Heart on My Sleeve

Reason # 958 Billion That I Hate Walmart

2009-09-27T20:59:00.000-07:00

I know, I know...I haven't posted in centuries. Either my life is busy or my life is boring. I'll let you figure out which is the truth.
So, today I went to Walmart to pick up mulch and lawn bags, certainly not a complicated errand. Except that it's Walmart. Ugh! I eventually find the aisle with trash bags - and I say eventually because nothing is in a logical place and there are no actual employees to ask. There are two shelves full of various size kitchen trash bags, but none of the ultra sturdy lawn bags I need. I figure they must be in the garden center, so I head that way to get mulch and bags. I get five bags of mulch (and on a side note...there was an employee in the garden center. He didn't offer to help me, but he did stand and watch me lug 5 huge bags of cypress mulch onto the cart. Do you know how much wet cypress mulch weighs? I'm not the tiny thing I once was, but I'm also not likely to be mistaken for a female weight lifter anytime soon. Geez Louise, offer a girl some help!)
Where was I? Oh yeah. So I go to the garden center check out and ask where the lawn bags are because I cannot find them. Mr. Walmart informs me the lawn bags are in hardware. Actually, maybe sporting goods. No, hardware close to the sporting goods. 'Cause that makes sense. What kind of crazy people would put yard care items with the yard stuff?
So, I leave my big cart of mulch and trot over to hardware/sporting goods. I cannot find bags anywhere in the area. I finally pass an employee, wandering through hardware, and ask about the bags. "Ugh, I don't know...what kind of bags? I don't know if we have those. You can ask Brooke. She knows that stuff". Brooke. Of course. Because I know exactly who Brooke is and where to find her. I do eventually find a woman who may or may not be Brooke. She also does not know where the lawn bags are, but she does know that kitchen bags are in the middle of the store. She suggests I look in the garden center for lawn bags. Very helpful.
After 20 minutes of attempting to buy stupid bags, I pay for my mulch and drive to Target. I walk to the trash bag aisle ( and was stopped by an employee who offered to help, though I already knew where to find trash bags in Target) and there they were, trash bags of all strengths...including the super ultra tough lawn bags. I grabbed a box and was out of there in five minutes. Yay Target. I heart you much!

Gender Differences

2009-07-04T16:30:00.000-07:00

Prince Charming leaves for camp tomorrow and needed some new towels. I mentioned this as we were about to leave the house and he decided to stay home. I almost asked if he was sure he didn't want to pick out his towels, but Little Runner Girl had to be somewhere, so I didn't. Little Runner Girl hopped in the car and said "Prince Charming's not coming?" I said "No, I have to go buy him some towels." Little Runner Girl rolled her eyes and said "I would want to go so I could pick out my towels. Boys are so weird." Apparently, towel color and design are not exactly a big deal to almost twelve year old boys.
Of course, I am sure there are some girls that age who don't care either. I just don't happen to know any. But here is what really made me laugh...Prince Charming called me while I was at the store. "Hey Mama? I need another bathing suit, too. Will you get one while you're at the store?" I guarantee a girl would never wear a suit she didn't pick out for herself. Boys. They are weird.

Lake Water

2009-06-30T21:43:00.001-07:00

My friend Knight Errant recently posted his memories of a lake that was part of both of our childhoods. His memories are beautiful. Most of my memories are rather mundane.
My father grew up in a very small town near the lake, only the lake did not exist during his childhood. A dam was built in 1964 and the lake was born. Strangely, I have more memories of Brooken Mountain (which isn't much of a mountain) than I do of Lake Eufaula, though I am sure we spent far more time at the lake.
During my childhood, spotting the lake meant we were nearly at my grandma's house, nearly at the end of our long imprisonment in the car. Grandma's house had chickens, cows, the occasional sow and piglets and, when I was very small, a horse. I loved taking the kitchen scraps out to the sow, watching the piglets tumble over each other when she stood up to eat. I loved climbing to the very top of the hay bales in the barn, loved the sweet soft eyes of the cows, loved riding in the back of the truck to the feed store because the lady there always gave me candy.
There were also things I didn't like about visiting Grandma's house. I didn't like collecting the eggs. I don't know why, but the chickens scared me and I thought it was very unkind of us to steal their babies. (Bizarre as it may seem, I was not bothered by watching my Grandma kill chickens, a rather freaky process.) I also didn't like being sent down into the cellar to get canned goods. The cellar combined two of my greatest fears...being underground in a small space and spiders. Ugh! The third thing I didn't like about Grandma's house was the lake.
Actually, the lake was fine, as long as I did not have to be in the water. I loved playing along the shore while my Daddy fished, finding treasure...hooks and pop tabs. tackle and bottle caps. I loved picnicking and napping in the sun. I loved riding on the front of my cousin's bike, feeling like a big kid because we were allowed to go out of sight of the grownups. I learned to skip stones on that lake, caught fish, chased butterflies, watched people jump from the bluffs. There was only one problem. Lake water. You can't see to the bottom of the lake. Especially if you're a little girl who needs thick glasses to see anything. And if the little girl reads far too many stories about sea monsters and Nessie and evil merpeople, has a wicked older cousin who tells her gators live in the lake and has a vivid imagination? Complete terror. And doesn't a wooden dock, with it's
shadowy water and slimy posts seem like the perfect place for a lake monster to make his home? Of course!
My most vivid memory of the lake? I was about eight years old. We had gone swimming off the dock, jumping as far off the end as possible to avoid the lake monster's lair. I don't know how long we were in the water, but when it was time to get out, I wanted to stay in the lake. Why? Climbing up the dock was far more frightening than staying in the open water where I could possibly escape. I finally worked up the courage to climb up, but my heart was racing, waiting for the slimy grip on my ankle that would pull me to a watery grave. Something brushed against my thigh and I jumped up onto the deck and started running. I can picture myself, wet braids flying, running for my daddy who was shouting "Don't run!" Of course, my feet slid out from under me and I fell backwards into the lake, scraping my back and leg on the dock as I fell. I truly don't recall how I got out of the lake the second time. I think my uncle may have handed me up to my Daddy. No surprise, this incident did nothing to dispel my fear of lake water. In fact, I do not remember ever swimming in that lake again. My sister would swim while I would stand at the edge of the lake, splashing water on myself to cool off and then retreating to the safety of dry ground.
I do wonder now if Knight Errant and I ever saw each other. I was the skinny little girl in a bikini and braids, riding a bike instead of swimming.

Responsibility

2009-06-24T22:57:00.000-07:00

Monday evening I was leaving Vacation Bible School when a mom came up to me and said "Oh great. You served red Koolaid. I can't believe you did that. It makes Sneaky Pete (her son) so hyper". I told her that if I had known, I would have served him something else and would be glad to give him something else for the rest of the week. "Oh, no. It's no big deal. I'll just have to deal with him being crazy at home". I found the whole situation quite irritating for several reasons...
#1. I have known this woman since she was a child. She was an obnoxious, violent, tantrum throwing brat. Her children behave exactly the way I remember her behaving.
#2. Sneaky Pete's issues are not due exclusively to red Koolaid. She knows this, I know this, everybody she knows knows this. And if they were, I am exactly the person to understand and help.
#3. Even children who have been diagnosed with some type of disorder or disability need discipline. Her kids really need discipline.
#4. (And this is really the point of my post) As a parent, it is my responsibility to make sure my child doesn't eat or drink things she shouldn't. And to also educate my child and any adults caring for my child.
Little Runner Girl happens to be allergic to red food dye. (Yes, same stuff as in red Koolaid.) Actually, it would be more accurate to say she has a sensitivity because red dye isn't life threatening to her. It just causes her to loose her mind. Which might be funny except that it is hard to find the humor in the situation when your toddler seems to need an exorcism.
Once we discovered this, we made sure to avoid exposure as much as possible. We read food labels. We told anyone who took care of her. We helped her learn which foods she could and could not have. (You would not believe the crazy things that contain red dye. Vanilla icing. Waffles. Chips. Read some labels. You'll be amazed.) We brought special snacks and drinks for her to parties, sleepovers, soccer games, VBS, etc, etc. Yes, it was a pain. Yes, it would have been nice to send her off without ever giving it a second thought. But here is the deal...my kid, my responsibility. I made sure that anyone entrusted with her care was aware of the situation and people were very understanding. No one was ever offended when Little Runner Girl brought her own juice or treats to a party. Her friends were sweet and very understanding.
The only person to ever say anything unkind was another child with special dietary needs. This child, Pudge, told Little Runner Girl she was weird for drinking water instead of Koolaid at a party. Right around that same time, Pudge's father wrote an editorial in a local magazine complaining about how unfair it was that his child had to follow certain restrictions to her diet. His solution was to force everyone else to follow the same restrictions. He even wanted other parents to make sure that party favors weren't in any way tempting to his child. Strangely, the favors Little Runner Girl got at Pudge's 10th birthday party contained more of the restricted item than I have ever seen in any other favor bag.
Prince Charming has two friends with life threatening food allergies. These wonderful mothers have given other moms food lists, provided their own treats and educated their children. One of these moms has to provide absolutely everything her child eats, or eats from, anywhere he goes. She brings utensils, plates, cups, etc. She has to bring his personal toaster to sleepovers. No it isn't convenient, but this is her kid. She can't expect everyone else to have completely uncontaminated cookware. So she does what she has to because she loves her kid and his well being is ultimately her responsibility. Unfortunately, I know another child with life threatening allergies whose parents seem to think mentioning the allergy to one adult in the school office should be enough.
Fortunately for my family, Little Runner Girl seems to be outgrowing her problems with red dye. And she understands the connection between what she puts in her body and how she feels later and, at the ripe old age of fourteen, knows exactly what to look for on labels. But until she is on her own...my child, my responsibility.

Blank

2009-06-23T20:51:00.000-07:00

I have absolutely nothing to write about at the moment. Or maybe I just have a wicked case of writer's block. Yawn.

Anniversary

2009-06-10T10:57:00.000-07:00

They met at a Christmas party. He wasn't dating anyone special. A buddy had offered to fix him up with a girl, but she didn't sound like his type. She was dating a few different boys, but none of them were special.

He had grown up in the country and loved country music. She had grown up in the "city", a small town near Amarillo and loved jazz. Jazz was playing at the party and, with his usual lack of tact, he said "Who's stupid music is this?" She said "It's my music. And it's my house. I like it. If you don't want to hear it, you don't have to be here". He turned to look at this sassy girl and fell. Hard. She had beautiful blue eyes behind her thick glasses. She was little and curvy and the cutest thing he had ever seen. She liked big, muscular guys. This guy was ridiculously skinny, but he had laughing green eyes and a wicked grin.

His buddy told him later that this was the girl he had wanted him to meet.

They went on a total of three dates that December. He had been cordially invited by the United States Army to become a soldier. He was going to be leaving for basic training right after New Years. He proposed on their third date. He said he didn't want her dating anyone else while he was gone. She said she didn't want him dating anyone else. He said "Well then, I guess we should get married." Not romantic, but it worked.
She had to break a date with another boy later in the week because they got engaged.
Their marriage wasn't perfect, but it was still wonderful. They had two little girls. He had a career as an engineer. She had a career making their house a home. Most of all, they had each other. The two truly became one.
Two months before their 43rd wedding anniversary, she left him. Sat down in his chair, put her feet up, closed her eyes and left him. And left their girls and their sons-in-law and their grandbabies. And left a gaping hole in the lives of everyone she knew.
It has been one year, two months and six days since she left. His girls have told him it is OK if he wants to start dating. He says she was it for him, his only love. He goes to church, to the doctor, to visit friends and family. He is doing alright for a man walking around with only half of a heart.
He still misses her every day. He still wears his wedding ring.
So Happy 44th Anniversary to my Daddy. I wish Mama was here to celebrate with you.

Rhetoric

2009-06-10T09:56:00.000-07:00

So, my children were bickering this morning, as usual. I don't even no what it was about, but it ended thus...
Prince Charming said "It was a rhetorical..." Little Runner Girl interrupted and said "That wasn't even a question!" To which Prince Charming replied "You didn't even let me finish. It was a rhetorical phrase!"

Diamond State

2009-06-05T09:24:00.000-07:00

I had a fairly magical childhood. It wasn't perfect. In fact some of it was not good at all, but I always knew I was loved. Both of my parents were affectionate and fun and found lots of ways to make everyday things special.
When we moved to Arkansas in the late '70s, it was almost like moving to a different planet. Having lived in Houston for as long as I could remember, I had quite an adjustment to make. My parents made a real effort to point out the beauty around us.
Early one morning, days after moving into our new house, my Daddy called me to come outside. He was very excited to show me something. There in the grass was the most incredible sparkle. "Come look" he said "it's an Arkansas diamond!" We walked closer and closer, the sun glittering on this diamond in our yard. Finally, I laid down in the grass to get a closer look and my Daddy stretched out on the grass beside me. All these years later I still think that is what made it so special, that he would stop getting ready for work to lay in the grass with his child. Even up close, the light was incredible, the shine nearly blinding. The diamond, of course, turned out to be dew. "But it's just as beautiful as diamonds" my Daddy said "and God scatters them in our yard every morning for us to enjoy."
I was a lucky, lucky kid!

Why I Don't Like Oreos

2009-05-27T21:59:00.000-07:00

When I was a kid, like probably most kids in this country, I liked Oreos. Crunchy chocolate cookies. Creamy filling. Tasty stuff.
I'm not exactly sure how old I was when this happened, but I would guess ten or eleven. I was spending the night with Queen Elizabeth (a.k.a. my oldest friend) and Double Stuff Oreos had just come out. (I think. I don't remember ever having them before. And the weirdest thing about this story is that Queen Elizabeth's mom was always baking so these may be the only store bought cookies I remember ever seeing at her house. Hmmmmm....)
Anyway....we were the only ones up and we found a huge unopened package of Double Stuff Oreos on the table. We got out the milk and a couple of big glasses and proceeded to eat. The entire package! With glass after glass of milk. Bleh! To this day, Oreos gross me out. Oddly enough, I do like Cookies and Cream ice cream. But I always pick out any huge chunks of Oreo.
On a side note...Queen Elizabeth has no problem eating Oreos. She's tougher than I am.

What Not to Say to the 911 Operator

2009-05-26T21:22:00.000-07:00

About 11 years ago, when the Saint and I moved into this house, I did a foolish thing. This will not surprise anyone who knows me. I was in the kitchen with the loaded dishwasher open, bottom rack pulled out. I was arranging some decorative items in the space above the upper cabinets. While standing on a swiveling bar stool. Wearing socks. Gosh, what could possibly go wrong???
Predictably to anyone with two brain cells, I fell and my hand collided with the silverware tray in the dishwasher.
(My friend Dr. Doctor, upon hearing this story, just rolled her eyes and laughed. Thank goodness she wasn't in the ER that night. She would have made me stitch myself up on the grounds that I should know better.)
I stood up to find blood pouring down my arm and dripping from my elbow. I screamed like the completely calm and non-hysterical person I am and brought the Saint running down the stairs. We both assumed I had landed on a knife. He called 911 and said..."My wife stabbed herself. It was an accident." To which I am sure the 911 operator said "Yeah right, buddy."
No surprise, the police arrived first. The ambulance guys waiting down the street told our brand new neighbors that they couldn't come up to the house until the cops had "secured the scene". Nice.
Of course, by the time the cops arrived, I had stopped gushing blood and calmed down enough to laugh at my own stupidity. The female officer there to help me with what the police thought was a domestic situation failed to see the humor in the situation. She was not amused.
After the police decided I wasn't in imminent danger from a crazed husband, the Saint took me to the hospital where I got several lovely stitches in the middle of my left hand. It turned out I had landed on the corner of the silverware tray and not a knife. Dr. Doctor helpfully pointed out later that a knife probably would have gone all the way through my hand. Ouch!

Freak Show

2009-05-25T21:43:00.000-07:00

Riverfest weekend...the biggest freak show in Arkansas.

A creepy drunk guy walked up to our ice cream booth and asked Little Runner Girl and me "So, do you both go to (Little Runner Girl's high school - we were wearing shirts with the school logo)?
"No, I'm her Mom" I said.
"Oh, so I guess that means you aren't in high school?"

Another drunk guy tried to pick me up with the oh-so-groovy line "I don't know what's melting faster, me or the ice cream." Hawt.

And then there was the very bizarre guy who went on and on and on about getting fired from LR Waste Management. He kept asking how they could fire him since he owned stock in the company. He had been digging through the trash behind the ice cream cart. Every time he found something recyclable, he held it up in the air to show I have no idea who. He then walked over to the cart, put his unwashed hands on the door handles and said "Everything is recyclable, you know. I just have to teach that to LR Waste Management. I have the only truck that can do it all, you know." Well, OK then.

A great deal of money is spent at Riverfest, often by people who don't look in a position to be spending it. Call me judgemental, but I think some of these people might be better off spending their cash on things like dental care. Or soap. Or clothes they didn't buy ten sizes ago.

One always sees quite the fashion show at Riverfest. 300 pound women in size 4 shorts and tiny tank tops. 300 pound men wearing no shirts at all, but lots and lots of back hair. Shudder. And then there was Matrix Boy. Head to toe black (which could have worked had he known how to pull it off) topped off by a too long black coat. The coat had slits cut up the back and had about 5 inches dragging the ground. In the rain on Sunday, with mud and water splashing up from the flapping coattails, the effect was far less dangerous, sexy punk and far more pitiful child caught in a car wash. Everyone he passed was laughing, including the barefooted redneck woman with (I wish I was kidding!) a total of four teeth in her bottom gums. You know you look stupid if the toothless people are laughing at you!

How To Go To Target with Your Firstborn at the Wheel

2009-05-21T23:34:00.000-07:00

Little Runner Girl has been driving almost every day for several weeks now, just long enough to think she knows what she is doing. So, after I back the car out of the garage (because I like my mirrors attached) Little Runner Girl takes the wheel. She is quite giddy with the knowledge that tomorrow is her very last day ever at the school she has attended since Kindergarten. She is talking a mile a minute and also driving. We pull out of the driveway and up to the intersection...
"Turn left, Sweetie."
Right turn signal goes on. "Wait, where are we going? Target? I don't know how to get there."
"I'll tell you, but you need to turn left."
"What? Oh, left." (Says my left-handed daughter!)
Through the neighborhood to a larger street. Stop about fifty feet before stop sign and then roll slowly up to it.
"Turn left here. But look first! LOOK! OK, you can go. Go. GO! NOW!" (She wasn't quite committed to turning. Halfway out into a major roadway seems an excellent place to stop and ask questions?)
"At the next street, turn right. Right. Turn right. Turn. Slow down slow down slow down. GET IN YOUR LANE!!!"
"Sorry. But that guy was still pretty far away anyway." I give her the look of doom.
"Sorry."
"Listen to me little girl or you won't be driving my car."
"OK. Sorry. I'm being careful. Why is it only 25 on this street?"
"Because people's front yards are facing this street. 25 is fast enough."
"But it's so slow!"
"Slow down slow down!"
"What was that!!!???"
"Speed bump! Slow down!"
"But I don't know where I'm going."
"Not knowing where you're going is NOT a reason to go faster."
"Why do they have to have so many speed bumps on this street?"
"Perhaps so teenagers don't fly through here going fifty?"
"Oh."
"OK, this intersection is tricky. Pay attention. You have to watch the oncoming traffic because there is no arrow. After we turn, get in the right lane."
"Why can't I just get over while I'm turning?"
"Because you can't change lanes in the intersection."
"Why not?"
"Because it's illegal and this guy next to us might not appreciate it."
"I think he is gonna go straight anyway, so why can't I just get over."
"Because it's illegal."
"But why?"
(And I am suddenly reminded that my 4 year old with her endless whys is also the 14 year old driving my car!)
We turn and switch lanes rather abruptly, immediately after leaving the intersection. And then she slams on the brakes. Driver behind us flashes lights and tries to figure out which lane the child is going to use.
"Get over, get over, get in the right lane."
"Is that OK?"
"I'm telling you to get over. Why would it not be OK?"
"I don't know."
We pull into the parking lot in the left lane.
"Honey, get into your lane."
"But there aren't any lanes."
"Sweetie, just because there aren't lines doesn't mean there aren't lanes. The other people driving can't read your mind. Where are you going?"
"I don't know? Where should I be going?"
"To find a place to park. Down there."
"Why so far down there?"
"Do you really think you need to park next to other cars?"
"Ummmm...probably not. Should I park now?"

My father always says he didn't have grey hair until he taught me to drive. I'm beginning to believe him.

Miracles and Wonders

2009-05-20T22:49:00.000-07:00

{I have struggled with posting this for several reasons, not the least of which is the fact that human language doesn't begin to cover the way I feel about my children. But I also want to be certain I am sensitive to other parents. I have friends who have dealt with the devastation of infertility, friends whose children grew in the wombs of other women, friends whose children have learning disabilities, friends whose children have special needs, friends whose children will always be children in a sense and a friend whose child may never make it into adulthood. I cannot imagine the journeys they are walking, but I see in each of those lives a miracle, a place that can be filled only by them and a world that is richer for their presence.}

Having babies was not the simple thing for me that it should have been, or that I at least thought it should have been. This isn't really a post about that, but it is useful background information.

In August of 1994, Little Runner Girl made her surprise debut, ten weeks ahead of schedule. {I have typed and retyped for the past 15 minutes and realized I am still not capable of talking about that time without crying. So I will just skip it.}

One of the complications of prematurity that Little Runner Girl suffered was a brain hemorrhage. This isn't unusual in preemies and it has a particular name (that I can't remember) that is usually shortened to initials. [In fact, nearly everything involving preemies is shortened to a set of initials. I don't know why. To save doctors from hearing parents mispronounce Latin? To make the words as small as the babies? To not freak the parents out anymore than they are already completely freaked out?] As brain hemorrhages go, it was fairly minor. One learns quickly in the NICU to be thankful for the minor version of the Very Scary Thing, because it could be oh-so-much worse. Still, it was a brain hemorrhage. Bleeding! In her brain! Aaaaagh!

One of Little Runner Girl's doctors told me that if she had any problems or complications due to the bleeding, they might not be apparent until she was older.

Life with a preemie is one long series of worries, especially early on and there were certainly more urgent problems facing my baby during her toddler and preschool years than her future GPA. I was semi-obsessive about checking her development even after the pediatrician felt she was progressing nicely. Even so, I never realized that I had been holding my metaphorical breath until the first time she took a standardized test. And I was blown away by the results.

The Saint swears she has reverse brain damage. She received national recognition for her score on the ACT test in 7th grade. Her standardized test scores are wildly above average for her age. And today, as we sat watching, our baby girl was named salutatorian of her 8th grade grade class. I think she is a miracle. I know, I know...I'm her mother and I am supposed to think that, but I really, really do think so. Not only have my worst fears not materialized, my wildest dreams for her are coming true. And I am so very, very thankful. And I'm proud, but not in a "look what I did" kind of way. Because I had nothing to do with this. We were given a gift, one we certainly did not deserve. In fact, I know other parents far more deserving of such a gift. There are no words to describe how blessed I feel to be chosen as this child's mother.

And here is the most important thing, despite the fact the Little Runner girl is being awarded for her intellect. In my heart of hearts, I always wanted my kids to be smart. I couldn't imagine it not mattering to me. But here is what I learned during those hours by the isolette, those hours of praying please, please, please just let her live I don't care if she can't ever walk, I don't care if she can never say Mama, just please, please, please don't take her from me. Nothing in the world will rearrange your priorities as quickly as not knowing whether your baby will live or die. I learned that none of the things I thought were important mattered. Smart or not, strong or not, good at school or struggling, running or never even walking...I loved her. I loved her then, I love her now and I will love her always, no matter what and completely beyond all reason. And I know that is easy for me to say from this side of that hill, but it truly is what is in my heart, the one I'm wearing on my sleeve.

Enjoy the children in your life, hug your babies if you can. They are all Miracles and Wonders.

Angel Kisses

2009-05-11T21:41:00.000-07:00

This is totally random and I have no clue what made me think of it...
Years ago, when I was teaching preschool in New Mexico, I had an aide named Virginia. Virginia was a sweet girl with tons and tons of freckles.(And considering that I probably have more freckles on one arm than most people have on their entire bodies, I know what tons of freckles means.) One day a little girl asked Virginia what she called "all those spots" and Virginia told her they were angel kisses. At nap the little girl asked me to kiss her hand. I did and she said "NO, Miss Angel! Make kisses on me like on Miss Virginia!"

Definition

2009-05-04T22:21:00.000-07:00

I've returned, my darlings. Did you miss me? No? Well, don't tell me. I need to hang on to my illusions.
So, the latest entry in my list of things I never expected to explain to an eleven year old boy:

While coloring Easter Eggs, Prince Charming dropped the same egg several times. Annoyed, he dropped the egg in a cup and said "This egg is such a douche bag!!!" Dead silence at the table, though I could tell my Daddy was about to have a stroke trying not to laugh. I said "Son, do you have any idea what a douche bag is?" "Ummm...no." So I explained (using the very accurate anatomical term hoo-hah) because I believe in being honest with my children. And because I knew it would be a long time before he used that word again after he knew what it meant.
Poor child!

Snack Time

2009-03-16T22:44:00.000-07:00

As I was getting snack ready for the aftercare kids today, some of the older classes were walking down the hall to the parking lot. I don't why, but the preschoolers love to watch them leave, like it's the Primary Wing Parade or something. They wave and comment like they're expecting the big kids to throw candy.
Anyway, the kids are hungry by that time of the day and have snack on the brain. Today, a big kid said "Bye, Mrs. ______" to one of the teachers in the hall. Italy turned toward me with the most delighted look on her face and asked "Is her name really Mrs. McSnack!?"
Hmmm....she is really sweet.

How Bizarre!

2009-03-13T22:26:00.000-07:00

I often say that my city has two degrees of separation instead of six and this week I had another of those moments. While taking attendance for track, I noticed a rather attractive man sitting in the bleachers. Grey hair, handsome face. He spoke to me and I turned to face him and Oh! My! Goodness! I knew this guy!
I was not kidding about the two degrees. My dad's best friend is distantly related to this guy. A friend of mine is his cousin. I was also vaguely aware that a girl on the track team was related to him, but I figured that was also a distant relationship. Ummm, no...this guy is her father. Her long absent, wild living, just moved back in with his mother father.
So? So. This guy also happens to be the title holder of My Worst Date Ever. Ever ever!

Once upon a time, I was a very silly fifteen year old girl and quite fond of Cute Boys. One day at church, my eyes wandered over to discover the cute grandson of a very prissy Church Lady. After church, he asked for my number and I was quite pleased to give it to him.
Our phone conversation that afternoon was slightly bizarre. As an adult, I can make the educated guess that he was probably stoned out of his mind. Even so, I agreed to go out with him for dinner "at a very nice restaurant".
My first memory of this date is the overwhelming, wretch inducing scent of Stetson. Dude had not only bathed in the stuff, he had apparently injected it directly into his blood stream. Ugh!
We headed for the "very nice restaurant" which turned out to be...Denny's. Or possibly IHOP. I don't actually remember, but I thought it was completely hilarious that he considered it a nice restaurant. Nothing wrong with Denny's or IHOP but they don't exactly scream romantic dinner to me.
At our table, Dude told the waitress I wouldn't need a menu. He ordered a salad for me because "that's what chicks eat". He ordered himself the pancake house version of a steak while I sat there in stunned silence. And then began a sight that has remained etched vividly into my memory for all of these years....
Dude had the most repulsive table manners I have ever seen in my life. To this day!!! I know, I know...you've seen some nasty manners. So have I. People, I eat lunch with 3-year olds at least four days a week. They could honestly have provided Dude with etiquette lessons. I have truly seen chimpanzees eat with better manners than this guy.
He wrapped one arm around his plate like he thought I'd steal it, hunched over like a caveman, held his fork like a shovel and proceeded to eat. And talk. Mouth wide open with food actually falling back onto his plate as well as SALIVA! And he grunted while he ate. GRUNTED! Like a hog at a trough.
It was absolutely so far beyond disgusting that words are inadequate. I did everything I could to avoid looking at him and ate absolutely nothing. And then Dude complimented me for not eating because "those anorexic chicks are sexy and you could stand to lose a few pounds". I may have weighed a whole 90 pounds at the time. Such a cow!
By this point, I had decided to feign bubonic plague or malaria or anything to get Dude to take me home already. Instead, he took me to his very nasty apartment "just for a minute" to meet his family. His family who did not actually live with him. Dude then informed me that he could tell I really wanted to be alone with him. He attempted to kiss me which I managed to avoid by sitting down rather quickly. Dude continued to blather on and on about himself. Suddenly he knelt down on one knee, said we were really great together and asked me to move in with him. Even better, I could drop out of school, get my GED and get a job waiting tables. At the ripe old age of 15! To make the offer extra sweet, he said I could live with him until I turned 18 and then we'd get married. Isn't that just every girl's fantasy?
My plague/malaria combination suddenly became urgently fatal so I walked outside and told him I really needed to go home. Immediately.
Dude drove me home, talking the entire time about our delightful future together. I made it to the front door in record time to avoid another kissing attempt, but he was right there with me. He grabbed my arm, leaned in to kiss me (so I thought) and LICKED me. Like some kind of mange infested dog. I so wish I was kidding.
And there you have it...my date with a complete nut job.
I intend to spend the rest of track season as far away from Dude as possible. And I'll be praying he has absolutely no recollection of me. Please! Please! Please!

Scenes from My Day

2009-02-05T21:00:00.000-08:00

Today in preschool: Curly Locks and London were sitting next to each other, quietly coloring. Curly Locks is occasionally a bit of a drama queen and is certain to inform everyone if the world is not going according to her plans. The peace was suddenly disrupted by Curly Locks wailing as if her heart had been ripped from her chest. I rushed over to see what tragedy had befallen her. She looked at me, devastation written on her face and said "London took my crayon!" Oh dear! The horror!
I tried to look very stern while asking London to return the crayon. London, who was quite indignant, informed me she never touched the crayon. At which point Curly Locks chimed in, still slightly pouty, and said "Well. Well, maybe she looked at it!"

And in the category of Only in Arkansas: My fellow Target shoppers this evening included a spiral permed, peroxide bleached hillbilly with incredibly dirty children and a minor '80s era movie star.

Release

2009-02-01T21:50:00.000-08:00

Under the category of Things I Never Thought I'd Do (a category which includes saying "No sword fighting in the house!" and explaining menstruation and not pestering your hormonal sister unless you want to die to a male child) comes signing model releases for my boy. Yes, he is adorable. Yes, his father takes wonderful, marketable photos. Yes, I enjoy the checks we receive from the sales of said photos. Even so, it's slightly bizarre to think of my boy as a "model". Just sayin'.

Unmatched

2009-01-28T21:54:00.000-08:00

One of my many, many quirks (obsessive toothbrushing, near psychotic aversion to drinking out of plastic or styrofoam, etc.) is the fact the I despise folding socks. I'll fold towels, sheets, sweaters, shirts...even underwear, but I hate folding socks. Fortunately, I am married to a very sweet man. The Saint doesn't mind folding socks, so he almost always does it. Whenever he comes across an unmatched sock, I tell him to toss it in the basket because surely the other one will show up eventually.
Anyway, over the last two days I have managed the near impossible task of getting all of the laundry in the house done. This evening, because my sweet husband built a wonderful, cozy fire for us, I folded all of the laundry including....The Socks! But then (cue the Twilight Zone music) I came across the basket of unmatched socks. An entire basket full of unmatched socks!
Oh! My! Goodness! How do we have so many unmatched socks? We have 59 unmatched socks (yes, I counted them 'cause I am just that kind of girl) pining away, missing their mates, in this basket.
Some of these socks are too small for my kids. I found one of my grandfather's special socks for diabetics. He lives in Texas now and I haven't done his laundry in at least a year. Some of these socks I don't recognize and have no clue how they got into my laundry. Maybe little Sock Goblins live in the washer and steal my socks and return other people's socks in their place.
Anyway, just thought you should know...I live in the Kingdom of Unmatched Socks. And I am The Queen!

Annoyance

2009-01-11T23:24:00.000-08:00

Let me just start by saying that I realize I don't have the world's most normal name. Most people couldn't care less about my name, some people think it is pretty and some people think it is horrid. I'm always a little bit surprised by the people who truly loathe my name. It's not like I'm named Beelzebub or Gonorrhea or something truly dreadful. Even so, love it or hate it, this is the name my parents gave me and I am rather fond of it.
I also understand when people occasionally get my name wrong by calling me Angie or Angela or something along those lines. It happens - no big deal. But! But, but, but.....I know a woman, quite well, who insists on calling me either Angie or Angela. (I must confess, in the interest of full disclosure, that I find this woman extremely annoying in general. And she is married to the sweetest man, bless his heart.) Now if this woman were someone I just met or someone I rarely see, I would understand. The thing is, I have known this woman for 8 or 9 years. She and her husband have been to my house many times. We have worked together on several projects. We see each other all the time. She knows my name, she just won't use it. This evening, after telling her for the third time in an hour that my name is not Angela, she said "Oh so what!? Who cares? You can call me whatever you want."
I'm considering Jocephus.

Just Wondering...

2009-01-11T23:23:00.000-08:00

Why do people say "good grief"? Is there some good part and I just haven't found it yet?

Happy New Year!

2009-01-06T22:58:00.000-08:00

I have to say that 2008 was not my favorite year. In fact, I can truly say that it was the worst year of my life to this point. I have hopes that this year will be much better and to start the year off, we had a wonderful evening with friends. Our friends Calendar Girl and the Friar had a Black Tie/Cheap Beer party. So, in the interest of new beginnings, I will attempt to do something new...add photos to this blog.

I think The Saint looks quite dashing in his tux! The tie is a special designer touch, don't you think? And aren't my fancy evening shoes gorgeous?

He Shoots! He Scores!

2009-01-06T22:55:00.000-08:00

Prince Charming made his first basket of the season tonight!!! The game went into double overtime before our team finally won!!!

Long Song

2008-12-31T00:07:00.000-08:00

An excerpt from Prince Charming's song in the car today, one in a lifelong series of car songs. The entire collection is only a small sample of the Prince Charming Comedy Network.
So, here it is......

My cousin has a chocolate mustache,
I bet it cost a lot of cash,
It looks pretty weird,
But not as weird as my beard,
Which is actually awesome,
Better than a possum,
Which are better than koala bears,
With all their crazy hairs.
Koala bears are cool,
Except for when they drool.
We'll never be apart,
Except for when they fart.

There was more, much more but I can't remember the rest. He also happened onto the one slang word he didn't know for his boy parts (rhymes with long, you can figure it out). My explanation of why he really didn't need to sing that particular word resulted in a very serious "Oh. Okay." Followed, of course, by the hysterical laughter I had been expecting.

Love

2008-12-29T23:48:00.000-08:00

I love Christmas. Well, any year but this year. I love the decorating, the shopping, the Advent candles and services, the preparations, the special goodies, the carols, the lights, the excitement and especially singing Silent Night in a candlelit church (which may be a Lutheran thing...hmmmm). This year, of course, was tough. Months ago, I realized that none of us could face Christmas here without Mama. I called my uncle, my mother's favorite brother, and invited ourselves to Texas. I am so, so glad we went.
We left town earlier than originally planned because I just could not stand a second more of being here without my Mama. The world felt completely skewed and I was uncomfortable in my own skin. So we made the long drive from a home that didn't feel at all like Christmas to my uncle's house, were Christmas was quietly waiting. My aunt and uncle had beautiful Christmas lights. They had Christmas music playing. They had a crackling fire, beautiful nativity sets, three trees, my grandfather sitting in an easy chair and tons of cookies. Most of these things were available here, and yet it didn't feel the same. Quaint or cliche as it may sound, there is much to be said for being sheltered in the arms of your family. It is so good to be loved. And it is love that makes all the difference.

Ouch!

2008-12-11T21:50:00.000-08:00

Last Saturday morning, Little Runner Girl's basketball team went up against one of the two most dreaded teams in our league. You may be wondering how tough an 8th grade girls basketball team can be. Well, here is a bit of trivia for you. Joe Kleine's daughter happens to be in 8th grade. As in used-to-play-for-the-Celtics, etc. Joe Kleine. And her Daddy just happens to be the coach. Needless to say, we lost and it was not pretty. I am proud to say that Little Runner Girl made 4 of our wonderful 6 points. Final score...24-6.
So what could be worse than playing against a team coached by a professional basketball player? The Dragons. These girls come from a small school in a not great part of town with a tiny run-down gym. These girls just slaughter us. These girls slaughter all the other teams in our league. I'm not sure what they feed these Dragons, but I wouldn't be surprised if it involved human sacrifice.
Final score...47-6.
Ouch!!!

December 4th

2008-12-04T00:11:00.000-08:00

My very , very first memory is of sitting on the textured taupe couch in our living room in Houston. My parents let me hold "my baby" in my lap. She grabbed my pinky with her tiny hand and grabbed my heart at the very same instant.
She was blonde haired, green eyed and the most ridiculously cute child on the planet. She was not the "Baby Bruvver" I ordered, but I am so glad I decided to keep her. I did ask my parents to take her back. Fortunately, babies come with a no return policy.
When we were little, I told her we bought her at K-Mart on a "blue light special" and if she was bad we would return her. I threw books into her playpen so she could "read". I taught her to write the letter K. When she wrote it on my table I begged our parents to not be angry. After all, she had written a real letter. It was an "accident" that she wrote it on the table. I taught her how to write her name in cursive, stick cheerios to the side of the bowl and climb trees. I learned to teach by experimenting on her.
She is a grown up banker now and a wife and a mommy, but she will always be my Baby Sister.
Happy Birthday BlondieCakes! I love you!

Plugged Up!

2008-12-02T22:59:00.000-08:00

I subbed for Yellow Rose's class this morning and forgot to plug in the Christmas tree lights in her room. About 2.6 seconds after he walked into the room, Big D came over eager to help and asked "Can I plug up the Christmas Tree?" I refrained from both laughing and making any of the
amusing replies that popped into my head. I just smiled and said "Go ahead, Honey".
It just occurred to me that I may be the only person to find this funny. Oh well.

The Playmobil Conspiracy!

2008-12-01T23:11:00.000-08:00

This evening I discovered yet another reason I am happy I had my kids while I was still in my twenties. Playmobil!
In case you don't know, Playmobil is a European company that makes wonderfully detailed, tiny little toys. There are entire Playmobil worlds of itty bitty fun. Pirates. Knights. Fairytale castles. Hospitals. Police stations. It really is cool stuff.
Anyway, my kids just loved Playmobil when they were younger. Prince Charming still plays with it occasionally. The thing with Playmobil is that somebody (meaning parents) has to assemble some of these tiny little items. The sets come with illustrated instructions which avoids the whole strangely translated English issue. So what does all this have to do with the timing of my procreation? I was still in my twenties when I first put together a Playmobil set. This was a much easier task than it is at 40, let me just tell you!
And why am I still putting together eentsy bits of Playmobil plastic?
I still get the kids a Playmobil Advent calendar every year. Yes, they are probablty too old for it, but it's tradition! Besides, Prince Charming still openly enjoys his (and, in fact, has reminded me every day this week that it was almost December 1st). Little Runner Girl would probably tell you she's too big for toys, but she still opens hers and sprawls in the floor arranging the little figures. Of course, I did have to resort to asking her for help putting her brother's things together today. That stuff was way easier to see when I was in my twenties. It's a conspiracy, I swear!!!

Giving Thanks

2008-11-30T21:03:00.000-08:00

Thanksgiving this year didn't feel like Thanksgiving. We were kindly invited to a gorgeous home, ate wonderful food and enjoyed good wine. It was a lovely afternoon and I am so glad we were not alone to face the vast emptiness of my Mama's empty chair. And I have so much for which I am thankful, no matter how unreal Thanksgiving felt this year.
I am thankful I had a wonderful Mama who was a true believer in Southern hospitality. Her door, her kitchen and her heart were always open to anyone in need of mothering. She fed, advised, nurtured and loved a remarkable number of my friends, my sister's friends, my Dad's friends and anyone else in need of somewhere to go or somebody to love them.
I am thankful I had a Mama that I loved but also truly liked. I am thankful she and my Daddy had such a happy marriage, thankful they were best friends as well as sweethearts. I am thankful for the love and understanding of so many friends who "get" that this year has not been easy. I am especially thankful for Prankster who is always there to make me laugh, listen to me cry, hug me, call me and sometimes even make me laugh and cry at the same time. I am thankful for my sweet husband who truly misses my Mama, too. I am thankful for my darling kiddos who say "Remember how Granny would ..." or "I'm really missing Granny today because...." or "Granny would really think that was funny". I am thankful my children and niece have such precious memories of a Granny who loved them like crazy. I am thankful I still have a sister and a Daddy to make this difficult journey with me. I am thankful that my sister understands crying over tupperware and other bizarre things. I am even thankful God allowed us to be the ones in need of somewhere to go this year. We are truly blessed.

Because There's No Such Thing as Too Much Butter!

2008-11-13T22:47:00.000-08:00

The presence of fresh cranberries at the store and my promise to make something for the LuHigh bake sale have given me an excuse to make this wonderful batch of buttery goodness.
It's delicious. It's scrumptious. It's completely worth the calories.
And if you even think about making this with margarine then you need to seriously consider getting professional help. And don't tell me about it because I may be unable to ever speak to you again. Also, I cannot be held responsible for the abomination that would result from using margarine.
So, here is the recipe for wonderful cranberry and butter goodness...

Cranberry Bars

2 eggs
1 cup sugar
1 cup flour
1/3 cup butter, melted
1 1/4 cups fresh cranberries

Preheat oven to 350. Generously butter (do not even consider using any nasty old Crisco!) an 8-inch baking pan. Beat eggs in a medium bowl until thick. Gradually add sugar, beating until thoroughly blended. Stir in flour and melted butter; blend well. Add cranberries, mixing gently just until combined. Spread evenly in pan. Bake for 40 to 45 minutes or until golden brown and a toothpick inserted into the center comes out clean. Cool and cut into bars.
And don't eat the whole pan by yourself.

No, I Don't Remember

2008-11-13T22:18:00.000-08:00

The Saint and I have a bit of an age gap between us. Occasionally we have completely different memories of past events because we were at different stages in our lives. Kelly had a post today that reminded me of something that happened when we were dating. The Saint watched entirely too much television as a child and he loved watching the show "Dark Shadows". He would reference this show sometimes or mention a character and I had no idea what he was talking about. He could not believe I didn't remember this show. In fact, he insisted I would remember if I just thought about it.

One day we were digging around in a used book store and came across an old entertainment magazine. The Saint showed me the cover excitedly and said "See! This show! Remember!" I looked at the date on the cover and pointed out, very sweetly, that it had been published the year before I was born.

Really dear, I swear I don't remember!

Well, Okay Then

2008-11-13T22:09:00.000-08:00

Yesterday I was sitting at the craft table helping Funnyface make a paper plate turkey. She looked at me and said "Mrs. H., do you have a baby in your tummy?" Thanks, kiddo. I just lost 6 pounds. I foolishly asked her why she thought I might have a baby in my tummy.
"Well, 'cause your boobies are pretty big." I nearly bit my tongue off trying to not die laughing.
And later, when I told this story to Prankster, she said "I think it's the sweater. I noticed they were looking big today."

Who Are You?

2008-11-11T23:59:00.000-08:00

I am incredibly lazy about getting my hair cut. Actually, I think part of my problem is that I like my hair somewhat long and every time I do go in to get a haircut I suffer a minor (or occasionally major)trauma. I probably average one haircut a year, maybe two. (This particular habit of mine used to drive my Mama batty.)
I think my last haircut was in May and I had gone at least a year without cutting it before that. My hair is long and pretty ratty looking right now so I tend to default to putting it up. I hadn't realized how often I was wearing my hair up until Tuesday. I left my hair down and when I got to school, I swear at least six preschoolers gave me a puzzled look and asked "What's your name?" Dollbaby even tilted her head and said "Are you sure?" when I told her. Long-haired Mrs. H. just blows their little minds.

Eavesdropping

2008-11-08T12:46:00.000-08:00

This is the exchange I overheard at preschool lunch yesterday....

Georgia: "Say e-drop."

Francie: "Eat-drop?"

Georgia: "No, e-drop. Eeeeee-drop."

Francie: "Eeee-top."

Georgia: "No! E-drop. Like when you e-drop on your sister. You sneaky around and hide in her room and then say Boo! at her. That's e-drop."

They crack me up!

Eeeeek!

2008-10-28T23:33:00.001-07:00

My friend Mad Scientist has gone back to school to get her Masters. She is teaching school, going to school and keeping her family running smoothly. I am so proud of her!!! But, the other day she said something that just freaked me out. We where taking a long drive for a field trip and chatting happily when she mentioned how much her kids miss having more of her time, especially her son Absent-Minded Professor.
Mad Scientist is almost finished with classes for this semester. She told me that her first weekend without homework, she plans to spend the whole day at home. "We'll stay in our pajamas and watch movies and not brush our teeth..." she said. Not brush teeth!?! Aaaaaagh!
We all have our little quirks and this just happens to be mine. I could go (and have gone) a couple of days without a shower. I could easily spend an entire week in my pajamas (okay, let me just be honest and say an entire lifetime). I could live without brushing my hair or wearing deodorant if I absolutley had to. But to not brush my teeth...I cannot begin to describe how deeply that thought disturbs me.
I have to go brush my teeth now.

Follow Me!

2008-10-27T22:15:00.000-07:00

Oh cool! I have followers. Only two, but still. I also have a little tag that says "manage". Followers I can mamage at the click of a button!? BwaaaaHaaaaHaaaa!

I need more followers!!! Follow me!!! BwaaHaa!

Sweet!!!

2008-10-27T21:28:00.001-07:00

I am a girl who enjoys nice things. However, I am also a girl of Swedish descent. This means that encoded in my DNA is a virulent form of frugality. Some people might go so far as to say I am cheap. I would beg to differ because I have relatives who would make the pre-visitation Ebenezer Scrooge seem positively wasteful.
I am careful about what I spend because it is the wise thing to do, especially these days. Also, saving money wherever I can means I have extra money for the things that cost more. Some things are just worth the money. (Girl trips with my BFFs - absolutely worth it!!!)
I have to confess that I get a ridiculous high from scoring a really wonderful bargain. I remember these for years. It's like a treasure hunting adventure for me. One of my all time best deals was paying $20 for an evening gown that was originally priced at $298. And it was a gorgeous dress! (The store was changing owners.)
So, this week I was at the Goodwill store looking for items for Prince Charming's Halloween costume. And just so you know...Halloween store gangster (not gangsta') costume -$39.99.
Goodwill store boys' pinstripe suit - $4. I always make a tour of the store because you never know what you will find. And there, at the end of the rack of ratty looking wool coats and pleather jackets, I saw it. A very cute leather jacket. It is gold and cut like a denim jacket. Classic and perfect for evening. And, because I make it my business to know these things, I can tell you that this particular jacket is from a private label collection available at Saks Fifth Avenue. The original price of this jacket would have been at least $300. I paid 8 bucks!!! Sweet!
Also, my mother will be haunting my dreams to reprimand me for revealing what I paid for stuff. She was Swedish and frugal, but also very Southern. Discussing what one paid for something is, and I quote, VULGAR.
But still...I totally scored!!!

Tragedy

2008-10-21T23:50:00.000-07:00

I broke my Crock Pot this evening. I dropped the lid and it hit the crockery part and broke it. None of the pieces got in the food, thank goodness! There was much weeping and nashing of teeth. I have an unnatural attachment to my Crock Pot, but it isn't quite as bad as this. I love her blog. I love what I have made using her recipes. I love that she tells how to make caramel apples using a Crock Pot. I especially love that she once used her Crock Pot to soak her feet.
Tomorrow, after I torture my children for their laundry infractions, I will be buying myself a new Crock Pot. I can't imagine life without one!

Justification

2008-10-21T21:25:00.000-07:00

Once upon a time, a long, long time ago, The Saint and I could do all of our laundry in one day. Then we had a child. This teeny, tiny 3 pound cherub easily tripled our laundry. Babies are deceptively yummy smelling. They are rather dirty little critters. So, of course, we had another baby. As our babies grew, so did the laundry. And to the regular laundry was eventually added volleyball uniforms, cheer uniforms, basketball uniforms, football uniforms (which are extremely dirty!) and cross country/track uniforms plus running clothes for training. And, in case you have never done a runner's laundry, let me just tell you that enough mud to create a new planet will end up plastered on the runner's socks, shorts and shirt. Muddy running clothes make football uniforms look pristine.
At this point in my life, I must do a minimum of three loads of laundry a day. If I do not, the laundry will eat the house. Last week I neglected the laundry and it was beginning to demand I set a place for it at the table, so I have been playing catch up all week. My darling children's role in all of this is to bring their clothes downstairs every morning. Yes, I realize I am cruel and unreasonable, but since they are bringing themselves downstairs I heartlessly expect them to bring clothes with them.
At about ten this evening I was seeing the light at the end of the tunnel. Three loads left! I went upstairs, looked at my precious sleeping boy and opened his closet to hang up some clean clothes. Guess what I found! Dirty clothes. A big, honkin' pile of dirty clothes. I snarled and growled and took the clothes to the laundry room. It then occurred to me that none my laundry this week had included Little Runner Girl's cheer uniform. Back upstairs to peek in her closet. Sure enough...she also had a giant pile of dirty clothes. Ggrrrrrrrr!
Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, my children had a total of seven (yes!!! freakin' seven!!!! no, I am absolutely not kidding and I have a large capacity washer and drier) loads of laundry stuffed in their closets. Half of it was probably clean clothes that they never put away. I do believe that in most states this is grounds for justifiable homicide.
P.S. In case you are a random lurker with no sense of humor, I am kidding about killing my children. But they are so grounded.

Just Call Me June

2008-10-20T22:42:00.000-07:00

As in Cleaver because I am totally posting about a cleaning product. I am completely infatuated with Mrs. Meyers Clean Day dish soap. I picked up a couple of free samples the other night and let me just tell you...this stuff smells really good. Clean, but in a completely unchemical way. I used the Basil today and will use the Lemon Verbena tomorrow. I can hardly wait to try some of the other stuff.

In Which I Reveal That I Am an Old Lady

2008-10-14T23:22:00.001-07:00

Today I went to Kroger for groceries - and let me just stop right here and confess that I do not actually say Kroger. I say Krogers because I am Southern and thus compelled to add S to the names of stores. Krogers. JC Penneys. Barnes and Nobles. I am happy to report that I do not say Walmarts. I'm not a complete hick!
Back to Krogers. Kroger. Whatever. Naturally, I get a brand new check-out chick. She can barely operate her register and is very busy flirting with the bag boy. Check-out chick starts ringing up my groceries and tossing them on the conveyor. I have no problem with her tossing boxes of pasta and cereal but then she tosses a bag of apples (which cost a ridiculous amount of money! Have you seen the price of apples lately!?) I ask her to please stop tossing the produce. She giggles, says "Oh, yeah, sorry" and literally drops the bag of tomatoes she is holding. They land with a splat. Bag boy thinks this is hilarious and puts them in my bag. I send Little Runner Girl to go get new apples and tomatoes. Bag boy starts loading stuff into the cart. He brilliantly puts bags of canned goods on top of the bag with the tomatoes and a bag with grapes. I talk to the twelve year old with Manager written on her name tag. She says "Y'all be careful" and goes about her business. Check-out chick and bag boy think this is the funniest thing ever. Grrr...
Call me an old fogey, but once upon a time checkers and baggers were trained in how to handle groceries properly. And they had some clue that their paychecks depended on customers.
Ah, the good old days...

Goodbye, Dawn Bicker

2008-10-14T18:20:00.000-07:00

I feel better having vented in a post about this woman. I still don't approve of her behavior, but a friend reminded me that stooping to her classless level isn't really the thing to do. My Mama would have said "Don't wallow in the mud with that pig".

Irrelevant Whining

2008-10-08T21:43:00.000-07:00

I'm sick. My head hurts, my throat hurts, my back hurts, my eyes hurt and my stupid nose is simultaneously running and stopped up. Bleeeehhhhhh!

Eeeeeeewwww!

2008-09-27T22:39:00.000-07:00

Yesterday I walked into the house and discovered Prince Charming's cup on the kitchen counter. And I do not mean a drinking cup!!! That nasty thing is worn all week to football practice and every weekend to football games. Bleh! And when I asked him why on earth it was on the counter, he responded with the only-logical-to-him answer of "Well, it was on the floor".
Boys have cooties!!! My son included!

Holy Cow!!!

2008-09-24T20:26:00.000-07:00

No, I am not describing myself in the title, but I might as well be. After nearly suffering heart failure from the number on my scale earlier this week, I zipped (barely) myself into my too snug teacher skirt and waddled off to school. About twenty minutes later, Prankster came in and said "I'm going to join Weight Watchers. This week! Do you want to go with me?" Well of course I do!!! It is either that or wire my jaws shut.
So, our first meeting was tonight. Hello, I weigh 4.8 pounds less than I did when I gave birth to Little Runner Girl. And my scale at home? The one that nearly caused my coronary? It is such a liar! Oh my stars and garters!!!!! No wonder none of my clothes fit me!
Oh, and my favorite thing to eat at Taco Bell (Nachos Bell Grande) is actually one point more than I should be eating for the whole day!!!! Aaaaaaggghhh!
The leader chick also chose to use a Snickers bar as an example, at which point Prankster smacked my leg and said "See! I told you those are bad!"
So, armed with determination, recipes and points books we headed out to the parking lot. And decided the day was over anyway, so we might as well make one last trip to Taco Bell. Aren't we just the queens of willpower?
P.S. Don't tell Prankster, but I also had a Snickers bar after dinner. I'm not feeling guilty about it because I would bet my tootbrush she had vodka for dessert.

Rewind

2008-09-22T23:18:00.000-07:00

We finally made it to Boston. Our first experience with the city was a psychopathic cabbie who was quite upset that Suze would dare touch his buttons. I believe his name was DoNotBeTouchingMyButtonsIDoNotLikePeopleAlwaysTouchingButtonsDoNotTouchMyButtons.
After I did not tip him and told him, with typical Southern understatement, that he was "quite unpleasant", we went to our wonderful room. With two bathrooms!!! OK, the showers were almost exactly the size of a Barbie Dream House shower, but there were two bathrooms!!! The three of us have shared many, many bathrooms, but we have never had the luxury of two. Suze and Prankster took one bathroom. My bags and I took the other. I think this says something about me. Suze is thinking it says "See! You have too many #$@& bags!".
We had a truly wonderful meal at Legal Seafood. My appetizer was an absolutely divine lobster bisque. Our whole meal was fabulous. And, because I have no shame, I told every single person in Boston that we were celebrating my birthday. Our very sweet waitress brought me cake. And the staff sang to me. Like a spoiled six year old. I love being treated like a spoiled six year old.
After dinner we took our stuffed selves wandering around aimlessly. What a cool city! Modernity and history all in one remarkable package.
We ended the evening at the coolest Irish pub. I want to live there. In the pub. Which may not be practical for daily life.
Can I rewind and relive our weekend? No? 'Cause I am ready to go back to Boston right now!

Blah! Blah! Blah!

2008-09-19T11:25:00.000-07:00

Fair warning: much of what I find uproariously funny when traveling with Suze and Prankster doesn't seem funny to others. We tend to have hours of "you had to be there" moments. We once spent at least 45 minutes in a hotel room bed laughing and joking about a place called The Chicken Hut. My face and stomach seriously hurt from laughing so hard, but when I tried to explain to The Saint what was so hilarious, his eyes glazed over and he gave me the my-wife-may-need-a mental-health-professional look.
Our Boston adventure began with a minor miracle. I was early! Early!!! Prankster constantly promises "I will leave your ass!" because I am never on time. She's never left me though, 'cause she loves me. I should stop telling people that or she really will leave me sometime.
Prankster is terrified of flying and getting her on a plane requires some self medication. The first thing I saw when the car door opened was Prankster's grin. "I just had a tequila shot!" she said proudly. It was 5:30. In the morning. Just so you know.
After the lovely barefoot bag search involved in getting on a plane these days (And whoever thinks I can travel with all of my cosmetics packed into a quart bag is just insane. Some girls can get by with very few cosmetics. I am not one of those girls.) we settled in to wait for boarding and were soon visited by The Spirit of Obnoxious Attention Seekers. We were treated to the delightful self-involved chatter of The Loudest Woman on the Planet. So was everyone else on the plane. Everyone on the flight quickly learned how much the rental company wanted to charge her group for a car, where she worked, how much her dad's car cost, how much her mom's car cost, what shoes she would love to buy, the Tiffany ring she would like to have, the cost of the ring her father just bought her mom, the fact that her father flies coach so she and her mom can fly first class, where some random guy that might be worth dating lives, her plans for the entire weekend, where she would be eating dinner in Boston, etc., etc., etc. She was completely oblivious to the glares of the passengers in the surrounding aisles.
In an effort to shut out the screeching and (to be completely honest) because we could, we ordered cocktails the minute the flight attendant asked. In Atlanta, we had a little time before our next flight so we had some lunch and another drink. And missed our flight! OK, the plane was actually still at the gate, but they had already closed the door. Suze did a magnificent job of booking us on another flight. To pass the time we decided to visit the airport bar. We were quite merry by the time we made the plane to Boston. And we all had a good nap on the way.
And I will have to comtinue this story later because I do have a few actual responsibilities in real life. Bleh!

Sad

2008-09-19T00:16:00.000-07:00

I am really missing my Mama today. I've been sorting through some of her fabric and sewing things, coming across unfinished projects. This coming Saturday would have been her 64th birthday.
I want my Mommy :(

Excuses, Excuses

2008-09-17T22:03:00.000-07:00

Yeah, yeah, I know. I still haven't written about our Boston adventure. I have excellent reasons for my procrastination. Really I do. Hmmmm...that could be the title of my autobiography... "I Have Excellent Reasons for My Procrastination". Only it would never be published because I wouldn't get around to submitting it. Where was I going with this?
Oh, yeah! Excuses. I need to find out how to get the photos off my camera and onto here and how to do that cool little link thing to my friend Suze's blog. The fact that the Saint gets paid for both designing software and taking pictures does not mean I know anything about either computers or cameras. And asking him will result in a three hour tutorial on the 57 possible ways I could accomplish both of those tasks and an artistic critique of my slightly (Ha!) under the influence photography.
Also, I have returned to the volleyball, cheer, football, scouts, cotillion cycle. And my uncle made a quick run through town. And big old honkin' Ike huffed and puffed. And Little Runner Girl broke up with her boyfriend because "There are just sooooo many cute boys!" but she was still a little sad. And now she has a cold or some such fever, cough, icky nose thing. And I've been busy.
See! I have plenty of excuses!!!
I almost forgot to tell y'all that all of my loved ones in Texas are safe and sound. No catastrophic property damage, no injuries, and some of them got power back on today! Hurray!!!

Texas Hurricane

2008-09-11T21:02:00.000-07:00

Brazoria County, Texas is the county of my birth. It also happens to be home to more than twenty members of my extended family. Some of my family members have gone to Houston, but that may not be far enough. And, as of today, some of my family members have made the choice to shelter in place. I am hoping they will obey the mandatory evacuation order I just saw, but I haven't talked to anyone since about 6:30 this evening. Needless to say, I am having myself a little freak-out. It is my opinion that I have suffered quite enough loss and grief this year, but it is possible that God has different plans. Please pray for my loved ones, that they will all make it through this storm unharmed. Please pray especially for my great uncle Ken in Houston, who is blind and quite frail. Also say a special prayer for my cousin Julie who is an ICU nurse in Houston.
Thanks y'all.

Chicken Floorentine

2008-09-10T21:46:00.000-07:00

So, a typical day in my life involves getting three different children to three different practices and then sometimes to three different sporting events. Fortunately, the girls have some practices together. (My niece Esmeralda is my virtual 3rd child.) (I would also like to take this opportunity to point out the fact that this entire post would have caused my 11th grade English teacher to break out in hives. And then fall to the floor in convulsions. And then die. And then come back to life and eat my head.) Ummmm....did I have a point to this post?
Oh, yeah. Because I do not want my children to eat fast food and/or concession stand garbage every single day of their lives, I asked my Daddy to get me a Pyrex Portables thingy for my birthday. Actually, I called him from Target and said "You're getting me a Pyrex Portables thingy for my birthday" and he said "Get what you want and I'll write you a check". My Mama always did the gift buying. OK, no crying while typing allowed.
Anyway, today I made Chicken Florentine in my lovely new Pyrex to take to Prince Charming's football game. It smelled amazing. I was quite pleased with myself. That is, until I tried to take the Chicken Florentine out of the oven. The potholder slipped or something and...you guessed it...Chicken Floorentine. And Chicken Door of the Oventine. I was not a happy girl. I said a word (or two) that made Prince Charming give me his I-am-pretending-my-mother-does-not-curse look. I am happy to report that I did not break the dish. I did, sadly, have to clean up the big honkin' mess. My only other option would have been letting my cats clean it up. Resulting, obviously, in an even bigger mess.
Now that I have bored you into a comatose state, I feel much better. Tomorrow, Tales from Boston. I haven't recovered enough to fully report yet.

I'm Outta Here!

2008-09-03T22:13:00.000-07:00

In less than seven hours I'll be on my way to Boston. And, since procrastination is my superpower, I still have exactly zero items in my suitcase. No, I am not kidding.
Honestly, I have nothing to wear. At least, I have nothing to wear that fits. So I am taking some tight but still zippable (ooh, look at that pretty non-word) clothes. None of them will zip by the end of the weekend, I'm sure. I'll be flying home wearing hotel sheets.
Anyway, I wanted to let my enormous collection of readers know where I'll be. Oh wait! There are only three of you and two of you will be with me in Boston. Well, never mind!

Club

2008-08-28T21:49:00.000-07:00

One of the many amusing things about Little Runner Girl is her long list of food quirks. She eats multicolored foods (M&Ms, Skittles) by color, in the same order every time. She loves dried apricots, but only if they are cut into tiny pieces. She loves Swiss cheese, unless it is shredded. She will only eat perfectly smooth varieties of yogurt. She doesn't like any kind of condiment, including salad dressing, barbecue sauce and gravy. She likes almonds, but only if they are slivered. She prefers to eat her pasta and her sauce seperately. She used to take all the Crunches out of Crunch bars and eat them last until I cleaned up one too many slightly used Crunch pieces.
For dinner tonight she had one of her very favorite meals...a Sonic Chicken Toaster Club. With no cheese. No mayo. No tomato. And when she gets this lovely, dry, bread, bacon and chicken creation, she always opens it, takes off half of the lettuce, rearranges the bacon, and peals the crust from the bread. She eats the sandwich and then eats the crust. And then she sometimes eats the extra lettuce.
My girl cracks me up!

Are you kidding me?!?

2008-08-27T23:46:00.000-07:00

My last post reminded me of something that really irritated me yesterday. Let me preface this tale by saying that the mother of one of Prince Charming's classmates ( I call her Clownfish) irritates the you-know-what out of me. (And many of the other moms.) She wears ridiculously cutesy outfits that would look darling on somebody's Barbie. She talks exactly like a three year old girl, only with excessive dramatic pauses. She constantly has her extremely skinny lips pouted out in what she apparently thinks is a sexy look and reapplies lip gloss so frequently she must use a tube a day. She bears a startling resemblance to a drooling fish. A really tall drooling fish.
The cherry on top of this delightful package is her habit of flirting constantly with other people's husbands. Once, during a basketball game, she grabbed one of the Dads' so high on his thigh she could have peformed a prostate exam for him. The look on his face was priceless!
Obviously, I am not fond of this woman, but last night she just really pissed me off. As I stood talking to Little Runner Girl's algebra teacher, Clownfish sauntered over, said "Hi" and PATTED ME ON THE HEAD!!! WTF!!! Does she think I'm a puppy? I realize I am short, but Oh My Goodness Gracious! Does she really think it is normal to pat another adult on the head!?
On the other hand, she was wanting to talk to the math teacher, who just happens to be even shorter than I. Way to go impressing the teacher, moron!

Sprout

2008-08-27T23:36:00.000-07:00

She came into the world measuring a whole 16 inches long. She didn't even make it onto the growth chart until sometime after her 3rd birthday. But now? Now my Little Runner Girl is officially an inch taller than her Mama. Of course, the fact that she is only 5'3" doesn't exactly suggest a future in the WNBA.
I don't care how tall she is, she will always be my little sugar baby.

Heat

2008-08-05T01:17:00.000-07:00

I swear to you it is twenty billion degrees outside! Really! I am not kidding!
Ok, maybe I am kidding a little bit, but only by about three degrees. I am one of those people who is almost always cold, but this heat is just insane. As my friend Suze is wont to say "You can only get so naked."
I used to know a woman who lived in a terribly cold climate. Summers were lovely, but she paid fpr them with endless months of winters beyond my comprehension. And somewhere in the midst of winter, every year, she reached her breaking point. A terrible deppression sets in and is only relieved by a change in the weather. It is the same for me, only with reversed seasons. I live in the Beautiful South and it truly is beautiful most of the year. But, at some point every summer, it gets so hot and humid that no words can begin to describe it. Normally pleasant and polite people become rabid dogs. Nobody goes outside, lest they swoon. The lovely plants on my porch have become heat parched skeletons. One goes from air-conditioned home to air-conditioned car to ridiculously warm swimming pool.
Bleh, heat! Please let me fast forward to October!

Prince Charming

2008-07-28T21:24:00.000-07:00

He has laughing eyes the color of melted chocolate. He has a tiny freckle at each corner of his mouth and one at the bow of his lips. His left cheek has the tiniest, most precious dimple on the planet. He is the class clown and also the class brain. He has a smile that stops my heart in its tracks. He is tenderhearted, compassionate and insanely charming. He still loves it when I call him Little Brown Bear, even in public.

When I was teenager, I wrote out a plan for my life...a plan that included only daughters. Eleven years ago today, I was blessed with a son.

He is not what I had planned. He is everything I ever wanted.

Happy Birthday Prince Charming!

Privacy!

2008-07-16T14:45:00.000-07:00

My family and I are in the midst of our annual visit to the desert. YeeHaw. And why are we spending two weeks in the desert in the middle of July? Because all the rooms in Hell were booked.
Actually, we are visiting my in-laws. For two weeks. Yeah, I know. More on that later.
Needless to say, at some point one desires a bit of privacy. Also, nature does occasionally call, requiring a trip to the bathroom. When my children were small, I made peace with the fact that I could never use the bathroom without little people in attendance, wiggling fingers under the door, asking "Can I hab a dwink?" or wanting to come in for a chat. I was okay with that but, My Goodness Gracious!, why oh why can they not give me five minutes now?
I swear to you my children hardly spoke to me this morning until I was in the bathroom. Naturally, this bathroom is in the hallway of my in-laws house, opening directly across from the entrance most frequently used by everyone in the universe including the very loud and nosy neighbor from New Jersey who thinks showing up before breakfast is perfectly normal. Grrr!!!
Where was I? Oh yes, the bathroom. I could not have been in there more than 30 seconds before Little Runner Girl knocked on the door.
"Mama?"
"What?"
"Can I come in?"
"What do you want?"
Little Runner Girl opens the door and stands there WITH IT OPEN and asks
"What are you doing?" Ummmm, okay.
"Could you close the door, please!?"
She closes the door and asks "Why are you getting annoyed with me?"
"Did you need something?"
"Yeah, do you know where my other swimsuit is?"
"In your suitcase?"
At this point Prince Charming knocks on the door and says
"Mama?"
"What?"
"Can I come in?"
At the same time Little Runner girl is saying "I already looked."
"Son, what do you need? Honey, what is wrong with the swimsuit in your hand?"
Prince Charming opens the door. Apparently my children believe I want audience.
"Son, close the door! Sweet Pea, those bathing suits are almost identical. Just get dressed."
Prince Charming comes in and closes the door. There are now three people crammed into a very small mid 1970's bathroom.
Prince Charming asks "What are you doing?" I think my children missed something during potty training. How many possibilties are there for what a person does while sitting on a toilet?
"Where's your purse?"
"I don't know."
"But I packed the other one, I know." "I need to get my Webkinz thing out of your purse."
"Get dressed or go look for your other suit. Son, go look for my purse if you need it. Get out of here and give me five minutes to myself."
"But I need your purse." "But I don't want to wear this one."
"My purse is not in this bathroom. Go naked, put on that suit or find the other one. Get out of here!"
"Can I get on the computer?" "What are we doing tomorrow?"
"These are not emergencies! OUT!"
These children will be 11 and 14 in less than a month. I swear to goodness they'll be driving back from college just so they can stand in the bathroom asking me questions!
Aaaaaagh!
(And yes, I did forget to lock the door. Brilliant!)

Baby Come Back

2008-07-10T22:10:00.000-07:00

Prince Charming has been away at camp this week and I am so ready for my boy to be home. I will admit that the first few days without the chaos that is almost-11-year-old-boy were rather relaxing. Now, the house just seems eerily quiet and strangely odor free. Little Runner Girl said "It's too quiet. There haven't been any enormous crashing noises from upstairs all week".
I am ready for my baby to come home. (And yes, he is still my baby!)

Brett Favre and Me

2008-07-02T21:18:00.000-07:00

Let me just start by saying that I have virtually no interest in professional sports. As a result, I was not really paying attention this evening when Prince Charming started discussing rumors that Brett Favre would like to come out of retirement. I had a vague idea that Brett Favre was maybe a football player, but I wasn't entirely sure. I was trying to be a good Mama and ask reasonably intelligent questions of my boy babbling on about a topic that completely bores me.
I asked why Brett Favre retired and this was my sweet boy's response... "Oh my gosh, Mama! He is reeeaaally old!" And to my query of how old really old might be..."Like, 38 or something." Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I am actually a year older than "really old".
I am considering changing Prince Charming's name to Prince Stinker.

Idiot

2008-07-01T22:36:00.000-07:00

I think I tend to be a fairly optimistic person. I try to find the good in any situation, but I am fairly certain I will not look back on this year as one of the best in my life. The latest I-cannot-believe-this-is-happening thing to happen is the death of my friend Songstress. She was a beautiful 40 year old mother of two who went toe to to with cancer. Sadly, the cancer won.
Her biggest concern during this long ordeal was what would happen to her children if she did die. Her husband spent years raising those children with her, loving and protecting them the way a father should. Her fabulous ex-husband, The Idiot, told her he would take the kids the minute she died. This lovely man moved away from his children and back to his hometown of Cooter Sweat, Louisiana because "my kids didn't call me on my birthday or Christmas". Said kids were 3 and 6 at the time. Ummmm.....yeah.
I do also have a selfish motive for wanting those kids to stay here. Songstress was the mother of Little Runner Girl's best friend Twin. Yes, I am sad that my daughter's best friend is moving to a place where people cannot spell their own names. But I am mostly astonished that anyone could possibly think that it is in the best interest of these children to bury their mother on Friday and move them out of state on Saturday. The Idiot didn't even bother to take any of their things with them except the clothes they had packed to sleep over while their mom was in the hospital. He'll come back for the rest of their things "when it is more convenient". I wouldn't want The Idiot to inconvenience himself.
I am furious and I am heartbroken.

Critter

2008-06-15T00:39:00.000-07:00

In our home, critters outnumber people. We have a darling, very curious bunny named Baby. We have four (no, I am not kidding!) tree frogs named Carlos the 2nd, Chocolate and...ummm....
Tiny? Lime? Hopper? Honestly, I lost track several frogs ago. We also have a continually changing cast of crickets with which to feed the frogs. (And no, I do not wish to receive email from the Cricket Liberation Front or Crickets Against Tree Frogs or any other such organization. But thank you for your concern.)
Rounding out our menagerie are two rather grumpy old ladies, cleverly disguised as 17 year old cats. If you have never lived with old women, or old cats, let me just tell you...they are very fond of complaining. And Thou Shalt Not Change the Routine. Ever. Never, never, ever!
We have also provided temporary shelter for a wounded bird, a wild baby bunny, a skink, several toads, a hamster, a colony (or whatever you call it) of lady bugs, a goldfish and some other reptilian (amphibian?) creature. (I have no idea what it is called, but I am sure my son could give you its biography, resume and social security number.)
As you may have guessed, all of these animals mean more work for Mama. I frequently proclaim that there will be no more living things inhabiting my house until something dies. Apparently, God does not agree. This morning my daughter, Little Runner Girl, came to my husband, The Saint, and said "Daddy, there is a weird scratching noise in my ceiling".
Yes, there is something scratching, and also chewing, in the ceiling above her dormer window. An inspection of the attic and roof did not reveal the entrance to the critter's new apartment. And, of course, a call to the professionals resulted in "We'll be out some time next week". Goodness. Thanks so much! So until next week, we have another critter. With my luck, it will be the thing that dies.

Why On Earth Am I Writing a Blog?

2008-06-12T23:46:00.000-07:00

1. So I can lure y'all into my Cult of Obsessive Toothbrushing.
2. Because the daily adventures of a middle-aged, suburban housewife are simply riveting.
3. To further mortify my teenager.
4. Because I was running out of reasons to ignore my housework.
5. And my laundry.
6. Also, I want a place to commit crimes against proper sentence structure. And grammar. And punctuation.
7. My head is full of useless information and I need somewhere to store my thoughts.
8. I'll never have to tell a blog to chew with its mouth closed, brush its teeth, get its shoes out of the living room floor, bring me its dirty clothes or get its junk out of the car.
9. All the cool kids are doing it.
10. Okay, all the cool kids except my friend Prankster. This will really annoy her. BwaaaHaaaHaaa!