My son's newest rant from college is that he has yet to meet a woman who's not getting her MRS degree.
I told him to wait until he got to his major.
He doesn't believe me.
It'll be interesting.
Meanwhile, on the home front, we are evidently getting a hedgehog. Names are up for grabs as I've heard a lot of odd ones bandied about.
Lest I be so stupid as to think my eldest has really moved out and gone to college, he is evidently a catalyst in this via text and something called Facetime.
With Fantasy Football coming up, there is a lot of connection between Ringo and his brothers. This moving out thing has kind of drawn them all closer. But he's not really gone.
T and Bones don't fight so much. They're always outside throwing the frisbee or plotting some strategy for video games.
Ringo is egging them on for getting a hedgehog. Ringo thinks his name should be Peterson. Don't ask me. Marty and Melvin have come up.
As of now... I think they're leaning towards... Shrub.
Shrub the hedgehog. Shrubs. Hedges, get it?
So there is a big energy in the house at the prospect of getting a hedgehog.
Work is crazy and keeping me busy. We may have to hire someone to keep my boss and I from having a stroke. Not together as one... so perhaps strokes, plural is better.
My shoes are squeaking with my orthotics and someone said to me at work, 'So much for your sneaking up on someone and stabbing them...'
Wondering what that says about my personality when that's the query over squeaky shoes...
I threatened to quit the other day and go work at Home Depot. The paint department. I was informed I couldn't work at the Paint department unless I was adept at ignoring people.
Maybe they'd let me drive a forklift.
I could do that as long as I didn't have to parallel park...
Meanwhile, Bones is working on his impersonation of Obama. I'll have to post it. It's funny.
And then there's Shrub... pictures will follow if it happens.
I got my hair cut today and it's a pretty big difference.
NOBODY noticed. Nobody said a word. So either they all hate it and can't bring themselves to say anything or... I don't know.
That would be three co-workers, my husband, my two sons.
Not a word.
I received a funny rant from my eldest son at 1AM this morning. I woke up to the following text on my phone:
Sociology isn't a science, no matter what they try to tell you. It's all bs. I've learned literally nothing. It's all common sense stuff about society like class and racism. It's not a real major, and I pity anyone who tries to tell me otherwise. Or get a job in it.
It's also so liberally minded it's not even funny.
Welcome to college, son. Where they make you take complete BS classes in an effort to make you 'more well rounded'.
Cracked me up.
I saw Bones' pre-school teacher last week at an event T was playing in at the Church Bone's pre-school was located.
Bones was in the Choir.
I went up to her after, since I'd not seen her in 10 years, nor had she seen Bones.
She said to me, "There are some children you just remember. Bones is one..."
I wonder if it's because he insisted on wearing a Hulk costume every Thursday to school.
Or the ragged out old Indian costume he wore from Thanksgiving on. He wore that earlier in the week.
Or the Finding Nemo collared shirt he had to wear every week.
That left two days for free dress days.
He'd created his own uniform.
She said it was all of it... and him just being... him.
My son is coming home next week after his first semester in college. He's ready.
I recommend the summer semester if they can swing it. He knows what it's about now and he figured it out without 60,000 other kids around him.
Yes, his school is now the largest school in the nation.
I can tell by his text messages that he's done with it. He's ready for new classes. I felt that way at the end of every semester.
He's been cooking for himself, but lamenting that it's a real struggle to eat healthy. So when he comes home, I'm going to make some suggestions for him.
I think he's officially sick of bagels.
And I think he has a huge appreciation for how we eat here... there is always fresh fruit, vegetables, lean meats, an assortment of cheeses. We don't drink coke here (that's Southern for soda) and we don't do fried.
So, if anything, this six weeks has given him an appreciation for food.
And there is the laundry thing. When he came to my parents' home for the 4th, he showed up with a suitcase full of dirty clothes. I suspect when we pick him up next week, we'll be picking up a car full of dirty clothes...
We'll be happy when he comes home. It's only for a couple weeks, but we miss him.
Mr T is in the process of learning how to drive and is now my official chauffeur. He's actually doing really really well and I expect he'll get his license in the next couple months.
I still find it unnerving, teaching a kid to drive. In all honesty, I'm not really teaching him, however. His Dad has given him the basics, he had a 1.5 hour driving lesson, and so I'm just getting him time on the road. I'm trying to make sure he logs all the conditions he could encounter: driving east in the morning, west at night, heavy traffic, rain, pending rain, dark, dark and rain, etc.
It'll be a couple months before he logs enough time I'm comfortable with. I expect he'll be my chauffeur until October when I finally think it's safe enough for him to do his own thing.
The trip through the South was very fun. My niece has her own view of fashion, which is very entertaining.
We went to dinner and ice cream with her dressed as the hip devil cowgirl.
Red cowboy boots, black leggings and a devil costume. Very fun. I think I want to be four again...
(God save me. My boys are sitting here watching a Hooters swimsuit pageant or something while I blog. We need more estrogen in this house. Mine is dwindling too much to offset all the testosterone...)
Meanwhile, my youngest niece has this thing about Toy Story. She has a shirt with all the characters on it. It's called the 'woodybuzz' shirt. That is one word.
She has big characters and small... all sizes of Woody, Buzz and Jesse. They are named by size, Big Jesse, little Jesse, baby Jessy.
Thankfully there was only one Woody doll. I think Big Woody would have been a little odd.
Anyway, there is Baby Buzz, Little Buzz, and Big Buzz.
This particular Jesse is missing arms. They got plucked off. Can you guess the name of this one?
Nope. You can't. This one has been dubbed by a family member as Thalidomide Jesse.
We're not so into politically correct... Heh. She may eventually be the only 2 year old that can pronounce Thalidomide...
My parents instilled in me an independence, being able to take care of myself. It is through education that they instilled it, making sure I picked a major where I could get a job and support myself.
It is what it is.
This has been happening since the beginning of man, a woman left with children to care for, for one reason or another.
I remember one year when we had small children and I wasn't working, my husband was on the roof putting up Christmas lights.
I walked out onto the front yard and yelled up to him, "You better be careful up there! I'm not even sure I'm good for minimum wage anymore!"
He rolled his eyes, but I was serious. That was my first thought.
How awful is that?
It wasn't, "He'd be dead" or "He'd break an arm" or anything else. It was, "How in the hell am I going to support this family if you're dead?" (Yes, we have life insurance.)
I guess this is a long way of saying I have yet another parent funeral to go to.
How many of these things have I attended over the years? How many have I not attended because I was out of town or had a major conflict?
I don't remember parents dying when I was a kid, other that Vietnam or a military accident (both horrific).
I've gone to funerals of a mother who died of cervical cancer and sat there with the crying classmates of her children thinking, 'Who? Who dies of cervical cancer?" The stat is so low in the United States I was stunned that I knew someone.
By the time my eldest son graduated from 8th grade, nearly 10% of the kids in his class had lost a parent.
By the time my last son left his school in 5th grade, his stat was climbing close.
It's never the same thing. It's freaky accidents, cancers, mothers, fathers, nobody growing up in the same place... no link.
I don't know.
My husband can't attend as he's busy, so I'm looking to go with a girlfriend. I don't want to go alone. I'm so sick for the family.
So... that's been consuming a lot of thoughts.
I have some funny posts coming. I do. I'm just not really... in the mood.
But last night I laughed when my eldest realized he didn't have bread crumbs at his dorm to make chicken parmesan, so he used honey bunches of oats flakes and made... honey bunches of oats chicken.
I think I might miss college...
I'm evidently being cock-a-doodle doo'd in the morning.
Who knew a sound would become a verb?
I am sleeping in the finished basement of my sister's home, just having arrived today. There are two doors to the room I'm sleeping in.
My nieces are, from what I understand, going to open each door and yell, "Cock-a-doodle doo!" in the morning to make sure I'm up.
I was asked for how long my sister was to restrain them before they could 'cock-a-doodle-doo' me.
I said 8:30. My boys groaned. They are sleeping in the vicinity. (Ringo is back in college, having had his first Dodge Ball game this evening. I suspect his college experience is going to be vastly different than mine was...)
I said, "This cock-a-doodle doo thing... they do this often?"
To which Bones replied with a look of amazement, "Mom. Are you kidding? I got cock-a-doodle-doo'd EVERY MORNING at Mimi and Big Daddy's house. EVERY.MORNING."
Hunh. Who knew?
So tomorrow if I wake up in time, I'll be tempted to catch it on video. Tempted.
We're at my folks' home and my son flew in for the 4th and the annual family reunion and ceilidh.
This past weekend, a couple girls from home went up to visit him at the University. Supposedly one of my son's roommates had bought a blow up mattress in case there were guests.
The following conversation occurred between Bones and Ringo with my sister and I looking on.
Bones: So where did you put that blow up mattress?
Ringo: They didn't use it.
Mo and I looked on.
Bones: Where did they sleep?
Ringo: In our beds.
Bones: So where did you sleep?
Mo quietly started to laugh and I grinned as Ringo just stared at him.
Ringo: In our beds.
We just watched as Ringo walked him down the path.
Later on he said it was terrible and hot. I didn't ask any questions about attire. There are things Moms don't want to know.
He and his roommate have been cooking dinner every Sunday night for friends. I have pix of kids crammed around their tables eating. The first Sunday was a baked ziti, the next Sunday he provided the side, an eggplant parmesan.
The girls at school who have known him since he was 5 are absolutely stunned he can cook and cook well. They had no idea.
Today he was ironing and I said something to which he replied, "Mom, I taught all my roommates how to iron. Please. This isn't amateur hour..."
He likes his Speech class and thinks his sociology class is boring and pointless. I said he needed to make a boring and pointless A.
The boys have enjoyed having their brother around. He's having a great time at school and seems... to really be using all the skills we taught him.
We'll see how it goes.
My sister was in town with her little people. They are now ages 2 and 4 and I forgot how noisy they are, but what funny things they come up with.
Family means that you can have toddlers and preschoolers in the house, throwing temper tantrums and screaming and when they leave, you only talk about the hysterically funny things they did.
And you miss them.
At the Ceilidh, my sister's eldest was sitting there quietly when suddenly she spotted that she was bleeding. Who knows, she scratched her leg or something.
Next thing we heard was a shriek, "I GOT BLOOD! I GOT BLOOD!" and then all hell broke loose.
I'm sorry, but who says that? We keep laughing and imitating.
We took the little ones to the beach. I call this Pig in the Hole.
And the youngest is enthralled with this hat. I think it may be the big feather on the side. My Dad is repulsed as this is his outside work in the yard hat, which means it is usually covered in salt from all the sweat.
She doesn't care. She would not part with this hat, including the time she insisted if she was going to use the big potty, she had to wear the hat. Note that the tag is in the front...