Humidity streams upwards out of his eyes.
The older boys are at a bit of a loss as to why someone in Florida owns a humidifier. They thought that Bones should just sleep with his window open.
Bones, who still struggles to sleep, now has on a humidifier which makes little drippy humidity sounds, his overhead fan which I have to turn off when he falls asleep for it spreads the humidity all over so it's more like a... fog, and his noise maker which he has set to some sort of Forest Chirp.
The kid is living in his own little swamp.
I have to have surgery to correct an umbilical hernia. I can't remember if I posted that. It's a result of my gall bladder surgery from eight years ago. Evidently that laporoscopic surgery compromised the structural integrity of my navel.
Anyway, I was going to tell the doc just to get rid of my navel altogether while he's at it. I haven't used it in 47 years and don't see its use happening in the foreseeable future. Make me look like... Eve.
Besides, my youngest niece, all of 18 months old, has this thing about lifting up your shirt and putting hire tiny chubby clubby finger into your belly button. I thought the expression on her face would be priceless as she lifted my shirt and found that Aunt Bou didn't have one.
So far my belly button is going to just be reconstructed. I'm still working on it going away. I think I can talk him into it.
Meanwhile, carving out a weekend for the '30 minute' surgery is my biggest obstacle. It may have to wait until Christmas break.
Dear Al Gore,
Thank you for inventing the internet. If you hadn't, I don't think I could tutor my son as much as I am in AP Statistics. He has a great book, but his teacher is too high above in thought and can't convey the essence of it.
However, with your great invention, I've been able to find some missing pieces and pull him through! He MIGHT make an A!
So... gee... Thanks!
Boudicca in West Palm Beach
I have posted before about how much I really like our priest associated with the school. He's in his 40s and has served our Country. He's been in the belly of the beast (Iraq), as I say, and he's enjoying the high school students.
There are teachers that get so irritated with all that boys bring to the table, the rambunctiousness. Religion teachers in particular... I have found that to teach religion in a Christian school means that someone probably sucked the humor out of you.
But not with this priest.
And yesterday was case in point.
He had to go back to his home country for some family business and he told the kids to bring in their computers/iPads/whatever, and that he would have an essay on the board every day. They were to write it and email it to him and he'd read them while he was away. (He teaches multiple grades... not just Seniors)
It kept them busy, kept them out of the substitute's hair, and I have a feeling it kept him entertained as I heard he wasn't too thrilled about his travel.
What was funny, however, was when he told the Seniors, "You don't have to do the assignments. Just stay out of trouble and don't give the sub a hard time."
At first I was puzzled. But then I thought, 'They are 18 year old kids. Father is kind of showing faith that they will act like young men and women...'
So the kids have been using it as a homework period and occasionally emailing him.
Let's face it, in 6 months, these kids can fight for their country. They are mostly 18 or about to turn it. Father gets it.
He believes in teaching religion through example and discussion, not in memorizing dates.
So yesterday's Senior Class essay was 'Describe yourself as you would to someone who has never seen you, in 250 words'.
And with that, Ringo's buddy grabbed his camera on his phone and had someone snap a shot of him, Ringo and two other friends, and they promptly emailed it to Father with a caption that read something like, "A picture is worth 1000 words. Divide this by 4, that is 250 words apiece."
They got an email back that said something like, "Good job. Look busy and don't hassle the sub."
And you know dang well that he opened that and busted out laughing. You know he did.
And he has perspective. Getting funny emails from high school seniors may bug some teachers, but a teacher who has been in the belly of the beast knows... funny kids can be a real blessing.
I didn't put in that one picture of Ringo, but I DID put in this one! (He knows.)
And this one...
I think the forehead always gives him away...
(I didn't put the above in...)
This is 17 years ago this coming Christmas. I didn't use this one... but he looked like such a little elf.
I had to get my Driver's License renewed the other day, complying with the Real ID act. I had to take a bunch of stuff down to the DMV to prove I am who I am.
I didn't have an appointment, but went very early, finding I only had to wait about 10 minutes. Everyone was very relaxed... and the woman in Station 1, where I was called, was a riot.
Next thing I know, we're practically having a party at her Station. I'm sure people were wondering what in the hell was going on, as we were both talking and laughing so much.
Fifteen minutes into it, I was asked to do the eye screening, moving down to Station 3.
Not only did I fail the eye test, I failed it... spectacularly.
Fireworks and music kind of spectacular.
Ok, maybe not that far, but close.
I went to Station 3, put my forehead on the machine and she said, "Read line 5, please..."
I could feel the panic. Why didn't she say Line 1? Why bother to have Line 1... or 2... or 3... or 4... if you aren't going to use them?
It was fuzzy. Two columns of fuzziness. So I closed my left eye and realized... at whatever distance it was supposed to be, I couldn't see. At all. My right eye was shot.
So I closed my right eye and my left eye showed merely if they were roundy letters or letters with pointies, like an F... or an E.
I closed my eyes, opened them, and then let them refocus. I took a deep breath and read off the 10 letters.
And she said, "Bou, I need you to read line FIVE" and it took all I had not to say, "I WAS reading line five..." and instead I decided to act stupid and I said, "OH! Sorry!"
I took a deep breath, allowed my eyes to adjust and read off two columns. And she said, "Bou... there are three columns there..."
There was no sense faking it now. I didn't see three columns. I saw two columns, with a combination of roundy things and pointy things, and then a big white rectangle with nothing it.
I lifted my head to see there were three people in the Station now. They were quiet. I mean, dead quiet, with a horror kind of quiet. It's obvious I'm not blind.
Finally one of them said, 'Bou... do you wear glasses?" and I said cheerfully, "Let me try my Magic Sunglasses!"
I am nearsighted and have an astygmatism. When I got my last set of glasses, I had them making me prescription sunglasses. When I'm not wearing my glasses, I can't read street signs, which isn't a problem, unless I'm traveling... which I do a lot. And it's not a problem to wear my regular glasses, except my eyes are very sensitive to light. (I did research and found it's not because they're blue. They are just sensitive.)
So I broke out my Magic Sunglasses, put them on with great flourish, they all laughed, I put my head in the machine, and I'll be danged if there weren't three columns big as day and I read off in a quick clip, "D, F, O, K..." until I rattled off alll three columns in about 2 seconds flat, being the speed reader I am and since I could... you know... see.
And they all clapped and laughed.
And I took a bow and went back to Station 1, where my funny sweet DMV person said, 'Bou, I hate to do this, but I have to put a restriction on your license that you have to wear glasses', to which I replied, "It's not a big deal... because I do..."
But what I haven't said here was the absolute terror I felt to the core of my soul when she said there were three columns and I couldn't see it. I kept thinking, "Oh My God. I'm blind..."
And I'm not. I can see cars, bikes, people, their faces, lanes, lights, speed signs, but I can't see street signs and that is important.
But the realization that my vision has deteriorated so rapidly without my knowing it, is what blew me away, what terrified me.
I likened it to the frog in the water thing, slowly turning up the heat and not noticing it readily.
My vision is deteriorating just a little bit constantly so I never notice. Age has something to do with it, as well as I think that the new kind of migraine I get now where I go totally blind, probably does not help. I've had my vision checked for disease, etc, and I'm fine.
But boy howdy, that was a little cup of crazy.
(Sidenote, all my tests came back from the lab that I'm healthier than I've ever been... other than the six pounds I need to lose to be in the good range.)
I'm putting together my son's senior year book page. My husband took a few pictures last night that I liked.
Here he is on the quads:
And on his bass:
It is going quickly. It's going to quickly. I'm afraid to blink... for fear he will... be gone.
It is interesting to listen to my boys talk about 9/11. They were 2, 4, and 6 when the murders took place.
I asked Bones and T when they got home if it was discussed. When speaking to Bones, I'd never realized that we had never really talked about the 'whys' of 9/11. We'd never sat down and talked about bin Laden, other than when he was shot. We just... hadn't.
Conversation was always steeped in the victims and the gut wrenching tragedy of it. That's what he has known... until today when his history teacher sat down and really laid it all out for them.
Eighth graders that were 2 years old.
And at first I stiffened, wondering what this guy told them. Was he some whacky guy bent on some conspiracy theory or who blamed us for it? I've met the guy and he's one of those all American boys that turned into an all American guy. Baseball in high school and college, thoughts of law enforcement, found teaching by accident and loves teaching middle school kids, husband, young father. Funny guy.
And I was really happy when I heard Bones tell me of the methodical planning of the evil bin Laden, of how he masterminded it and why. I was pleased with what he had learned and was once again pleasantly surprised at the quality of the teachers that Bones has.
T was asked in his religion class to write what 9/11 meant to him. I don't know if I've posted this, but his religion class is taught by a young priest who, as a priest, served in the USAF and was in Iraq. Bonus is his Phd in psychology. The kids absolutely love him. When he came to our school, I said to my husband, "Well, nothing about high school will scare him. He's been in the belly of the beast. High school is cake compared to Iraq."
So that was what he tasked the kids to write about. T told me he told him, "I was 4 years old and I don't remember much..." and since he didn't, he wrote more on what the impacts have been. And something he said seemed very mature to me.
He said, "I learned from 9/11, that no matter how bad things get, America will persevere."
9/11 means a lot to many of us. There are things I have to force myself to not think about, for if I do, I can feel the bile rise in my throat again. There is grief. There is pain. There is an overwhelming disbelief at times... still.
But T is right. Things can get pretty damn bad... and at our lowest of lows... we pulled ourselves together.
Our hearts are still broken and will be for our lifetime. But the evil... did not win.
The magic number, in case you are wondering, is 2.7 liters. I was concerned last night that perhaps they didn't give me a big enough container. I evidently drink a lot of water...
Anyway, as I put it in the big plastic bag to transport said bright orange jug to the lab, I realized, "I have to carry this across a parking lot, up three flights of stairs, and into a lab full of people."
This didn't sit right with me. I know, why should it bother me, or to quote Bones, "Hey, if it doesn't bother me, it shouldn't bother you..."
I hoisted the container out of my car and walked across the parking lot, deciding to take the elevator, where another man waited. I hoped he wouldn't really know what I was carrying.
I mean. Seriously. When you think of lab speciman, do you really think of someone carrying a 3 liter jug of pee? Really?
It's easy to type this because... you know... you can't see me. The bonus of being hidden by a computer screen.
And that elevator was slow, very slow, and 2.7 liters gets heavy after awhile.
But I will tell you, I was 10 levels of horrified when I realized it was Monday and the lab was FULL of people and when the personnel at the front desk ask you a question, 10:1 says that the average Joe in the lab waiting his turn is more curious about the conversation of the 'specimens' being discussed than the pablum on Good Morning America.
So here I stood at the lab front desk, the gentleman in the elevator is in the lab as well, so now he is FULLY aware of what I have in that crazy wide mouthed orange jug. Three liters of jug.
And there were a lot of questions asked by the lab personnel, that I'm not going to go into because I think I'm damaged. As a matter of fact, I know I am, because when I called my mother to relate the entire awful saga to her, I started to laugh so hard, I nearly started to cry, I was in hysterical laughter. That is a sign.
Anyway, so at one point I looked at the two women working the desk, who let me say were sweet as pie and really funny and who I really did like and who also thought nothing of this as this is so common place to them... even if it is not to me, and I said to them (after answering a question), "... and I just walked across your parking lot, with 2.7 liters of urine. Right... you have no idea..." and the one replied to me, 'Well, at least nobody knew what you were carrying..."
To which I replied, "Really?! Are you kidding me? I'm carrying a bright orange container across a parking lot where everyone knows there is a lab, and then I go INTO the lab... and nobody knows? REALLY?!"
To which they laughed.
And I said to my mother at the end of my hysteria, "And... I think I provided the morning's entertainment for a large group of people this morning..."
I never bothered to look up and see their faces. I just pray that nobody I know comes up to me later and says, "Hey, did I see you in the lab not to long ago?"
Or perhaps they'll have more class and never say a dang word...
Yesterday was a relaxing day. My boss txt'd me in the AM as I was waiting for Bones to get out of math tutoring, wishing me a happy birthday and telling me not to come into work, that it would wait until Monday.
I work seven days now. I don't work long days on the weekends, but I'm working a good 3-4 every Saturday and Sunday to try to keep up with the workload. It should taper off as one of our other engineers is now caught up and looking for work and I've been instructed to offload onto him. Honestly, if that hadn't happened this week, I'd have gone in both days this weekend... birthday or not.
Football was the big deal in this home. A couple things were interesting and funny.
This was my boys' first introduction to Aggie football. They are thoroughly unimpressed with the team and the quality of the fans. As T said, 'Who boos injured players?" Even the commentators were talking about it.
So one of the newest additions to the SEC is probably going to become the new 'most hated' team in the SEC. They seem low class and I don't see Southern fans tolerating that readily. You can say what you want about Clemson fans, Gator fans, and on and on... but we don't boo injured players. Tacky.
Moving onto Mizzou and Georgia. Evidently Mizzou was trash talking Georgia before the game. In yet another look of exasperation and incredulity, T said, "Who taunts the Dawgs? Who taunts the #6 ranked team before a game? WHO does that?"
And then the Dawgs got their stuff together and gave a proverbial SEC smackdown.
I don't think Mizzou will be hated by the SEC, just ignored. Good grief. Stupid is as stupid does.
My husband made me a london broil with twice baked potatoes and bought me a chocolate mousse cake that was to die for, complete with chocolate covered strawberries.
I'm finishing up some quilt tops, taking the mellow.
On a funny note, since there is question about my kidneys (are they or are they not absorbing calcium?) I've been given a gallon orange jug to pee in for an entire day. Today was the day selected.
I read the directions last night and it said to keep it refrigerated. I announced that at the dinner table last night. I was all about checking the expressions of my germ phobic family.
Priceless. I think everyone was stunned still mid-chew. My husband finally regained his composure and said, "Not tonight though, right? We don't have a lot of room..." Heh.
At work, from a scientific standpoint, the question is 'just how much does one human pee in a day?" I will be finding some sort of answer for them. Of course the answer is dependent on how much one drinks... but the question is there and an answer is expected.
Will I or will I not... fill up this bright orange jug? Heh. I'm obviously not going to work today...
For those who have not seen it... please watch. It is probably one of the most moving things I've seen... I cried. You can see an article as to the circumstances here.
Tonight was curriculum night at Bones' school. He has a lot of young male teachers. I absolutely love it.
I'm a little aggravated that he got put in remedial reading. He reads above grade level, he is an A student in Language Arts, his teachers repeatedly tell me he belongs in the advanced class, but because he scored a 2 on the FCAT, he's in remedial reading and he stays in a class that he makes As in while skating.
To move into advanced Language Arts, where he would be challenged, he has to score a 4, which is impossible.
This is what's so f'ed up about our school system. Here you have a kid that can skate through the work, is the spark in the class, notes home from the teacher, "Your son is my top student", and instead of getting him to try harder, push for better... he is pushed down because he can't finish their 90 minute standardized BS test.
And then he gets put in remedial reading with kids... Holy crap. Some of the parents brought their kids probably because they couldn't be left home alone. I'm not kidding.
We watched this one 12 year old, skipping/hopping from foot to foot, the teacher was talking to his Mom, the kid starts picking at her hair, he's all over the road, the teacher talks to him, he's spaced out, poking his Mom, not paying attention, racing back to get something in the class, his thoughts like buckshot, nothing is coherent, and the teacher, God bless her, grabs his face in her hands and says quietly and gently to him, "Listen to me... Listen to me... You are SMART. You can do this... I want to hear you say it..."
And repeated, "I am smart.... I can do this..." And she said, "yes, you are smart. You are going to do well in my class. You can do this..."
And the fidgeting started again and he skipped out of the room with thoughts up in clouds.
I stood there, shock still.
I looked at my husband and said, "Bones does not belong in this class. He does NOT belong here. He doesn't have these kinds of learning disabilities... He does NOT belong here."
I said to the teacher, "Let me get this straight. Because my son has ADHD, and can't sit through a 90 minute test, he is in this class, even though he reads ABOVE grade level and his Language Arts teachers thinks he belongs in Advanced Language Arts, and he is an A student?"
And her reply was, "I can't fix all the worlds problems..."
And I thought to myself, "I just saw you do an amazing thing with that kid... but in my heart, I hate you a little bit."
So you want to know how messed up our educational system is? There is one example right there.
Meanwhile, we walked into Bones' math class and there was his big hulking math teacher... a young guy, very cool. I went up to him after class and said, "I'm Bones' Mom. Just an FYI, he has some math disabilities. I work with him and he has a tutor 3 hours a week to get him to grade level..."
And he said, "Bones has math issues?" Alarmed he added, "He sat himself in the back of my class!"
We got home and his Dad said to him, 'Bones, you have to move to the front of the class..."
Bones: But Dad, I can't. My... ex girlfriend sits up there...
His Dad: Well, maybe you can talk to the teacher and tell him the situation. The only empty seat is next to your ex gf that you don't talk to and maybe he can find a work around...
Me: WHAT?! Are you flippin' kidding me? You're going to let some girl dictate how well you learn?
Bones: Mom, you just don't get it. DAD gets it. He knows. He's a man...
Me, incredulously: ARE YOU NUTS?!
Bones: Mom, listen, she is the ONLY ex gf I don't talk to.
Me: wait. There are others...
Bones: yeah, like five.
Me: You have FIVE ex gfs?
Bones: Yes, and I talk to ALL of them, but this one. I hate to say it, but... Dad... *low voice* she's really turned into a... well... she dresses like a whore. I'm not sitting next to her.
His Dad: We'll work it out son...
Today is TGOO's birthday. If you ask him how many years it is, his reply is, "Six dozen".
It sounds really small that way, doesn't it?
My Mom has had a trainer for a few years. She's in great shape and evidently, TGOO has taken to using the same trainer. He just buys a monthly package at the local gym. The trainer is great.
This past summer, since my eldest now works out and since TGOO had some training sessions he didn't use, he told Ringo he could use them. Ringo was all over that.
Flash forward to a few weeks ago, this was a conversation between Ringo and Me:
Me: So what colleges are you applying to?
Ringo: UF, UCF, FSU and UWF
Me: UWF? What about FAU?
Me: So your Hail Mary "holy crap I didn't get into the big three I wanted" pass, is to UWF?
Me: Wait. Did you just decide your collegiate fate on a certain personal trainer in Pensacola?
Ringo: *big grin* Yup. And that Mim and Big live there. I'm close then...
So when push came to shove and he thought he may choose a smaller school, he chose the school close to my folks, not the one close to his Dad and me.
My Mom and Dad are the ultimate role models in aging. They were switching to skim milk and whole wheat bread before it was vogue. TGOO ran the Marine Corps marathon before it was what it is today.
As a matter of fact, when I started to train for mine he said, "Don't do it. You'll pay for it the rest of your life..." Truer words have never been spoken. I have the same injury he had. I like to tell people, "We are Scots, seafaring people. We're not Greek or Ethiopian. We're not meant to run marathons..."
Years of hard activity finally took their toll on his shoulders. He seemed hesitant to get the first rotator cuff fixed. He created work arounds so as to not have to lift his arm. But his deciding factor to get it finally fixed was when he realized, he couldn't hold his grandsons. Forget all the issues with driving and in his garage. He couldn't lift his grandsons.
There is absolutely nobody in this world as busy as my parents. TGOO plays the bagpipes, is a docent at the Aviation Museum, is constantly scouring records on genealogy, tinkering in his garage, turning bowls or Christmas ornaments in his woodworking shop, gardening in his yard as he's a Master Gardener. He reads so much, that the librarians all know him. They probably send him a Christmas card.
He is the type of man one is proud of to have as a Father. He served his country, loves his family, he's well read and well spoken, intellectual conversation is the norm, he works hard and he keeps up with the current... his computer room could launch a space station. He has built go carts with his grandsons, had them build bird feeders in his shop and taught the older two how to turn a bowl. My boys love working with their hands.
Happy Birthday, Dad. We love you dearly. I strongly suspect that if this world had had more Dads like you... the world would be a far better place than it is today.
Happy 6 dozenth Birthday!
206,000 miles appears to be the magic number for my 2004 Toyota Sienna where things start to fall apart a bit, like the driver's window not wanting to go down all the way anymore, and a bit of a ticking in the motor, and the a/c turning off when at idle.
Just little things. And I was REALLY REALLY hoping to get this car to 250,000... teach the last two kids how to drive using it, a few more family trips so I didn't have to rent something big for all of us, and maybe turn it in for something small and hatch backy with a stick shift, red being the color I envision, when Bones is a Junior in high school.
It's not looking too good. We'll see.
46 years and 51 weeks appears to be the magic age when this body has decided to give the owner issues. Many odd tests and a surgery are in store in the next few months. Nothing serious. Just things that need to be taken care of before they get worse.
I have a hernia that may need patching and kidneys that may or may not be doing everything they're supposed to do (treatable).
We had our first football game last night. The band sounded fantastic. I was really proud of them.
Our house has come out of football hibernation. Ringo is in a fantasy football league, with T as his ringer. Nobody knows that T picked his football team.
Football is on constantly, stats checked, teams talked about, Sports Illustrated consumed. I am a football widow... and I am not a mother for football is all to my kids right now.
I do not partake. I am finding that football season can be a very quiet time for me. Their Dad takes them to games, I leave when the house gets too loud, and they go to friends' homes to watch. I'll go to movies, go shopping, go to dinner with friends.
I'm starting to embrace football season... it may be my favorite past time.