I've not been home once all week... Monday night we had Job's Daughters, Tuesday night was Back to School Night (remind me again about the value of this for involved parents who have already had every teacher in the school?), Wednesday was 'Senior College Night' - holy criminy, it amazes me that some parents were smart enough to actually keep their child alive long enough for them to be a Senior!, Last night was opening game for Varsity Football and tonight is my father's 75th birthday and I'm buying him a beer!
Anyhow, I told another blogger (can't even remember who now - Tales from My Tiny Kingdom?) that I would post our menu so that others could have ideas for dinner - I am so ashamed to say that our menu has been:
Monday - Girls & Mom - Burgers (grilled by husband at 9pm when we got home)
Boy & Dad - Burgers
Tuesday - Kids - DOYO (aka Dinner On Your Own) - so they had soup or frozen convenience food or ramen or something like that
- Mom & Dad - Arby's
Wednesday - Youngest - DOYO (she had a salad)
Boy - Team Dinner, I have no idea, I didn't ask, I think it was burgers
Oldest & Mom & Dad - Taco Bell
Thursday - Girls - Arby's
- Boy and Mom & Dad - Chipotle
Tonight - the plan is to have breakfast for dinner because I have some breakfast links that need cooking in the fridge
So if you want ideas for dinner - please see the below the very involved, lousy to stand around and prepare in hot weather, strange sounding, but delicious old family recipe
As for what I've gotten out of all these nights away from home... Monday night, it was the first meeting of the term so there wasn't much to be gotten - that's okay, you have to have one every term right?... Tuesday night, BTSN - well the big huge everyone speech by the principal was too long and drawn out, there was NO NEW INFORMATION, and I didn't have a seat, had to sit on the Gym Floor! Then we went to the classes, you go to each "period" for ten minutes and this works well for most families who have 1 or 2 children with 1 or 2 parents, but we are outnumbered and have to pick and choose which classes to miss... I don't really care what the teachers have to say about the syllabus or the rules - they don't really change much from year to year or teacher to teacher - no plagierism, no cheating, come in during activity period for help, this is a survey course, we will have 4-5 homework assignments per week, there will be a term paper after christmas break and here are all the dates that you will never retain and you will never find that slip of paper you are writing on again so I don't know why I am telling you this, etc. Now, in the case of a teacher we have not had previously - you get a feel for the teacher -
Sr. daughter's History teacher is indeed creepy like she said, and he has NOTHING hanging on his walls, however he is really passionate about history and excited to teach them the stuff on the syllabus - so I think it will be fun and fine (Boy has him also)
Sr. daughter's English teacher might be a pompous ass, he has an ego wall in his classroom, has the look of an eccentric college professor - weird beard and all - and wants to make certain that the parents know that he gradutaed summa cum laude from one University and magna cum laude from another (this tells me he has no social skills, but whatever) - he is also passionate about his subject and looks like he takes particular interest in making it intersting to the kids - his one goal may be to make more literature geeks like himself - perhaps he loves himself that much?
Freshman daughter's math teacher (boy had him last year, but he got left out of the schedule for some reason) seems pretty cool, I actually almost never have to have contact with the boy's teachers because he is scary smart and very organized and doesn't particularly need my support at school... so I actually never met the teacher in a whole year! I think he will be good for her because he isn't a super math geek dried up old prune and can actually speak to people and kids
French teacher is just as kooky as every other year, and AP French should be very demanding on the Sr. daughter (the other two have her also, but there isn't much reason to go into that - she's kooky that's all)
AP Chem teacher (British) is a kick, I think she's delightful, most everyone else thinks she has a stick up her butt, but I can tell she doesn't - my concern though is that she has the boy, and he can be rather... gregarious during class, which doesn't always go over well with 'stick up the butt' teachers - it will be very demanding but like I said, he's scary smart and never has issues with that
Son's math teacher does not look like Mrs. Umbridge without glasses - I don't know what youngest was smoking when she made this assessment (she doesn't smoke - it's an expression)... she is not flaky and crazy, and she isn't mean and harsh - actually she seemed alright, sort of neutral - and son thinks she's okay too - regardless of her reputation
Husband saw - same history teacher, an English teacher we had before, the gym teacher - the female one with the nice rack that the boy is delighted to have for weight lifting, another English teacher we had before, a biology teacher we had before, and the photography teacher that we had before - he told me she has lovely daughters - her name is Mrs. Brown - I don't think he met or saw her daughters, he's just a smart ass that way.
We blew it and did not see a math teacher that we needed to see, oops - should have sent husband there instead of the weight room - oh well. We've had the teacher before but it is an AP course, so probably should have gone there.
Wednesday night... Senior College night - oh dear lord! -- I got two things out of it, speakers can be amusing even if they teach you nothing and Counselors send the whole tomato to colleges now - the app, the transcript, the letters, the essay - and you must have it to them two weeks before the deadline so they can process it. -- the question and answer sessions were a waste of time, and other seniors parents for the most part are fine, but a few are totally inept and should be locked up at home before they cause more damage!
Thursday night... well really what do you get out of a football game that your kid doesn't play in? They won, by a large margin, and it was fun. Our kids attend a strange school where most of the parents go to games, even if they don't have a football player living in their home. It is quite bizarre actually that about half or more of the crowd at a game is adults - teachers and parents - even the geeky teachers come - so it is a bit of a social event, although my husband and I both really enjoy football so we try to sit near the more serious football fan parents and limit our socializing to halftime and the occasional comment after a play about an exceptional block or a great catch. We sat near a family where the mom is quite social but dad and grandpa and grandma are very into the game, then some other very football serious moms sat to my right - we practically didn't even talk during halftime - it was great - no pressure to make smalltalk with people I am tired of after all this school meeting socializing crap. I made a point to wander to the social section during halftime to inquire about another woman's sick mom - she has West Nile Virus, and I found out last night Viral Meningitis - she is very sick, I felt very bad for my 'friend' - I remember when my mom was sick how much it meant when people asked about me and wanted to be kind and helpful - I'm deciding about what I want to do for her (she also has a new baby) I think I will fix a couple of meals and maybe get her some light reading - maybe even magazines? Thoughts from any of you about what would have been meaningful while you sat around the hospital for the third week would be appreciated. I don't know her well, so books might be a flop if she doesn't read much or has already read them... unless someone has a great suggested title that wouldn't likely fall into those categories. I also don't know if she has any particular hobbies - but I like her very much, her kids are very nice, her husband is a great guy - and our sons play both football and baseball together so we see each other pretty regularly.
Today - I need to go into my office and do some more work - instead of blogging and googling finch care all day. I got a new pair of finches last night - thinking of naming them either Atticus and Scout - you know from the novel - or Atticus and SingSing or Florence - face it the male is Atticus. But when I told my mom that, she thought I said Attica - thus the Prison name for the female (my daughter is grossed out that they might breed and in the book Scout and Atticus are daughter/father - I see her point actually) My husband is partial to Florence, as that is the maximum security prison here in Colorado, and we could call her Flo for short - which cracks him up - because "she flo all over da house when she got away" - or "she flo from perch to perch when she get happy" - he's SUCH A DORK, giggle.
Friday, August 31, 2007
My "favorite" meal
Of course I don't have a 'favorite' - I hate absolutes, and I'm moody, and I think the word 'favorite' is restrictive! However, the day that I answered a shitload of questions, I put Round Steak Rollups as my favorite food (and someone asked how to make them).
Now... keep in mind that this is a family recipe that I have seldom shared at all, and my children will probably be angry if they ever find out (you know that I am a surreptitious blogger and to my knowledge NONE of my family are aware of or read my blog)
Also this recipe is NOT written down anywhere so... trust my memory, and hope I get the quantities somewhere near correct -- also to the best of my knowledge it was passed to my mom by my father's Polish aunt and we always thought it was Polish, not sure though
We all (cousins, sisters, mom) make this in a pressure cooker - I suppose it could be baked for a bazillion hours, or maybe even crockpotted, but I doubt it would taste the same. Also, my cousins use bacon in theirs -- I'm told -- I don't remember ever eating this at my Aunt's house, and I have never had my cousin's version - but bacon doesn't sound bad - so add it if you would like.
Round Steak (we are pigs, and my son can eat about 20 roll ups if I would let him, and it's a lot of work, so I buy as much as my pressure cooker (large) will accomodate - usually two-three steaks - you know the large thin ones, I have no idea on pounds because I use my eyes, lol. So they ones that are on a tray that is about 12" x 9" - actually they seem more square than that - but anyhow, larger than a piece of typing paper and they are about 1/2 inch thick.
Mustard (yellow), pickles (dill), rice (white), campbells golden mushroom soup (about 1 can per round steak, but I think I would never make it with fewer than two cans), onion (usually I use yellow, but white would be okay too), beer, flour and toothpicks, shortening or vegetable oil (yeah yeah canola is fine, but not olive)
slice the pickles (sorry quantity totally boggles me, I think you will need at least 10 pickles to start with - I use a bazillion because we make as much as will fit in the cooker), lengthwise, as thin as you can get them, most people can't do paper thin, but if you are that freaking good with a knife, that is probably too thin, then I usually cut the length in half because pickles are usually longer than the two inches width of the meat. put the mustard in a bowl with a knife for spreading, I use my 'frosting' blade that I use on cakes, slice the onion (may only need 1/2 onion-depending on strength and size of batch, my rule is if an onion really makes me cry, I only use 1/2) (this can be done later while you are browning the meat, it's a preference thing)
Pound the shit outta the roundsteak with flour and a meat hammer - you want to at least double it's size. Cut it into strips, like about two inches wide and maybe six-7 inches long? You have to adjust for the meat you're working with. Slather the strips (one side) with mustard, a thin coating, but not too thin, you should be able to see yellow on the entire surface of ONE side of the meat, but you should be able to tell there is meat under there. A piece that is 2"x7" probably uses 2 tsps of mustard??? (totally guessing here). place a pickle slice perpendicular to the meat strip and start rolling the meat around the pickle, keep placing pickle slices as you roll - I usually put 4-6 slices per roll in a "regular" sized roll. toothpick the rolls - it is always sort of a 'challenge' around here to try not to have any double toothpicks - if this is your first time I wouldn't challenge yourself to that - you want them to hold together, but do try to remember for your family about how many they should expect in each roll so they don't bite into one!
[I have tried the 'minute steaks' you know that the butcher put through his dealio - the meat is too fragile and will not work]
Brown the rolls in heated shortening/oil - frankly the shortening tastes better, but of course it is lousy for your heart/cholesterol/blood pressure health - I use an iron skillet, as do my sisters and mom - I don't know if this affects the taste, but probably. Make sure you use a RACK in your pressure cooker - we are talking flour and gravy here, it will stick like a somebitch if you don't have the rack in there, and the bottom ones will taste burnt (I know this because I have spaced out the rack on the second batch for a big family dinner). [oh yeah if you have leftover pickles you can fry them for a minute or two and throw them in the cooker with the rolls]
Place the rolls in your pressure cooker (if you have one but seldom use it - remember that there is a fill line! My mom blew one up when we were kids, I don't wish that on anyone - you can push the fill line a little, but always leave some space or it will blow) don't forget the rack first, throw in the sliced onion with the rolls, dump the soup in, throw in the beer - less one or two swallows to check for freshness? - sometimes this recipe requires a beer and a half, geez don't waste that half!, and then fill with water to the 'fill line' or maybe just a cheat more if you are brave (this will be the gravy and most people really love the gravy so the more the better, but you don't want to clean it off of your ceiling or worse yet risk a burn on a family member)
(I AM NOT ADVOCATING TAKING RISKS OR ENDANGERING YOUR FAMILY, I AM ADMITTING I AM A BIG CHEAT THAT DOES THAT, BUT I DON'T RECOMMEND IT TO ANYONE)
cook the shit outta them - in a pressure cooker this means 45 minutes 'rocking' - you don't start timing til the rocker is rocking -
update - I just went looking for an exploded pressure cooker picture (no luck) but ran across lots of caveats about not opening too soon - um yeah, if you don't use one often, remember to open EXACTLY as directed by the manufacturer - this one I don't cheat on
cook up some rice to serve them with - also recommended pierogies (also not particularly heart smart)
you can do salad - might help with the guilt for the fat and salt and carbs in this dish.
Now... keep in mind that this is a family recipe that I have seldom shared at all, and my children will probably be angry if they ever find out (you know that I am a surreptitious blogger and to my knowledge NONE of my family are aware of or read my blog)
Also this recipe is NOT written down anywhere so... trust my memory, and hope I get the quantities somewhere near correct -- also to the best of my knowledge it was passed to my mom by my father's Polish aunt and we always thought it was Polish, not sure though
We all (cousins, sisters, mom) make this in a pressure cooker - I suppose it could be baked for a bazillion hours, or maybe even crockpotted, but I doubt it would taste the same. Also, my cousins use bacon in theirs -- I'm told -- I don't remember ever eating this at my Aunt's house, and I have never had my cousin's version - but bacon doesn't sound bad - so add it if you would like.
Round Steak (we are pigs, and my son can eat about 20 roll ups if I would let him, and it's a lot of work, so I buy as much as my pressure cooker (large) will accomodate - usually two-three steaks - you know the large thin ones, I have no idea on pounds because I use my eyes, lol. So they ones that are on a tray that is about 12" x 9" - actually they seem more square than that - but anyhow, larger than a piece of typing paper and they are about 1/2 inch thick.
Mustard (yellow), pickles (dill), rice (white), campbells golden mushroom soup (about 1 can per round steak, but I think I would never make it with fewer than two cans), onion (usually I use yellow, but white would be okay too), beer, flour and toothpicks, shortening or vegetable oil (yeah yeah canola is fine, but not olive)
slice the pickles (sorry quantity totally boggles me, I think you will need at least 10 pickles to start with - I use a bazillion because we make as much as will fit in the cooker), lengthwise, as thin as you can get them, most people can't do paper thin, but if you are that freaking good with a knife, that is probably too thin, then I usually cut the length in half because pickles are usually longer than the two inches width of the meat. put the mustard in a bowl with a knife for spreading, I use my 'frosting' blade that I use on cakes, slice the onion (may only need 1/2 onion-depending on strength and size of batch, my rule is if an onion really makes me cry, I only use 1/2) (this can be done later while you are browning the meat, it's a preference thing)
Pound the shit outta the roundsteak with flour and a meat hammer - you want to at least double it's size. Cut it into strips, like about two inches wide and maybe six-7 inches long? You have to adjust for the meat you're working with. Slather the strips (one side) with mustard, a thin coating, but not too thin, you should be able to see yellow on the entire surface of ONE side of the meat, but you should be able to tell there is meat under there. A piece that is 2"x7" probably uses 2 tsps of mustard??? (totally guessing here). place a pickle slice perpendicular to the meat strip and start rolling the meat around the pickle, keep placing pickle slices as you roll - I usually put 4-6 slices per roll in a "regular" sized roll. toothpick the rolls - it is always sort of a 'challenge' around here to try not to have any double toothpicks - if this is your first time I wouldn't challenge yourself to that - you want them to hold together, but do try to remember for your family about how many they should expect in each roll so they don't bite into one!
[I have tried the 'minute steaks' you know that the butcher put through his dealio - the meat is too fragile and will not work]
Brown the rolls in heated shortening/oil - frankly the shortening tastes better, but of course it is lousy for your heart/cholesterol/blood pressure health - I use an iron skillet, as do my sisters and mom - I don't know if this affects the taste, but probably. Make sure you use a RACK in your pressure cooker - we are talking flour and gravy here, it will stick like a somebitch if you don't have the rack in there, and the bottom ones will taste burnt (I know this because I have spaced out the rack on the second batch for a big family dinner). [oh yeah if you have leftover pickles you can fry them for a minute or two and throw them in the cooker with the rolls]
Place the rolls in your pressure cooker (if you have one but seldom use it - remember that there is a fill line! My mom blew one up when we were kids, I don't wish that on anyone - you can push the fill line a little, but always leave some space or it will blow) don't forget the rack first, throw in the sliced onion with the rolls, dump the soup in, throw in the beer - less one or two swallows to check for freshness? - sometimes this recipe requires a beer and a half, geez don't waste that half!, and then fill with water to the 'fill line' or maybe just a cheat more if you are brave (this will be the gravy and most people really love the gravy so the more the better, but you don't want to clean it off of your ceiling or worse yet risk a burn on a family member)
(I AM NOT ADVOCATING TAKING RISKS OR ENDANGERING YOUR FAMILY, I AM ADMITTING I AM A BIG CHEAT THAT DOES THAT, BUT I DON'T RECOMMEND IT TO ANYONE)
cook the shit outta them - in a pressure cooker this means 45 minutes 'rocking' - you don't start timing til the rocker is rocking -
update - I just went looking for an exploded pressure cooker picture (no luck) but ran across lots of caveats about not opening too soon - um yeah, if you don't use one often, remember to open EXACTLY as directed by the manufacturer - this one I don't cheat on
cook up some rice to serve them with - also recommended pierogies (also not particularly heart smart)
you can do salad - might help with the guilt for the fat and salt and carbs in this dish.
Thursday, August 30, 2007
Thursday Thirteen - Dirtiest Story #5
Ah yes, inspiration at last, now I have a number 5… Father’s Day – must have been 1993 as my youngest was in diapers and small enough to charm everyone at the party that actually liked babies. My brother-in-law (at the time) and my sister were hosting the party, so his family was there also. Very nice people, but VERY VERY stodgy (what a great word) and stiff. His father (who makes THE ABSOLUTE BEST DILL PICKLES EVER) was completely smitten with my darling and was carrying her around the yard cooing and babbling at her as if she was the only thing on the planet – ignoring even his own granddaughters to some degree to lavish attention on this darling little baby that quite frankly at that age looked a lot like a little American Indian Betty Boop with the hugest blue eyes you ever saw. So, the older children were ‘playing’ basketball – none of them were really tall enough to make a basket in the regulation hoop, the men were complaining because my anti-tv, anti-sports, very eccentric sister was fed up with them watching the Masters and disconnected the cable! – it was father’s day, but don’t let that stop her from ruining the fun of the fathers in the group. The women were spread out under her huge shade trees in various lawn chairs and hammocks gossiping and drinking some wonderful concoction of juice that my sister was serving. That’s when we heard the noise, a strange muffled machine gun noise, very loud, but yet… muffled, and wet sounding too. We saw it before Joe felt it, all over his beautiful ivory colored silk shirt – brown goo, lots and lots of wet brown goo, running down his shirt. The smiley baby didn’t betray a thing, it was if she didn’t know she had a dirty diaper – and Joe must have thought that he was sweating or something because he seemed absolutely oblivious to the quart or so of goo running down his torso. It was so embarrassing, this man dressed so dapper, and such a sweet man – and his stuffy wife who I suspect never even liked her own child** – so disgusted at the thought that her husband was sullied and she might have to be near him in a different shirt or worse yet – no shirt. The baby was actually pretty easy to clean up – we were at the auntie’s house – I just stripped her down right there in the yard – this was apparently gauche to these folks and they were disgusted with me – and then I took her in the house and bathed her real quick in Aunties bathtub (okay I was gonna use the kitchen sink – she was a tiny baby – but these people were in such shock at having seen her naked bum that I couldn’t bear putting it in the kitchen sink and getting ‘caught’). However, Joe would not go in the house dirty, lest he stink up the house. He also would not take off his shirt in front of people (for an old guy I’m sure he was in fine shape, and it was all family – sort of), in addition he was absolutely refusing to wear one of his son’s shirts, even if just for a short time while his was cleaned. So Joe wiped up his shirt as best he could and continued to wear it for the rest of the party! It was like a giant red beacon of embarrassment – can’t you keep your kids from overflowing their diapers?, what the hell do you feed them anyhow?, haven’t you ever heard of a schedule?, I don’t know, any other absurd questions you could ask that would make this MY FAULT. The woman never spoke to me again, I can’t even remember her name now! Joe quit giving me pickles – I had to steal them from my brother-in-law (with my sister’s assistance) when he was out of town… and my daughter – now 14… can still fart louder than a Gatling gun, but thank G-d they aren’t wet anymore!!
**[update, remember I wrote these stories awhile back... the ice queen's name is Mary, and I was right, she didn't like her own child that much, apparently she recently told him that she would rescind the adoption if she could! Is that one of the most hideous things you can imagine your parent saying to you or saying to your child!!!???!!!]
**[update, remember I wrote these stories awhile back... the ice queen's name is Mary, and I was right, she didn't like her own child that much, apparently she recently told him that she would rescind the adoption if she could! Is that one of the most hideous things you can imagine your parent saying to you or saying to your child!!!???!!!]
Wednesday, August 29, 2007
in case you were wondering??
Here’s more about me:
Accent–I don’t have one – I’m a native of Colorado – however I do have a condition that my children refer to as ‘contagious accent’ – whenever I speak to someone with an accent I begin to pick it up immediately
I don’t drink–anything fru-fru and candy-assed – if you are old enough to have a drink, it should not taste like liquefied cotton candy!
Pets–at the moment – two dogs, one is my daughter’s – have had hundreds of pets in my life (mom was great about letting us bring damn near anything home) including rabbits, turtles, crabs, fish, hamsters, guinea pigs, gerbils, mice, birds, cats, dogs, pigs, goats… never had a snake – Dad has a phobia
Essential Electronics–what a strange thought – I don’t actually think I have any – clearly I love my computer, but when the power goes out I don’t freak out, I just grab a book and a cup of tea and enjoy the silence… oh wait, there is that menopause shit starting, so yeah fans and air-conditioners and the ilk
Perfume–J’ai Osè
Gold or Silver- neither I have an aversion to jewelry (my wedding band is gold)
Insomnia–um yeah that menopause shit is starting – nuff said
Job Title–data/finance specialist – this means that any kind of paper that comes into our office ends up with my fingerprints on it
Most Admired Trait–I’m not sure I have one – sense of humor?
Least Admired Trait-probably my lack of diplomacy (although people are always saying “oh no, it’s great, I like a straight shooter” and you can tell they are offended as hell)
Kids–Girl, Boy, Girl – 15 months between each – all teenagers at the moment – and all still alive – at the moment
Phobia–heights
Religion–Religious Science (no not Christian Science or Scientology)
Siblings–6 brothers, 4 older, two younger, three of which are foster brothers and one adopted us… two older sisters – we girls are all 5.5 years apart, making the oldest 11 years older than I, and yet people always think she is my younger sister which really pisses me off.
Time I Wake Up–lately I wake up about 1:30am, 4:00am, and 5:15 am, I generally get up about 5:45-6:00 am, but it varies widely based on where I am sleeping, what I am wearing, and who else is already up.
Unusual Talent or Skill–I can wiggle my ears and my nose, I can do that thing where you raise one eyebrow, and I can fold my lips up really weirdly – I can even do all of this simultaneously!
Vegetable I Refuse to Eat–Okra -- what the hell, ewwwww
Worst Habit–potty mouth?
X-rays–again strange—well dental, and I broke my back when I was 17 – I can’t think of any others, but I certainly can recall the feel of those lead apron deals
My Favorite Meal–probably ‘round steak roll-ups’, but dang gina, it could be different every day – I’m not much on ‘favorites’ I just can’t commit
Leaving this as an open tag. Whoever wants to play is invited. Have a good weekend!
Accent–I don’t have one – I’m a native of Colorado – however I do have a condition that my children refer to as ‘contagious accent’ – whenever I speak to someone with an accent I begin to pick it up immediately
I don’t drink–anything fru-fru and candy-assed – if you are old enough to have a drink, it should not taste like liquefied cotton candy!
Pets–at the moment – two dogs, one is my daughter’s – have had hundreds of pets in my life (mom was great about letting us bring damn near anything home) including rabbits, turtles, crabs, fish, hamsters, guinea pigs, gerbils, mice, birds, cats, dogs, pigs, goats… never had a snake – Dad has a phobia
Essential Electronics–what a strange thought – I don’t actually think I have any – clearly I love my computer, but when the power goes out I don’t freak out, I just grab a book and a cup of tea and enjoy the silence… oh wait, there is that menopause shit starting, so yeah fans and air-conditioners and the ilk
Perfume–J’ai Osè
Gold or Silver- neither I have an aversion to jewelry (my wedding band is gold)
Insomnia–um yeah that menopause shit is starting – nuff said
Job Title–data/finance specialist – this means that any kind of paper that comes into our office ends up with my fingerprints on it
Most Admired Trait–I’m not sure I have one – sense of humor?
Least Admired Trait-probably my lack of diplomacy (although people are always saying “oh no, it’s great, I like a straight shooter” and you can tell they are offended as hell)
Kids–Girl, Boy, Girl – 15 months between each – all teenagers at the moment – and all still alive – at the moment
Phobia–heights
Religion–Religious Science (no not Christian Science or Scientology)
Siblings–6 brothers, 4 older, two younger, three of which are foster brothers and one adopted us… two older sisters – we girls are all 5.5 years apart, making the oldest 11 years older than I, and yet people always think she is my younger sister which really pisses me off.
Time I Wake Up–lately I wake up about 1:30am, 4:00am, and 5:15 am, I generally get up about 5:45-6:00 am, but it varies widely based on where I am sleeping, what I am wearing, and who else is already up.
Unusual Talent or Skill–I can wiggle my ears and my nose, I can do that thing where you raise one eyebrow, and I can fold my lips up really weirdly – I can even do all of this simultaneously!
Vegetable I Refuse to Eat–Okra -- what the hell, ewwwww
Worst Habit–potty mouth?
X-rays–again strange—well dental, and I broke my back when I was 17 – I can’t think of any others, but I certainly can recall the feel of those lead apron deals
My Favorite Meal–probably ‘round steak roll-ups’, but dang gina, it could be different every day – I’m not much on ‘favorites’ I just can’t commit
Leaving this as an open tag. Whoever wants to play is invited. Have a good weekend!
Tuesday, August 28, 2007
Favorite Parenting Quote "of the week"*
this from 'Because I Said So'...
There is so much truth on this blog that it frightens me, and makes me laugh right the hell out loud -- keep in mind I grew up in a family of seven - so this woman's life is my mom's -- and um... wow my mom should be cannonized (even though we aren't catholic, yeah really we aren't catholic and there were actually nine of us, [they added after we all left!] -- we aren't mormon either, it had nothing to do with religion and everything to do with my parents having the best spirits in town (not the kind you drink... although...)
*remember week is a relatively broadly defined term = when I get around to reading something that prompts me to post it
...everyone knows a ringing phone releases a hormone in children that makes them flock to you like seagulls to a bag of discarded Mc Donald's left-overs in the parking lot...
There is so much truth on this blog that it frightens me, and makes me laugh right the hell out loud -- keep in mind I grew up in a family of seven - so this woman's life is my mom's -- and um... wow my mom should be cannonized (even though we aren't catholic, yeah really we aren't catholic and there were actually nine of us, [they added after we all left!] -- we aren't mormon either, it had nothing to do with religion and everything to do with my parents having the best spirits in town (not the kind you drink... although...)
*remember week is a relatively broadly defined term = when I get around to reading something that prompts me to post it
my husband's children have a dirty little secret
The little fuck monkeys blessed angels have done it again, they made me so pissy that I had to tell everyone that I’ve had a conversation with about it.
My sister – who can grow popsicle sticks – seriously, anything she sticks in the ground will grow, and bloom, and multiply, and grow larger, greener, bloomier, and with more babies than anyone elses… had to move a few years back – and I inherited her beautiful rose bushes (which I managed to keep alive, but they aren’t anything like when she had them and she would play Mozart for them and kiss them and tenderly dead-head them, and talk to them, and whatever it is she does – they are lucky that I have a drip system that waters them, and occasionally I run out and dead-head them (like twice a summer, instead of daily like her).
So one of these gorgeous wonderful fantastic bushes, is still blooming in spite of my neglect –
‘French Perfume’ variety – which means that it has the most outstanding fragrance – almost too strong – and these beautiful blooms on long stems that cut for bouquets just wonderfully (which I hesitate to do, lest my black thumb actually come in contact with the plant and it instantly whithers and dies). However, this morning I walked out my front door, coffee in hand, ready to drive to work and I looked over and the French Perfume was covered in beautiful blooms and I couldn’t resist – I had to have a bouquet for my desk at work.
So I walked into my kitchen to my junk drawer (I actually know a woman who does NOT HAVE a junk drawer in any room in her house – freakish that – I have one in EVERY room) – and I lifted the hot pads to put my hands on my rose clippers (very expensive lovely gift from my husband that actually thought having the right tool might make a difference for me – bless him) and THEY WEREN’T THERE. Now you know some teenager has been using them to trim toenails, cut baggie ties to build some sort of weapon, get into one of those fucking molded plastic packages that require a blow torch and safety gloves and glasses to get into, or even possibly as a substitute for a hammer, pliers, screwdriver, wedge, etc. – and that they did not put them back - there is also a good possibility that this mutilation of MY rose clippers took place outdoors (to prevent my snooping eyes from seeing) and they are probably somewhere rusting and covered with something nasty. So I grabbed kitchen shears – I wasn’t about to upset my lovely morning of cutting a bouquet to be sullied by actually finding out who/what/where my clippers were being abused.
Then I went to get a vase out of the buffet. I have probably 15 ‘utility’ vases – my father really likes to give flowers, I have a dancer who receives lots of flowers, and of course you need several colors, shapes, sizes to accommodate all this cut flower displaying. Don’t mistake this to mean we have cut flowers around all the time – we seldom do, and when we do, they generally stay in the vase until they are nearly unrecognizable dried up black and brown ghosts of their former selves, tucked in some corner where their height wasn’t disturbing someone’s conversation, homework, meal, etc. I also have a few expensive vases in the china hutch – these don’t actually get used – we used to have a cat, and after he broke a few vases, I learned that it isn’t practical to use the expensive ones with a cat in the house – the cat’s been dead now for about 5 years, but I haven’t changed that habit – also – whoever designs expensive vases doesn’t actually think about putting flowers in them – they are beautiful empty – but they are always the wrong shape to display a bouquet and look silly filled.
So… I went to get a utility vase out of the bottom of the buffet – you know in with all my “clean” dishes, that particular section of the buffet has the soup bowls, some platters, several dessert dishes, tea pots and some other sundry serving bowls, etc. -- AHA – that little glass one is just perfect for three blooms, that will leave several on the bush and look great on my desk – ewwwwwwwwww it’s got nasty brown old flower water ring around it. Set it on top of the buffet to take it to the kitchen for “re-cleaning” – AHA that milk glass one will be nice with 3 maybe 4 blooms, still leaving some on the bush, and will travel well in the car – ewwwwwwww nasty brown dried up water stain in the bottom, this was never washed, maybe someone couldn’t see it was dirty since it is milk glass – okay how about this tall glass one, that bush has long stems, ewwwwwwww nasty old flower stuff in the bottom – FIVE filthy nasty vases in my buffet with my clean dishes (well I didn’t actually confirm the dishes were clean) – and two more on the kitchen table --- I had only ONE vase that was even remotely the correct size and shape for this project – not to mention I was pissed as all get out about the dirty vases. But it was so wide that I had to cut every blossom off the bush to fill it enough not to look silly. Now what were those little lazy asses thinking, that I would never use another vase again? That they could fake me out by offering to put any flowers that came into the house into water? That they would remember later to take them all back out and clean them? Or did they even think – I’ll bet this was one of those “this kitchen had better be perfect when I get home or heads will roll” days – and it had to have been shortly after a ballet recital for there to be that many dirty vases – unless they have been doing this as a regular MO for months without even caring if there is ever a clean vase in the house.
So, I cut my roses with scissors, put them in a too large vase, brought them to work – wow does my car smell fragrant now – and told my boss, my mom, my husband – and now of course all of you – about the little dirty secret that my husband’s children have been hiding from me.
My sister – who can grow popsicle sticks – seriously, anything she sticks in the ground will grow, and bloom, and multiply, and grow larger, greener, bloomier, and with more babies than anyone elses… had to move a few years back – and I inherited her beautiful rose bushes (which I managed to keep alive, but they aren’t anything like when she had them and she would play Mozart for them and kiss them and tenderly dead-head them, and talk to them, and whatever it is she does – they are lucky that I have a drip system that waters them, and occasionally I run out and dead-head them (like twice a summer, instead of daily like her).
So one of these gorgeous wonderful fantastic bushes, is still blooming in spite of my neglect –
‘French Perfume’ variety – which means that it has the most outstanding fragrance – almost too strong – and these beautiful blooms on long stems that cut for bouquets just wonderfully (which I hesitate to do, lest my black thumb actually come in contact with the plant and it instantly whithers and dies). However, this morning I walked out my front door, coffee in hand, ready to drive to work and I looked over and the French Perfume was covered in beautiful blooms and I couldn’t resist – I had to have a bouquet for my desk at work.So I walked into my kitchen to my junk drawer (I actually know a woman who does NOT HAVE a junk drawer in any room in her house – freakish that – I have one in EVERY room) – and I lifted the hot pads to put my hands on my rose clippers (very expensive lovely gift from my husband that actually thought having the right tool might make a difference for me – bless him) and THEY WEREN’T THERE. Now you know some teenager has been using them to trim toenails, cut baggie ties to build some sort of weapon, get into one of those fucking molded plastic packages that require a blow torch and safety gloves and glasses to get into, or even possibly as a substitute for a hammer, pliers, screwdriver, wedge, etc. – and that they did not put them back - there is also a good possibility that this mutilation of MY rose clippers took place outdoors (to prevent my snooping eyes from seeing) and they are probably somewhere rusting and covered with something nasty. So I grabbed kitchen shears – I wasn’t about to upset my lovely morning of cutting a bouquet to be sullied by actually finding out who/what/where my clippers were being abused.
Then I went to get a vase out of the buffet. I have probably 15 ‘utility’ vases – my father really likes to give flowers, I have a dancer who receives lots of flowers, and of course you need several colors, shapes, sizes to accommodate all this cut flower displaying. Don’t mistake this to mean we have cut flowers around all the time – we seldom do, and when we do, they generally stay in the vase until they are nearly unrecognizable dried up black and brown ghosts of their former selves, tucked in some corner where their height wasn’t disturbing someone’s conversation, homework, meal, etc. I also have a few expensive vases in the china hutch – these don’t actually get used – we used to have a cat, and after he broke a few vases, I learned that it isn’t practical to use the expensive ones with a cat in the house – the cat’s been dead now for about 5 years, but I haven’t changed that habit – also – whoever designs expensive vases doesn’t actually think about putting flowers in them – they are beautiful empty – but they are always the wrong shape to display a bouquet and look silly filled.
So… I went to get a utility vase out of the bottom of the buffet – you know in with all my “clean” dishes, that particular section of the buffet has the soup bowls, some platters, several dessert dishes, tea pots and some other sundry serving bowls, etc. -- AHA – that little glass one is just perfect for three blooms, that will leave several on the bush and look great on my desk – ewwwwwwwwww it’s got nasty brown old flower water ring around it. Set it on top of the buffet to take it to the kitchen for “re-cleaning” – AHA that milk glass one will be nice with 3 maybe 4 blooms, still leaving some on the bush, and will travel well in the car – ewwwwwwww nasty brown dried up water stain in the bottom, this was never washed, maybe someone couldn’t see it was dirty since it is milk glass – okay how about this tall glass one, that bush has long stems, ewwwwwwww nasty old flower stuff in the bottom – FIVE filthy nasty vases in my buffet with my clean dishes (well I didn’t actually confirm the dishes were clean) – and two more on the kitchen table --- I had only ONE vase that was even remotely the correct size and shape for this project – not to mention I was pissed as all get out about the dirty vases. But it was so wide that I had to cut every blossom off the bush to fill it enough not to look silly. Now what were those little lazy asses thinking, that I would never use another vase again? That they could fake me out by offering to put any flowers that came into the house into water? That they would remember later to take them all back out and clean them? Or did they even think – I’ll bet this was one of those “this kitchen had better be perfect when I get home or heads will roll” days – and it had to have been shortly after a ballet recital for there to be that many dirty vases – unless they have been doing this as a regular MO for months without even caring if there is ever a clean vase in the house.
So, I cut my roses with scissors, put them in a too large vase, brought them to work – wow does my car smell fragrant now – and told my boss, my mom, my husband – and now of course all of you – about the little dirty secret that my husband’s children have been hiding from me.
My husband does not have children with some other woman - I gave birth to all three of them - please don't be confused by my sarcastic implication that this is all his genetic influence
Friday, August 24, 2007
oops... I missed Thursday
We have an event at work this weekend, I have an event at the kids' school this weekend, and my husband/father belong to the same lodge that also has an event this weekend - and it's our wedding anniversary (happy we still like each other to us!) And I had a 'fruit delivery' yesterday - which basically means I do 80 bazillion hours of work so a bunch of girls have money to spend on their activities and such... it's not all bad - anyhow - I missed Thursday - well I just read my document "dirtiest stories" - because if you are following along I am cheating and I wrote thirteen stories, but I'm posting them one at a time because it's still thursday, and it's still thirteen - but you could never read my long winded rants all at once... and then I don't have to think of stuff for my TT. Anyhow, I was going to just put one up late, but then I realized, you are probably sick of reading about poop and mud (and the next one is puke -- woohoo) so I think I will just skip this week.
aha - the mailman is here, and it's a man, not the girl we usually have, and he's cute (I've always had a thing for men in uniform, even mailmen) -- my mom used to tease me about rating the ones in the neighborhood where we lived - and low and behold eventually #1 became her mailman, and even a friend of hers of sorts - she invited him to the lodge one summer (after I was married and pregnant) -- anyhow, this guy would probably rate about a #3 - not too shabby - well he's gone now - no more eye candy out the window for me.
I had so many thoughts this weekend of things I would love to post about that my "readers" would enjoy, and now that my fingers are on the keyboard will a single one of them come back to me - ugh NO.
We went to the lodge this weekend, what a glorious place that is - you know you have those certain places in your life where everything just goes away and is replaced by relaxation and peace - the lodge is one of those. I can drink all day and all night and never be drunk - which is crazy because it's higher altitude than where I live - I never think about money or bills or work or anything remotely stressful - we play cribbage, go out on the boat, play on the wave runner, this year we canoed a little and the kids took the kayaks out for a bit. We eat great food - usually simple, but great - the woman who is the hostess there is a great cook - and a really good meal planner. We arrived Friday afternoon/evening, unpacked the car - K (youngest) went down to the lake, S (oldest) was thrilled because she had cell phone coverage and could 'text' her boyfriend all weekend, she camped out at the game table with her phone and a deck of cards to play solitaire, and I hit the porch, sat around having some nice conversation, a beer, and just let the drive (which was not bad at all) fade out of me. My mom and I greeted our friends and just relaxed. The ladies who had already been there eventually went to make some burritoes for dinner and I had another beer and a short little cruise around the lake on the boat. We hung out after dinner chatting and catching up on all the improvements they had made to the building, then we watched something on t.v. - I found that I was suddenly as tired as I had been in ages and went up to bed. My girls were already up there in their room and I climbed in bed with K and we lay on her bed teasing with S about her boyfriend and helping her come up with silly questions to ask him -- we giggled and laughed for about an hour - then K and I went into my room and went to bed - she decided to leave her sister alone for the night.
Saturday morning I slept in - got up about 9:30 - shocked the heck outta me when I looked at the clock. Had some great coffee, some fresh bagels, and then one of the ladies makes the ultimate bloody mary's - so I had one of those. Helped K rig her fishing line and she took off to do a little fishing from the dock, S put on some shorts and headed for the beach to maybe play on the wave runner, I wandered down and sat on the deck of the boathouse for a bit drinking my bloody mary and then wandered back up to the lodge and helped fix some potato salad, in the middle of slicing potatoes my mother came through the back door with that "something is bad" voice calling my name - I dropped my knife and ran to meet her only to find out that K had taken the wave runner out and was being chased back to the lodge by the sheriff - not a good thing. I boogied my butt down to the beach, but the other adults down there were already getting her off the wave runner and there she stood in the lagoon talking to the sheriff, who never even asked which of us was her parent, just read her the riot act about cutting off boats, making a wake in a no-wake area - and ahem... splashing him! Yes, she was close enough to the sheriff when she cut off his boat, in the no-wake zone, and took off full throttle, leaving a wake and splashing the sheriff - oh yeah and... she never heard them trying to stop her or their sirens as they chased her across the lake. Needless to say, she was done driving the wave runner for the weekend. (Particularly because they have apparently changed the laws and 14 year olds cannot legally operate them alone anymore). In her defense and mine - you should know that last time we were up, she was told that at 14 y/o she could drive, and she assumed this meant that she could - with or without my pre-approval. She rode it with another adult guest for awhile, who went over the basics with her, don't cut off other boats, don't go too close to shore, don't this and that and then K gave the other adult the impression she had permission to ride alone -- well she didn't... but it was all just non-communication. Anyhow, she was done for the weekend, and I was on my third bloody mary shortly thereafter... S could however ride it, and did, a lot. Then the husband and boy (D) arrived - I knew I had to be the first to tell him about the sheriff chasing our little darling down, and also that D needed a review of boating law before he took off on the wave runner. This was about the time that we came up with a new song for K - "I splashed the sheriff, but I didn't get the deputy" - giggle (she didn't think it was as funny as we did).
The rest of the afternoon unfolded with more water fun for everyone, some more good food, a few more cribbage games after the rain hit, the pre-season bronco game, and a great dinner.
Sunday was more of the same - we did tow the kids on tubes with the boat, that was good for a few hearty ha has - especially after husband pushed the boy in the lake - the boy says -- "now I'm going to get cold, cuz I'm all wet" - ya know like he planned to ride the tube and stay dry - rofl. Husband and I took a walk over to the other lake, and then into town, had an ice cream walked around town and saw some old favorite places, including his mom's old cabin (she sold it darnit) We drove back home Sunday evening and it was just so nice to be so completely unwound.
And - no fishguts in my dining room! In fact they only caught two fish all weekend, and we never ate them, they were getting them ready for hors d'oeuvres when we left.
aha - the mailman is here, and it's a man, not the girl we usually have, and he's cute (I've always had a thing for men in uniform, even mailmen) -- my mom used to tease me about rating the ones in the neighborhood where we lived - and low and behold eventually #1 became her mailman, and even a friend of hers of sorts - she invited him to the lodge one summer (after I was married and pregnant) -- anyhow, this guy would probably rate about a #3 - not too shabby - well he's gone now - no more eye candy out the window for me.
I had so many thoughts this weekend of things I would love to post about that my "readers" would enjoy, and now that my fingers are on the keyboard will a single one of them come back to me - ugh NO.
We went to the lodge this weekend, what a glorious place that is - you know you have those certain places in your life where everything just goes away and is replaced by relaxation and peace - the lodge is one of those. I can drink all day and all night and never be drunk - which is crazy because it's higher altitude than where I live - I never think about money or bills or work or anything remotely stressful - we play cribbage, go out on the boat, play on the wave runner, this year we canoed a little and the kids took the kayaks out for a bit. We eat great food - usually simple, but great - the woman who is the hostess there is a great cook - and a really good meal planner. We arrived Friday afternoon/evening, unpacked the car - K (youngest) went down to the lake, S (oldest) was thrilled because she had cell phone coverage and could 'text' her boyfriend all weekend, she camped out at the game table with her phone and a deck of cards to play solitaire, and I hit the porch, sat around having some nice conversation, a beer, and just let the drive (which was not bad at all) fade out of me. My mom and I greeted our friends and just relaxed. The ladies who had already been there eventually went to make some burritoes for dinner and I had another beer and a short little cruise around the lake on the boat. We hung out after dinner chatting and catching up on all the improvements they had made to the building, then we watched something on t.v. - I found that I was suddenly as tired as I had been in ages and went up to bed. My girls were already up there in their room and I climbed in bed with K and we lay on her bed teasing with S about her boyfriend and helping her come up with silly questions to ask him -- we giggled and laughed for about an hour - then K and I went into my room and went to bed - she decided to leave her sister alone for the night.
Saturday morning I slept in - got up about 9:30 - shocked the heck outta me when I looked at the clock. Had some great coffee, some fresh bagels, and then one of the ladies makes the ultimate bloody mary's - so I had one of those. Helped K rig her fishing line and she took off to do a little fishing from the dock, S put on some shorts and headed for the beach to maybe play on the wave runner, I wandered down and sat on the deck of the boathouse for a bit drinking my bloody mary and then wandered back up to the lodge and helped fix some potato salad, in the middle of slicing potatoes my mother came through the back door with that "something is bad" voice calling my name - I dropped my knife and ran to meet her only to find out that K had taken the wave runner out and was being chased back to the lodge by the sheriff - not a good thing. I boogied my butt down to the beach, but the other adults down there were already getting her off the wave runner and there she stood in the lagoon talking to the sheriff, who never even asked which of us was her parent, just read her the riot act about cutting off boats, making a wake in a no-wake area - and ahem... splashing him! Yes, she was close enough to the sheriff when she cut off his boat, in the no-wake zone, and took off full throttle, leaving a wake and splashing the sheriff - oh yeah and... she never heard them trying to stop her or their sirens as they chased her across the lake. Needless to say, she was done driving the wave runner for the weekend. (Particularly because they have apparently changed the laws and 14 year olds cannot legally operate them alone anymore). In her defense and mine - you should know that last time we were up, she was told that at 14 y/o she could drive, and she assumed this meant that she could - with or without my pre-approval. She rode it with another adult guest for awhile, who went over the basics with her, don't cut off other boats, don't go too close to shore, don't this and that and then K gave the other adult the impression she had permission to ride alone -- well she didn't... but it was all just non-communication. Anyhow, she was done for the weekend, and I was on my third bloody mary shortly thereafter... S could however ride it, and did, a lot. Then the husband and boy (D) arrived - I knew I had to be the first to tell him about the sheriff chasing our little darling down, and also that D needed a review of boating law before he took off on the wave runner. This was about the time that we came up with a new song for K - "I splashed the sheriff, but I didn't get the deputy" - giggle (she didn't think it was as funny as we did).
The rest of the afternoon unfolded with more water fun for everyone, some more good food, a few more cribbage games after the rain hit, the pre-season bronco game, and a great dinner.
Sunday was more of the same - we did tow the kids on tubes with the boat, that was good for a few hearty ha has - especially after husband pushed the boy in the lake - the boy says -- "now I'm going to get cold, cuz I'm all wet" - ya know like he planned to ride the tube and stay dry - rofl. Husband and I took a walk over to the other lake, and then into town, had an ice cream walked around town and saw some old favorite places, including his mom's old cabin (she sold it darnit) We drove back home Sunday evening and it was just so nice to be so completely unwound.
And - no fishguts in my dining room! In fact they only caught two fish all weekend, and we never ate them, they were getting them ready for hors d'oeuvres when we left.
Thursday, August 16, 2007
thursday - and other fishy stuff...
I wrote the post below (twinkie dink) a long time ago and saved it as a draft... yesterday I was lookin through the drafts and thought, dang why didn't I publish this -- well now I know... for crying out loud, that is one long post, it should really be three or four - I'm a crazy woman!
Okay dirty story #4 (This is one of my favorites -- and we are off to vacation at the same lodge this weekend, so didn't this timing work out nicely!
Okay so let’s skip forward a few years… well many years. Now he’s old enough to go fishing, I think he was in 4th grade. We went to the mountains, actually to the lodge of some friends of my family. What a wonderful lodge too, right on the lake. So the kids were fishing all weekend, and my mom, one of the best anglers around and damn snappy with a filet knife too, is encouraging them with lots of tips and tackle and camera action, but they aren’t having a lot of luck. Finally on the last day they caught a handful of fish, maybe 6 between the two boys and two girls (my nephew was along on this trip also). So husband and I are packing up, and washing our sheets (you wash before you leave then it’s clean for the next batch of guests), and loading the car – you know the drill. Mom has offered to filet and cook up the fish for the kids for a light lunch before we hit the road. She is in the kitchen teaching her amazing filleting skill to the boys… I think the girls were off with our hostess cleaning the boathouse or something. And they ask about eating the eyeballs, so she says sure (mom is no squeamish girly grandma), and shows them how easily they pop out. The boys eat them with much delight and then run down to tell the girls ‘hey try these’… (the girls weren’t sure they were eyeballs, and gladly tried them at the hostesses urging… they also liked them) [if you haven’t tried them, they really are pretty tasty and fun to eat]. So mom is now done filleting the fish and the boys are back to the kitchen. The trash has already been taken down so she bags up the fish skeletons and whats inside of them, along with the eyeless heads into some ziplocs and directs the boys to take them to the dumpster.
Fast forward three days. I have come home for the second day in a row to the stinkinest house ever. I cannot find it, I have run oranges down the disposal, I have taken the trash out and washed the trash can. I have looked everywhere for some dirty dish or food that we left sitting unattended before we went to the mountains. The smell is getting worse and worse. It is at the top of the stairs, but not down stairs. It is between the kitchen and the dining room, but not in either room. It is overpowering, I am starting to gag everytime I go to the stairway. Husband is dying also, he is going after me and cleaning up the sink, trash can, bread box, potatoe bin, etc. This stink is overwhelming, the dog doesn’t like it. Day four… husband is putting away a few things that didn’t quite make it to their spots when we got home. They are sitting in the dining room, near the top of the stairs. Among them are the fishing tackle and rods. He picks up the tackle box, and it feels unusually heavy... He opens it up, but there isn’t anything there but normal tackle, some power bait, hooks, weights, leaders, etc. He closes it and heads out to the camper with it, (keep camping gear in camper, one plan that was good in my organizational plan that doesn’t ever work well) and still thinks hmmmm this tackle box doesn’t feel right. He sets it right on my Duncan Phyfe cherrywood hundred year old dining room table and opens it up again… he takes the tray out this time… only to discover some strange brown-grey soup-stew in ziploc bags in the bottom of the tackle box. Oh by the way, the smell has now become so overwhelming that writing this is making my eyes water. Apparently my son, my wonderful genius brilliant son, wanted to take the fish skeletons and eyeless fish skulls to ‘show and tell’ – but then he forgot. The house smelled for weeks, my stomach still turns and my eyes still water when I think of it.
Okay dirty story #4 (This is one of my favorites -- and we are off to vacation at the same lodge this weekend, so didn't this timing work out nicely!
Okay so let’s skip forward a few years… well many years. Now he’s old enough to go fishing, I think he was in 4th grade. We went to the mountains, actually to the lodge of some friends of my family. What a wonderful lodge too, right on the lake. So the kids were fishing all weekend, and my mom, one of the best anglers around and damn snappy with a filet knife too, is encouraging them with lots of tips and tackle and camera action, but they aren’t having a lot of luck. Finally on the last day they caught a handful of fish, maybe 6 between the two boys and two girls (my nephew was along on this trip also). So husband and I are packing up, and washing our sheets (you wash before you leave then it’s clean for the next batch of guests), and loading the car – you know the drill. Mom has offered to filet and cook up the fish for the kids for a light lunch before we hit the road. She is in the kitchen teaching her amazing filleting skill to the boys… I think the girls were off with our hostess cleaning the boathouse or something. And they ask about eating the eyeballs, so she says sure (mom is no squeamish girly grandma), and shows them how easily they pop out. The boys eat them with much delight and then run down to tell the girls ‘hey try these’… (the girls weren’t sure they were eyeballs, and gladly tried them at the hostesses urging… they also liked them) [if you haven’t tried them, they really are pretty tasty and fun to eat]. So mom is now done filleting the fish and the boys are back to the kitchen. The trash has already been taken down so she bags up the fish skeletons and whats inside of them, along with the eyeless heads into some ziplocs and directs the boys to take them to the dumpster.
Fast forward three days. I have come home for the second day in a row to the stinkinest house ever. I cannot find it, I have run oranges down the disposal, I have taken the trash out and washed the trash can. I have looked everywhere for some dirty dish or food that we left sitting unattended before we went to the mountains. The smell is getting worse and worse. It is at the top of the stairs, but not down stairs. It is between the kitchen and the dining room, but not in either room. It is overpowering, I am starting to gag everytime I go to the stairway. Husband is dying also, he is going after me and cleaning up the sink, trash can, bread box, potatoe bin, etc. This stink is overwhelming, the dog doesn’t like it. Day four… husband is putting away a few things that didn’t quite make it to their spots when we got home. They are sitting in the dining room, near the top of the stairs. Among them are the fishing tackle and rods. He picks up the tackle box, and it feels unusually heavy... He opens it up, but there isn’t anything there but normal tackle, some power bait, hooks, weights, leaders, etc. He closes it and heads out to the camper with it, (keep camping gear in camper, one plan that was good in my organizational plan that doesn’t ever work well) and still thinks hmmmm this tackle box doesn’t feel right. He sets it right on my Duncan Phyfe cherrywood hundred year old dining room table and opens it up again… he takes the tray out this time… only to discover some strange brown-grey soup-stew in ziploc bags in the bottom of the tackle box. Oh by the way, the smell has now become so overwhelming that writing this is making my eyes water. Apparently my son, my wonderful genius brilliant son, wanted to take the fish skeletons and eyeless fish skulls to ‘show and tell’ – but then he forgot. The house smelled for weeks, my stomach still turns and my eyes still water when I think of it.
Tuesday, August 14, 2007
Twinkie Dink
It’s come to my attention that I may well be the ‘oldest’ mom of bloggers that I know – that being a reflection of the age of my children, not of course of my age, as I am young and vibrant and sexy and hip (well at least in my mind when there are no mirrors around close by)… so as such, I am going to add a lovely game for you mom’s to teach to your darlings in the car – because car games rock – or are painful, which is of course funny – til mom yells. Twinkie Dink!
There is of course ‘slug bug’ – if you see a Volkswagen bug (many people play ‘old’ ones only) – then you get to slug someone/everyone – or if you are in my car, you shout it out, and everyone slugs themselves – because I slug like a baby, and the boy can actually give you a Charlie horse that will last an hour.
After the change to slugging yourself – it was changed to ‘hug bug’ – natural progression – they started whining that no one (meaning usually me) was slugging themselves hard enough – ha – we will make it a “loving” game and see how the little terrors like that!
But of course there had to be a development that recognized the ‘new’ bugs – so… what color are airbags – if you said ‘white’ give yourself ten points – if you said anything else, you should probably not be surfing blogs, and should get yourself acquainted with the real world again. What color is the filling inside of a Twinkie (yes those G-d awful ‘cakes’ that are made from nuclear waste disguising itself as yummy goodness) – if you said ‘white’ be ashamed that you have allowed that into your body, if you said you didn’t know – good for you (but really, you should get out of Boulder and enjoy some garbage food for just a day so that you can relate to the rest of us). What color is the outside of a Twinkie – let’s just call it yellow – because that’s where we are going with this. So if a newer yellow bug (older ones don’t have airbags) hits something and the airbags deploy – what would it look like… ****Ding Ding Ding**** That’s right Bob, A Twinkie!
Thus… if you see a newer yellow bug you yell twinkie-dink and you thunk the shit outta the person nearest you (I won’t allow anymore trying to make it all around the car, the writhing and screaming is just too much to take when you are trying to drive, and writhe and scream)
We also have the punch a person ten times if you see a helicopter.
Punch yourself for every letter of the alphabet up to the starting letter of the name of a state of a license plate that someone has called out. ie – I see (and call out) ‘Delaware’ everyone else must punch themselves four times – A1, B2, C3, D4. If I call out Delaware at the same time as my darling daughter, then we must both punch ourselves up to D and everyone else is off the hook. If I am not in the car, say walking through a parking lot and I call it out – I must punch myself for breaking the rules. A nice new twist is – if it is a border state, you still call it out, in the hope they will all pummel themselves – but… they don’t actually have to punch themselves, and they can either call out border state – thus saving everyone pain – or, they can keep that fact to themselves until everyone else is done and they whine ‘S didn’t punch herself’ – then she can reveal that Wyoming is a border state – boy does that chap their butts! Also of course, if you go to Wyoming then at the border, you get a whole new set of border states – woohoo, confusion. Last very advanced twist – if you are on your way home, you can start at ‘z’ and go backward – thus Wyoming isn’t so painful – but Arizona will leave a mark (of course they are both border states, teee heeee).
And for the best giggles of all… you make up sentences/phrases that use the letters on the license plate – 420-MTD
“Mothers Tell Doozies”
“Melting Tiny Dots”
etc.
we play that you can’t repeat a word – which if you are on an ‘X’ can get tricky. Our rules – which are complicated, because we are never happy with the simple rules (see Twinkie Dink – and State Game) are a bit complex…
Everyone shouts out their phrase, never repeating someone else’s word or ‘you’re out’ – and if someone gets skipped – so I pick the plate, driver’s seat, duh… and I say my phrase, then the passenger should be up next, but if the backseat chimes in before she can think of one, then she’s out. If anyone says two phrases before anyone else can think of one, they win that license plate. Winner chooses the next license plate – or uses the next available one if the traffic is that slim. My kids are older, so we do allow some dirty words, and let me tell you ‘Kangaroo Penises Droop’ and the like are pretty darn funny – we laugh and laugh!
Then of course you can incorporate the radio into car games – the scan button game(s).
Name the artist of the song that is playing before the scan button automatically moves to the next station. Sometimes you get lucky and it comes back around to the same song and you have finally figured it out.
Or the theme game – turn on the radio, whatever station, whatever song – that is the beginning. So the song is ‘If you think I’m Sexy” by Rod Stewart. Allow the whole song to play, because the theme might be in the title, the lyrics, the music, the artist, etc. – so they must be given a chance to hear the lyrics – choose your theme wisely – I’m going to choose ‘guys who have worn spandex’ as my theme. Then you must scan til you come up with another song that fits the theme – then listen til the end – again scan til you come up with another, etc. – until someone guesses the theme. The songs you skip can be as big a clue as the ones you stay on. My oldest hates this game at times, because sometimes she has to listen to music that ‘sucks’ – like in this case, I would have had to stop on any Rolling Stones, because Mick has been known to be seen in spandex – and she hates the Stones (poor dear, I must have dropped her on her head) – although, she would also have the opportunity for me to stop on The Who (Pete I’m sure has been in spandex, and probably Roger also) and she loves The Who. I would of course skip any women, Garth Brooks, or I would say just about any country, most rappers, and definitely Green Day, etc. This game is good for VERY long drives, and half music saavy kids – not for kindergartners – much better for them after you have drilled them with lots of rock history and demanded that they learn all the lyrics to every Beatles song and that they can at least fake some simple syncopated clapping/snapping etc.
There is of course ‘slug bug’ – if you see a Volkswagen bug (many people play ‘old’ ones only) – then you get to slug someone/everyone – or if you are in my car, you shout it out, and everyone slugs themselves – because I slug like a baby, and the boy can actually give you a Charlie horse that will last an hour.
After the change to slugging yourself – it was changed to ‘hug bug’ – natural progression – they started whining that no one (meaning usually me) was slugging themselves hard enough – ha – we will make it a “loving” game and see how the little terrors like that!
But of course there had to be a development that recognized the ‘new’ bugs – so… what color are airbags – if you said ‘white’ give yourself ten points – if you said anything else, you should probably not be surfing blogs, and should get yourself acquainted with the real world again. What color is the filling inside of a Twinkie (yes those G-d awful ‘cakes’ that are made from nuclear waste disguising itself as yummy goodness) – if you said ‘white’ be ashamed that you have allowed that into your body, if you said you didn’t know – good for you (but really, you should get out of Boulder and enjoy some garbage food for just a day so that you can relate to the rest of us). What color is the outside of a Twinkie – let’s just call it yellow – because that’s where we are going with this. So if a newer yellow bug (older ones don’t have airbags) hits something and the airbags deploy – what would it look like… ****Ding Ding Ding**** That’s right Bob, A Twinkie!
Thus… if you see a newer yellow bug you yell twinkie-dink and you thunk the shit outta the person nearest you (I won’t allow anymore trying to make it all around the car, the writhing and screaming is just too much to take when you are trying to drive, and writhe and scream)
We also have the punch a person ten times if you see a helicopter.
Punch yourself for every letter of the alphabet up to the starting letter of the name of a state of a license plate that someone has called out. ie – I see (and call out) ‘Delaware’ everyone else must punch themselves four times – A1, B2, C3, D4. If I call out Delaware at the same time as my darling daughter, then we must both punch ourselves up to D and everyone else is off the hook. If I am not in the car, say walking through a parking lot and I call it out – I must punch myself for breaking the rules. A nice new twist is – if it is a border state, you still call it out, in the hope they will all pummel themselves – but… they don’t actually have to punch themselves, and they can either call out border state – thus saving everyone pain – or, they can keep that fact to themselves until everyone else is done and they whine ‘S didn’t punch herself’ – then she can reveal that Wyoming is a border state – boy does that chap their butts! Also of course, if you go to Wyoming then at the border, you get a whole new set of border states – woohoo, confusion. Last very advanced twist – if you are on your way home, you can start at ‘z’ and go backward – thus Wyoming isn’t so painful – but Arizona will leave a mark (of course they are both border states, teee heeee).
And for the best giggles of all… you make up sentences/phrases that use the letters on the license plate – 420-MTD
“Mothers Tell Doozies”
“Melting Tiny Dots”
etc.
we play that you can’t repeat a word – which if you are on an ‘X’ can get tricky. Our rules – which are complicated, because we are never happy with the simple rules (see Twinkie Dink – and State Game) are a bit complex…
Everyone shouts out their phrase, never repeating someone else’s word or ‘you’re out’ – and if someone gets skipped – so I pick the plate, driver’s seat, duh… and I say my phrase, then the passenger should be up next, but if the backseat chimes in before she can think of one, then she’s out. If anyone says two phrases before anyone else can think of one, they win that license plate. Winner chooses the next license plate – or uses the next available one if the traffic is that slim. My kids are older, so we do allow some dirty words, and let me tell you ‘Kangaroo Penises Droop’ and the like are pretty darn funny – we laugh and laugh!
Then of course you can incorporate the radio into car games – the scan button game(s).
Name the artist of the song that is playing before the scan button automatically moves to the next station. Sometimes you get lucky and it comes back around to the same song and you have finally figured it out.
Or the theme game – turn on the radio, whatever station, whatever song – that is the beginning. So the song is ‘If you think I’m Sexy” by Rod Stewart. Allow the whole song to play, because the theme might be in the title, the lyrics, the music, the artist, etc. – so they must be given a chance to hear the lyrics – choose your theme wisely – I’m going to choose ‘guys who have worn spandex’ as my theme. Then you must scan til you come up with another song that fits the theme – then listen til the end – again scan til you come up with another, etc. – until someone guesses the theme. The songs you skip can be as big a clue as the ones you stay on. My oldest hates this game at times, because sometimes she has to listen to music that ‘sucks’ – like in this case, I would have had to stop on any Rolling Stones, because Mick has been known to be seen in spandex – and she hates the Stones (poor dear, I must have dropped her on her head) – although, she would also have the opportunity for me to stop on The Who (Pete I’m sure has been in spandex, and probably Roger also) and she loves The Who. I would of course skip any women, Garth Brooks, or I would say just about any country, most rappers, and definitely Green Day, etc. This game is good for VERY long drives, and half music saavy kids – not for kindergartners – much better for them after you have drilled them with lots of rock history and demanded that they learn all the lyrics to every Beatles song and that they can at least fake some simple syncopated clapping/snapping etc.
over 1000
well, Barry Bonds is in the news for his new numbers, and so is Alex Rodgriguez, so I think that I will let you all know that I have broken a big number too. I have had over 1000 hits on my page. Well it probably happened awhile back because I didn't put a counter up for the first couple of years, but I also didn't put up many posts then either. Still, I only get a few comments, perhaps I am not controversial enough - though when I do write something passionate and controversial, it usually doesn't get any comments (I think my blog-"friends" probably all disagree with me and don't want to hurt my feelings, which is really sweet of them and I appreciate that). So maybe I'm too whiney - although I generally try to present the funny side of whiney? -- well anyhow, I actually think it's that I keep getting found by people who don't actually speak English and also, I'm pretty certain that a pretty high percentage of that 1000 is me... my address at work changes daily so I can't have it not counted.
Anyhow, I just read a great post over at Wiping up Snot - well actually it was written by Karly and posted here, those of you who homeschool (or have an interest in the choices people make about their kids' education) should check it out - and the comments, because they are very thought provoking. Also over at Never a Dull Moment comes this gem, not sure if I can somehow justify that being 'favorite parenting comment of the week' though, I am tempted.
And just a few things I am excited about, we managed to find a free weekend to get away, and we are going to do just that - the whole family, imagine! The boy is playing Quarterback (he'll be so much easier to spot and watch now!). My girls helped me at an event for work yesterday and they made me SO PROUD they were amazing and mature and worked their asses off - it made me really happy. Oh, and oldest has a date tomorrow with what appears to be a very nice boy - (I told my mom, I have very little information to make this judgement so if it turns out he's an asshole don't hold me to this early review). Youngest will test for pointe this week (again) and she is certain that she will make it this time, so we will be off to Boulder (yes we really live that close to someplace famous) to buy pointe shoes - and oldest lost her glasses at the water park the other day (she never loses anything so I'm not really angry at all) and now we will have to add those twelve appointments to the agenda - like I'm not busy enough.
Anyhow, I just read a great post over at Wiping up Snot - well actually it was written by Karly and posted here, those of you who homeschool (or have an interest in the choices people make about their kids' education) should check it out - and the comments, because they are very thought provoking. Also over at Never a Dull Moment comes this gem, not sure if I can somehow justify that being 'favorite parenting comment of the week' though, I am tempted.
And just a few things I am excited about, we managed to find a free weekend to get away, and we are going to do just that - the whole family, imagine! The boy is playing Quarterback (he'll be so much easier to spot and watch now!). My girls helped me at an event for work yesterday and they made me SO PROUD they were amazing and mature and worked their asses off - it made me really happy. Oh, and oldest has a date tomorrow with what appears to be a very nice boy - (I told my mom, I have very little information to make this judgement so if it turns out he's an asshole don't hold me to this early review). Youngest will test for pointe this week (again) and she is certain that she will make it this time, so we will be off to Boulder (yes we really live that close to someplace famous) to buy pointe shoes - and oldest lost her glasses at the water park the other day (she never loses anything so I'm not really angry at all) and now we will have to add those twelve appointments to the agenda - like I'm not busy enough.
Thursday, August 09, 2007
The 'third' story of my thursday-thirteen big huge cheat dirtiest story
The third story that popped into my head isn’t uncommon at all, it isn’t even unique – but it is one of my son’s favorite stories. My darling was still wearing diapers to bed, so he must have been under 30 months old. I honestly can’t remember when he was fully potty trained, but I actually think it was about 26 mos. old – my children potty trained very easily and so all were trained very close to two years old! in fact… we moved into our house now when he was 21 months old, so he was younger than that. Let’s call it 18 months old for a nice round number. My son NEVER cried when he woke up, didn’t need me for anything first thing – not food, not diaper, not love. He would just wake up and play, and he always woke up at 6:30 am without fail from the first time he slept through the night to as recently as a year ago – 6:30 like a clock. (Now he’s in high school and we don’t see him that soon anymore, I suspect he still wakes up at 6:30 but then goes back to sleep in an effort to be more normal). So as long as he was happy, I wouldn’t risk waking up my daughters – they shared a room, with two cribs for the babies and a bed for my oldest – just to get him up. So I could hear him on the baby monitor kind of babbling to himself, but basically very very quietly playing. I was getting breakfast ready so I could just haul them all down and feed them. I heard the oldest wake up and begin shrieking with laughter. So I hauled my one cup of coffee self up to see what was so hilarious that we had to scream about it. My boy, my darling sweet couldn’t stand to have food on his hands while he ate and you had to wipe his mouth and hands between every bite boy, had taken up art. You know the kind the I-had-a-poopy-diaper-and-I-took-it-off-all-by-myself-mom-and-look-what-I-drew-for-you art… all over the wall, and the crib, and the other wall, it was wonderful really – poop everywhere and in the poop… lot’s of ‘Ds’… yes my son was learning to write the first letter of his name with poop, what a joy, he was brilliant, a genius, and he was covered in stinky shit to boot.
Tuesday, August 07, 2007
Happy Anniversary (19 years = Road Kill?)
Some days it’s not really easy to appreciate the man you marry. After you are together for awhile, there is no more mystery, and well the mystery is part of that early fascination and romance and passion. Can you have passion and romance without mystery – absolutely, but you can’t expect it to be ‘the same’ as it was when you were first dating. Those people who talk about marriage changing people – it’s not the marriage silly, it’s the time. After 19 years together, my husband and I have few or no secrets from one another, no mystery, no I wonder if he’ll put out tonight, no I wonder if he likes it when I (insert something interesting and intimate)… really we’ve tried just about everything we are gonna try, we have settled into what’s comfortable and what works (I’m not just talking sex here, I’m talking snuggly time during movies, watching sports together, when to hold hands, when to leave the other person alone). Do I think we are typical of couples married for 19 years – not at all, I think we are exceptional – because… we do still have passion and romance, and quite a lot of sex compared to what we hear from friends and associates. Apparently lots of folks don’t do it very often and when they do it’s not all that passionate – so we are exceptional in that. Is it the same as when we were first married… oh hell no.
So back to my original train of thought… when I was first with my husband I was absolutely fascinated by the things that he did, the way he did them, and I couldn’t kiss him enough, really I couldn’t kiss him enough, I was good with loads of chapped lips, and I couldn’t get enough snuggling (clearly that was pre-hot flashes). Now, we don’t actually kiss all that much, when we kiss it’s still great, but it’s kinda like, hmmm lets save that for really special or something, there’s really no plan, it’s just how it is. Also the snuggling, we are both fatter, we are tired, and sore, and honestly snuggling is just sorta nice for a few minutes, then it’s just too hot and sweaty and uncomfortable for old hot tired bodies… and sex, hey a lot of times we whip it off in quick fashion (you only get so much privacy with three teenagers, and energy is depleted too – and really we are both pretty happy with quick sex… there is still seduction and what not, it’s not wham bam, but it’s not an all night affair either, well not usually. We also used to dance naked, or near naked, even in the morning while we were getting ready for work – a lot, we danced naked a lot. (Please don’t get a visual, it will just make me blush). Of course he had a six pack and a great tan and he still has OMG such strong sexy arms… and I was almost too thin, the most amazing flat stomach and firm ass and perky boobs… I don’t even like him to see me naked now, and the lights are off a lot more these days.
Anyhow, before I got all way too much intimate information for the readers here… I wanted to tell you that not many days do you think “wow I’m really glad I married this man, and this is why” because we just sort of go through our lives taking those things for granted. But yesterday was exceptional… [A] it was the anniversary of our first ‘date’ – well actually the day that I chased him shamelessly at a wedding reception of mutual friends/family until he took me home from the reception and asked for my phone number. [B] I talked to a long-lost friend about the end of her marriage. She married a guy that I dated before she dated him, and they have been married for 16 years, and now they are divorcing. Wow, did I ever get lucky – because this guy that I dated, that I really really liked, that I thought about wanting to marry, is really an asshole – or at least she made him sound like one. Granted, they are in the middle of a divorce, so she is not exactly gonna tell me everything that was wonderful about him or their marriage – and I certainly have those areas where I would love to see changes in my man/marriage, but they don’t begin to compare to hers. So here’s what I would tell anyone who is unsure what to do for an anniversary – talk to someone else that has it awful – you will want to kiss like you are first dating again, and you will suffer your arm falling asleep just to be close and snuggly with the one that really does get you, and will forgive you if you fart in the car or belch at the dinner table, and will kiss you even if you haven’t brushed your teeth yet. I really do love that man… and even when he calls me up to describe dead animals.
Side story – the timing is just to good not to put it right here and now… hubby just called, he’s driving in his car – I tell you, that man knows how to just make my day with the romantic stuff that spews from his mouth. He called to tell me that he saw something you don’t often see… not one dead raccoon, not two dead raccoons, but three dead coons on the side of the highway, all together, like the family was crossing the interstate together and got nailed. Now probably because I was busy getting ready to tell you how much I love this man after 19 years – I told him, “wow honey, every woman should be so lucky to have her man call her up and describe road kill… I love you more and more every day”.
So back to my original train of thought… when I was first with my husband I was absolutely fascinated by the things that he did, the way he did them, and I couldn’t kiss him enough, really I couldn’t kiss him enough, I was good with loads of chapped lips, and I couldn’t get enough snuggling (clearly that was pre-hot flashes). Now, we don’t actually kiss all that much, when we kiss it’s still great, but it’s kinda like, hmmm lets save that for really special or something, there’s really no plan, it’s just how it is. Also the snuggling, we are both fatter, we are tired, and sore, and honestly snuggling is just sorta nice for a few minutes, then it’s just too hot and sweaty and uncomfortable for old hot tired bodies… and sex, hey a lot of times we whip it off in quick fashion (you only get so much privacy with three teenagers, and energy is depleted too – and really we are both pretty happy with quick sex… there is still seduction and what not, it’s not wham bam, but it’s not an all night affair either, well not usually. We also used to dance naked, or near naked, even in the morning while we were getting ready for work – a lot, we danced naked a lot. (Please don’t get a visual, it will just make me blush). Of course he had a six pack and a great tan and he still has OMG such strong sexy arms… and I was almost too thin, the most amazing flat stomach and firm ass and perky boobs… I don’t even like him to see me naked now, and the lights are off a lot more these days.
Anyhow, before I got all way too much intimate information for the readers here… I wanted to tell you that not many days do you think “wow I’m really glad I married this man, and this is why” because we just sort of go through our lives taking those things for granted. But yesterday was exceptional… [A] it was the anniversary of our first ‘date’ – well actually the day that I chased him shamelessly at a wedding reception of mutual friends/family until he took me home from the reception and asked for my phone number. [B] I talked to a long-lost friend about the end of her marriage. She married a guy that I dated before she dated him, and they have been married for 16 years, and now they are divorcing. Wow, did I ever get lucky – because this guy that I dated, that I really really liked, that I thought about wanting to marry, is really an asshole – or at least she made him sound like one. Granted, they are in the middle of a divorce, so she is not exactly gonna tell me everything that was wonderful about him or their marriage – and I certainly have those areas where I would love to see changes in my man/marriage, but they don’t begin to compare to hers. So here’s what I would tell anyone who is unsure what to do for an anniversary – talk to someone else that has it awful – you will want to kiss like you are first dating again, and you will suffer your arm falling asleep just to be close and snuggly with the one that really does get you, and will forgive you if you fart in the car or belch at the dinner table, and will kiss you even if you haven’t brushed your teeth yet. I really do love that man… and even when he calls me up to describe dead animals.
Thursday, August 02, 2007
Harry Potter - no spoilers
Well I finally got my turn at the book (one copy - five avid fans) and finished it last night. I don't think this is a spoiler, my husband hasn't had his turn yet, he took last willingly because he likes to read at his pace and not feel hurried. He also doesn't read but one or two books a year and so he doesn't actually read as quickly as the rest of us - anyhow, as I said, don't think this is a spoiler, hubby took me out to lunch - and having just finished the book, I really didn't have much else going on in my life that I felt like talking about. So after we covered the obligatory "my mom said this", "I have a meeting", "my meeting went well"... and we were still waiting for our food... I said - geez I wish you would hurry up and read the book, I can't think of anything else to talk about. He said, "oh did you enjoy it" -- I said, "not as much as others, it didn't grab me as much", and he said (because I skipped a favorite television program [so you think you can dance] last night to finish) "well the ending did". Which was funny, because it did, but so did the thought of just finishing the damn book. What grabbed me about it was that it wasn't just the ending to the book, but the ending to the entire series - and like any Harry Potter book, there was an action element going on. Then as we sat there sort of staring out into the restaurant watching people (who were by the way rather boring today)... I realized the issue with this book. There isn't really any character development, nor is there much of a need for character development. We've all already read 6 books full of characters that are still in this book -- and while there were new characters, it certainly wasn't at all like the first few books where there were several new characters each year to learn about and get to know - so, I think that 7 books really just might be anyone's limit on a series, unless there is some reason to continue introducing enough new characters to carry the reader into the fantasy. I found this book easier to put down, and I wasn't as drawn into the fantasy of the book as the others. I remember feeling some of this with book 6 also, though not quite as intensely.
Don't get me wrong, it is still among some of the best reading I've done. It is a must read, and I did enjoy it. Just not maybe quite as much as some of the earlier 'years'.
And maybe, I'm just burning out on Harry - I also slept through the new movie (we were at the Drive-In and I had not slept well all week, so it was pretty easy to just lean the seat back and doze off).
If you reply, let's try to keep them non-spoilers, we can't possibly be the only big family trying to share one book, or people who are simply too busy to have already finished the book
Don't get me wrong, it is still among some of the best reading I've done. It is a must read, and I did enjoy it. Just not maybe quite as much as some of the earlier 'years'.
And maybe, I'm just burning out on Harry - I also slept through the new movie (we were at the Drive-In and I had not slept well all week, so it was pretty easy to just lean the seat back and doze off).
If you reply, let's try to keep them non-spoilers, we can't possibly be the only big family trying to share one book, or people who are simply too busy to have already finished the book
This has entertained my children all week...
My son has taken to calling people in traffic "caffeine spider" or "crack spider" or as you can well imagine... "crack spider's bitch" -- it's wrong, I shouldn't let them talk this way, drugs are NOT funny... but all I can do is laugh my ass off
Wednesday, August 01, 2007
Thursday thirteen (on Wed, cuz if I don't it will end up being Friday)... dirtiest story #2
My second thought was not of poop but dirt. It is the ‘dirtiest’ story.
My children are 15 months apart, each time… lets review, this makes them during the summer … 1, 2 & 3, or 2, 3 & 4, etc… I will guess that this occurred during the summer that they were 3, 4 & 5 (maybe 4, 5 & 6) but I think that the oldest had not yet started school.
All summer they had been pestering me, “mom can we play in the mud” and always I had a reason to avoid the inevitable mess – cuz that was how I rolled – no finger paints, no shaving cream tubs, no bathtub crayons and no mud. I let my niece who liked those things be the best babysitter in the world and fingerpaint with them. But finally they had worn me down, so I went outside to get the hose and make the dirt pile into a mud hole for them. They were inside ‘dressing’ for mud – swim suits would be my best recollection. As I was putting the hose back after a good soaking of the mud pile and the darlings were running headlong into what promised to be a hideous mess later, I managed to stub my foot on the dog house and break with great noise my toe. We are talking hideously bent sideways broken, it was gross. After teaching the punkins, and the rest of the neighborhood (knowing how well my voice projects), some pretty colorful new phrases, I hobbled inside. I would be able to see the darlings from the kitchen window and get ice at the same time – they were after all, already way too muddy to be sent inside to get me a phone or ice. I got to the window, and the freezer, and the phone with much cursing and pain and called my husband – it was one of those miracle days when he was ALREADY ON HIS WAY HOME – wow the universe must love me, and the children were playing so nicely in the mud together, and I really needed to elevate my foot – he assured me he would be home in less than 20 minutes and I should just go put my foot up and the kids would be fine. In my pain, which clearly caused me some delirium, I believed him. I hobbled to the couch with my ice and grabbed a book (I wouldn’t be able to hear the kids if I had the TV on) – I sat there with my ice, reading and listening to the kids giggle and play nicely in the mud for about 35 minutes before the husband got home. He walked to the kitchen, looked out the window, and then lied to me again – all was going to be fine he said, but he was closing the window now and turning on the stereo and air conditioning for my comfort and I should not move no matter what.
What followed was the sound of the water being turned on… “what more mud???”… and then some sort of screaming, it was unclear if it was happy screaming or sad screaming or just some wow-that-water-is-cold screaming. That’s when I moved… and what I saw out the window of my kitchen was two very delighted older children, good and muddy but still very recognizable, and my husband… laughing his ass off with some sort of moving mud statue. It was about as tall as my youngest child, but not at all feminine or for that matter… human looking. It was quite frankly something out of a movie. Remember when Ahnold puts all that mud on himself to camouflage himself from the Predator… well it wasn’t anything like that. This was actually a different shape, not human at all… it did have big blue eyes peeping out, and four limbs, but that was the only similarity to my child at all. Well in spite of the cold water, husband hosed off the creature and did find our daughter under there. It actually left enough mud on the porch to SHOVEL it off afterward. And then, to the shower, actually… showers. Daddy washed and washed and washed that little girl, and the dirt just kept coming. This particular child was born with hair enough for about 4 people, maybe even 5. If I braid her hair in two braids, one of those braids is twice as thick as my one braid… and people say that I have thick hair. Her pony tail is probably two inches across now… it was probably 1.5 inches when she was 3 years old. ACROSS not around. This hair contained enough mud to grow a garden, and it kept coming… for weeks it kept coming. Weeks after mud day, she would get in the shower and the mud would run from her scalp again and again.
The older two children… well they thought they were pretty clever using little sister as their ‘model’. Mud day… I’m thinking it’s possible we NEVER had another mud day!
My children are 15 months apart, each time… lets review, this makes them during the summer … 1, 2 & 3, or 2, 3 & 4, etc… I will guess that this occurred during the summer that they were 3, 4 & 5 (maybe 4, 5 & 6) but I think that the oldest had not yet started school.
All summer they had been pestering me, “mom can we play in the mud” and always I had a reason to avoid the inevitable mess – cuz that was how I rolled – no finger paints, no shaving cream tubs, no bathtub crayons and no mud. I let my niece who liked those things be the best babysitter in the world and fingerpaint with them. But finally they had worn me down, so I went outside to get the hose and make the dirt pile into a mud hole for them. They were inside ‘dressing’ for mud – swim suits would be my best recollection. As I was putting the hose back after a good soaking of the mud pile and the darlings were running headlong into what promised to be a hideous mess later, I managed to stub my foot on the dog house and break with great noise my toe. We are talking hideously bent sideways broken, it was gross. After teaching the punkins, and the rest of the neighborhood (knowing how well my voice projects), some pretty colorful new phrases, I hobbled inside. I would be able to see the darlings from the kitchen window and get ice at the same time – they were after all, already way too muddy to be sent inside to get me a phone or ice. I got to the window, and the freezer, and the phone with much cursing and pain and called my husband – it was one of those miracle days when he was ALREADY ON HIS WAY HOME – wow the universe must love me, and the children were playing so nicely in the mud together, and I really needed to elevate my foot – he assured me he would be home in less than 20 minutes and I should just go put my foot up and the kids would be fine. In my pain, which clearly caused me some delirium, I believed him. I hobbled to the couch with my ice and grabbed a book (I wouldn’t be able to hear the kids if I had the TV on) – I sat there with my ice, reading and listening to the kids giggle and play nicely in the mud for about 35 minutes before the husband got home. He walked to the kitchen, looked out the window, and then lied to me again – all was going to be fine he said, but he was closing the window now and turning on the stereo and air conditioning for my comfort and I should not move no matter what.
What followed was the sound of the water being turned on… “what more mud???”… and then some sort of screaming, it was unclear if it was happy screaming or sad screaming or just some wow-that-water-is-cold screaming. That’s when I moved… and what I saw out the window of my kitchen was two very delighted older children, good and muddy but still very recognizable, and my husband… laughing his ass off with some sort of moving mud statue. It was about as tall as my youngest child, but not at all feminine or for that matter… human looking. It was quite frankly something out of a movie. Remember when Ahnold puts all that mud on himself to camouflage himself from the Predator… well it wasn’t anything like that. This was actually a different shape, not human at all… it did have big blue eyes peeping out, and four limbs, but that was the only similarity to my child at all. Well in spite of the cold water, husband hosed off the creature and did find our daughter under there. It actually left enough mud on the porch to SHOVEL it off afterward. And then, to the shower, actually… showers. Daddy washed and washed and washed that little girl, and the dirt just kept coming. This particular child was born with hair enough for about 4 people, maybe even 5. If I braid her hair in two braids, one of those braids is twice as thick as my one braid… and people say that I have thick hair. Her pony tail is probably two inches across now… it was probably 1.5 inches when she was 3 years old. ACROSS not around. This hair contained enough mud to grow a garden, and it kept coming… for weeks it kept coming. Weeks after mud day, she would get in the shower and the mud would run from her scalp again and again.
The older two children… well they thought they were pretty clever using little sister as their ‘model’. Mud day… I’m thinking it’s possible we NEVER had another mud day!
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