Stolen from the Usual Suspects
Accent: I have an annoying habit of mimicing accents wherever I am. I lived in many different places as a child. You blend in fast if you talk like your peer group. I still do it. I have zero accent at home. Bor-Ing Bland NoWhere American.
Booze: No booze.
Chore I Hate: Vacuuming all the stairs in this house.
Dog or Cat: Neither. We cohabit with a beautiful, sweet Flemish Giant Rabbit.
Essential Electronics: Laptop.
Favorite Perfume: 'Coco' Chanel
Gold or Silver: Platinum. Looks like stainless steel.
Hometown: Nirvanaville, Colorado
Insomnia: Never.
Job Title: Hunter and Gatherer.
Kids: Two.
Living arrangements: Too much house, not enough time & money.
Most admirable traits: 'Brilliant and hilarious conversationalist, with a working knowledge of almost everything except home theatres'. Couldn't say it better than Joke, but I can't run our home theatre, so I can't claim knowledge about that. Or string theory.
Number of sexual partners: More than a few, less than many.
Overnight hospital stays: Let's see; tonsils, parotid gland removal, myomectomy, thyroid removal, 2 for Morton's Neuromas, I know I'm forgetting something.
Phobias: Vertigo. Just like the Hitchcock movie.
Quote: 'Remember, no matter where you go, there you are.' Buckaroo Bonzai
Religion: None.
Siblings: Two lovely. well adjusted sisters.
Time I wake up: Before 7, no matter what.
Unusual talent or skill: Giving speeches with no notes, no preparation.
Vegetables I love: Most. But ix-nay on okra, rutabega, lima beans. Overcooked anything.
Worst habit: Impatience.
X-rays: Zillions. I probably glow. Dental, mammograms, lungs, bones, now I'm worried.
Yummy foods I make: Baked goods. Italian. Mexican. French. I went to chef school, dammit!
Zodiac sign: Libra. I may be fair, but I can be mean about it.
Saturday, April 29, 2006
Fund Raisers Can be Fun, yes indeedy.
My parents are avid supporters of a private school in our area. So avid, in fact, that they buy a table for the annual capital fund drive. Do they stop there? Spending only 4-digit sums of our inheritance? NO! They joyfully fling amazing amounts of me and my siblings' retirement money! Which is even more amazing if you knew these 2 wonderful people. They live a frugal and low-key life.
But last night. NO! Not frugal at all!
My sister and I voted to leave our spouses at home this year. The men? They always bid on weird stuff and end up winning their auctions. And hiss and give other signs of extreme discomfort when our obviously well-chosen and necessary item auction's bidding gets a bit too high, in their opinions. So, seester and I made the obvious decision to leave the pesky spouses at home. Except that, well, we arrived too late at the function to actually do any bidding! Foiled, again! And actually arrived too late to get our bidding paddles, which forced us to use our parents, much to their dismay. In fact, we got there so late, our dear Daddy and the Chairman of the Board were waiting for us and unceremoniously hauled us in, with no time for practicing the social grace of actually stopping to chat with any of the various friends we whizzed by, and plunked us at opposite sides of the table. "But, but... Nobody is actually sitting yet..." I stammered, looking up in amazement at the Big Cahuna. Did I mention that I am GodMother to this man's children? That I actually was instrumental in getting this man's children into the school in the first place? That they owe me, big time?
Suddenly everyone sits down. The seating arrangement makes sense! I am seated next to one of my best friends in the world, the Big Cahuna's wife. Mother to my GodChildren. We can't wait to start visiting. But first? I must admire her exquisite outfit! It's a skirt that amazes me with it's fit, quality of design and material. Where has she found such a thing? "Kentucky!" she gushes and I almost fall out of my chair. Her lace top with sexy, fitted underblouse that shows off her cleavage in an understated, appropriate kind of way, is equally admirable. Then we have to discuss my ensemble; a Mi Sook suit, with a beaded silk tank underneath. That I meant to tailor to make my bosom less prominent, but... instead? I spend the evening tugging it back. This week, I will take the shoulders up by 1". It will then be perfect! It's a gorgeous, fitted, pleated, darted thing. A lucky find. But not as wonderful as her outfit.
Another couple is seated at our table. They have 3 young children and an extremely successful business. Their presence at our table is not by accident; my father and the Big Cahuna have arranged the seating to have their ears, so to speak. And now the placement of my sister and I become crystal clear; they have seated my beautiful, elegant, eloquent and calm sister between the gentlemen and my father; my father is a bit deaf and she will softly translate into his ear. The Cahuna is seated next to the wife half of the power couple, and asks and answers questions. Me? I am seated where I can be the least problem - I am a known dessert-stealer and prankster at these events. I can see eyes sliding my way, waiting for something to fly up in the air or explode tableside. I swear, I do not plan these things. I think someone rigs the table. There are pratfalls, fires, exploding balloons that fly to neighboring tables causing screams and overturned glasses. This year? There was the collapsing guest at the neighboring table. I yelp for cold water and oxygen. The auctioneer yodels for "A Doctor In The House?!" over the sound system. 10 doctors rush up - they turn away the fellow with the PhD in English Literature. (Okay, bad joke) The O2 and paramedics arrive. The very embarrassed patron is carried out to applause. In my zeal to get our chairs back, I have managed to take a chair from a neighboring table. The chair-missing portly person reaches back while starting to sit down, and nearly throws her back out while contorting to straighten back up or plunk unceremoniously down on the floor. The Cahuna gets a chair under her rump, just in time. Scraping the tops of his shoes in his zealous process. I am horrified. How do these things happen? He gives me a punch on my arm, very un-Chauna-like. I punch him back, and we start a sissy-slapping war. My mother hisses at us from across the table, and we freeze. The auction has started back up, order is returned.
The bidding on the 8 or 10 Big Ticket Items begins. It is getting really late and my stomach is starting to go from a polite growl to a fierce yowling. I start in on the bread, which starts a feeding frenzy at our table. I swear we would have gnawed at the butter balls, but we ran out. The bidding starts out modestly, then accelerates. My parents bid on a few things, lose. My mother decided that she was going to win on one thing, and she did. My father was talking to my sister and said "Huh-what?!" when someone turned and congratulated him on their win. He made a move for the paddle, but my mother is much too fast for him. I notice that the paddle remained under her control for the evening. My dear friend insisted it was to whack either me or her husband with the next display of ADD behavior, "Remember the Knick, Knack Paddle Whack you got 3 years ago?" Ah, yes.
But the funniest thing? Guests are confused as to who belongs to whom. I am seated by Cahuna; they assume we are married and ask about our children. I quickly pat Mrs. Cahuna and say "This is wife to This one" (patting Cahuna) "Me and That one?" (Pointing to my sister across the table) "We are Gay Partners." The Guests faces freeze in Whatthefuck Land. Wife Guest attempts to look encouraging and nod. My Dear Friend, Mrs. Cahuna, yelps "Stop that!" at the same time the entire table breaks into vehement denial or exclamations of sisterhood. Which makes Guest couple go "Ah!" with even more confused faces. My mother says "Oh, That One is BAD!" (pointing to me) "And she is MINE. Yes my daughter. Along with that One (pointing to my sister) Who is GOOD." Guest show me their teeth with smiles, but their eyes? Still a bit concerned. So I tell them "Yes, it's true. We are sisters. And we are here to keep track of our inheritance! You see; Them? (pointing at my parents) They are spending our inheritance. We at least want to come and get a meal out of it." Which makes my mother throw up her hands in exasperation and my father burst our laughing. The Cahunas are roaring with laughter. The Guests joint them nervously at first, then thoroughly. I get a Raised Eyebrow from my mother.
Then comes a blue-sky item; a teacher-spending-time-with-student item. Serious bidding starts. Really Serious. Cahuna whispers to the beautiful young mother sitting next to him. She smiles. Whispers to her husband. His paddle is raised often, his posture intense. The bidding goes higher. The room gets quiet. The teachers are wildly ecstatic on the stage. The ballroom explodes with cheering. The bidding war escalates. Our table is the center of the universe. Suddenly, silence. 2 last bids. The beautiful young mother places her hand on her husband's arm and nods. He bids. One. Last. Time. The amount is astonishing. Our mouths are agape. The husband wins! The crowd explodes! Teachers are screaming and hugging each other on stage. The beautiful young mother runs to the stage and the teachers surround her, hugging her. Her tears of joy make her husband the proudest man in the universe. I stand up, tell him "Well Done! Well Done." He smiles, embarrassed. Our entire table stands and applauds his generosity. Then the entire room stands. His wife runs back to the table and hugs him, then gently kisses him. It was a Powerful Thing they have just experienced. I laugh, having witnessed this before. The pure joy that generosity brings. And they have young children! Many years to experience such joy.
Then the dinners arrive. Okay fare, held too long due to the medical emergency. No one complains. Then, one last opportunity to contribute to the capital fund. A dear friend of my parents is retiring from the School. The film of her life of service to the school brings many tears. My mother honors her with a bid. Others match. The bids are amazing in their amounts and frequency. She cries in unabashed emotion. It was a very sweet moment.
Then dessert arrives. Cahuna is circulating in the room, thanking the guests for their amazing generosity. His absence is taken immediate advantage of; I exchange our desserts. The generous couple's jaws drop in amazement as I also distract my dear friend The Cahuna's Wife and rob her of a portion of dessert. My sister and I then exchange bits of my father's dessert as he has foolishly left the table to circulate, leaving his dessert unprotected. My mother begs us to leave him some chocolate; we plop a good portion back on, garnish it with a generous portion of fruit, and then give up a bit more of the luscious dark chocolate banner, to boot. Cahuna and Father arrive back to the table. And sigh. It happens every year. They never learn.
This event is my parents opportunity to shine. And I wouldn't miss seeing their joy for the world. And the couple at our table? We shook hands, smooched and the husband said "Maybe we'll sit at a different table next year..." and Cahuna muttered in my ear, very quietly, "I don't think so..."
But last night. NO! Not frugal at all!
My sister and I voted to leave our spouses at home this year. The men? They always bid on weird stuff and end up winning their auctions. And hiss and give other signs of extreme discomfort when our obviously well-chosen and necessary item auction's bidding gets a bit too high, in their opinions. So, seester and I made the obvious decision to leave the pesky spouses at home. Except that, well, we arrived too late at the function to actually do any bidding! Foiled, again! And actually arrived too late to get our bidding paddles, which forced us to use our parents, much to their dismay. In fact, we got there so late, our dear Daddy and the Chairman of the Board were waiting for us and unceremoniously hauled us in, with no time for practicing the social grace of actually stopping to chat with any of the various friends we whizzed by, and plunked us at opposite sides of the table. "But, but... Nobody is actually sitting yet..." I stammered, looking up in amazement at the Big Cahuna. Did I mention that I am GodMother to this man's children? That I actually was instrumental in getting this man's children into the school in the first place? That they owe me, big time?
Suddenly everyone sits down. The seating arrangement makes sense! I am seated next to one of my best friends in the world, the Big Cahuna's wife. Mother to my GodChildren. We can't wait to start visiting. But first? I must admire her exquisite outfit! It's a skirt that amazes me with it's fit, quality of design and material. Where has she found such a thing? "Kentucky!" she gushes and I almost fall out of my chair. Her lace top with sexy, fitted underblouse that shows off her cleavage in an understated, appropriate kind of way, is equally admirable. Then we have to discuss my ensemble; a Mi Sook suit, with a beaded silk tank underneath. That I meant to tailor to make my bosom less prominent, but... instead? I spend the evening tugging it back. This week, I will take the shoulders up by 1". It will then be perfect! It's a gorgeous, fitted, pleated, darted thing. A lucky find. But not as wonderful as her outfit.
Another couple is seated at our table. They have 3 young children and an extremely successful business. Their presence at our table is not by accident; my father and the Big Cahuna have arranged the seating to have their ears, so to speak. And now the placement of my sister and I become crystal clear; they have seated my beautiful, elegant, eloquent and calm sister between the gentlemen and my father; my father is a bit deaf and she will softly translate into his ear. The Cahuna is seated next to the wife half of the power couple, and asks and answers questions. Me? I am seated where I can be the least problem - I am a known dessert-stealer and prankster at these events. I can see eyes sliding my way, waiting for something to fly up in the air or explode tableside. I swear, I do not plan these things. I think someone rigs the table. There are pratfalls, fires, exploding balloons that fly to neighboring tables causing screams and overturned glasses. This year? There was the collapsing guest at the neighboring table. I yelp for cold water and oxygen. The auctioneer yodels for "A Doctor In The House?!" over the sound system. 10 doctors rush up - they turn away the fellow with the PhD in English Literature. (Okay, bad joke) The O2 and paramedics arrive. The very embarrassed patron is carried out to applause. In my zeal to get our chairs back, I have managed to take a chair from a neighboring table. The chair-missing portly person reaches back while starting to sit down, and nearly throws her back out while contorting to straighten back up or plunk unceremoniously down on the floor. The Cahuna gets a chair under her rump, just in time. Scraping the tops of his shoes in his zealous process. I am horrified. How do these things happen? He gives me a punch on my arm, very un-Chauna-like. I punch him back, and we start a sissy-slapping war. My mother hisses at us from across the table, and we freeze. The auction has started back up, order is returned.
The bidding on the 8 or 10 Big Ticket Items begins. It is getting really late and my stomach is starting to go from a polite growl to a fierce yowling. I start in on the bread, which starts a feeding frenzy at our table. I swear we would have gnawed at the butter balls, but we ran out. The bidding starts out modestly, then accelerates. My parents bid on a few things, lose. My mother decided that she was going to win on one thing, and she did. My father was talking to my sister and said "Huh-what?!" when someone turned and congratulated him on their win. He made a move for the paddle, but my mother is much too fast for him. I notice that the paddle remained under her control for the evening. My dear friend insisted it was to whack either me or her husband with the next display of ADD behavior, "Remember the Knick, Knack Paddle Whack you got 3 years ago?" Ah, yes.
But the funniest thing? Guests are confused as to who belongs to whom. I am seated by Cahuna; they assume we are married and ask about our children. I quickly pat Mrs. Cahuna and say "This is wife to This one" (patting Cahuna) "Me and That one?" (Pointing to my sister across the table) "We are Gay Partners." The Guests faces freeze in Whatthefuck Land. Wife Guest attempts to look encouraging and nod. My Dear Friend, Mrs. Cahuna, yelps "Stop that!" at the same time the entire table breaks into vehement denial or exclamations of sisterhood. Which makes Guest couple go "Ah!" with even more confused faces. My mother says "Oh, That One is BAD!" (pointing to me) "And she is MINE. Yes my daughter. Along with that One (pointing to my sister) Who is GOOD." Guest show me their teeth with smiles, but their eyes? Still a bit concerned. So I tell them "Yes, it's true. We are sisters. And we are here to keep track of our inheritance! You see; Them? (pointing at my parents) They are spending our inheritance. We at least want to come and get a meal out of it." Which makes my mother throw up her hands in exasperation and my father burst our laughing. The Cahunas are roaring with laughter. The Guests joint them nervously at first, then thoroughly. I get a Raised Eyebrow from my mother.
Then comes a blue-sky item; a teacher-spending-time-with-student item. Serious bidding starts. Really Serious. Cahuna whispers to the beautiful young mother sitting next to him. She smiles. Whispers to her husband. His paddle is raised often, his posture intense. The bidding goes higher. The room gets quiet. The teachers are wildly ecstatic on the stage. The ballroom explodes with cheering. The bidding war escalates. Our table is the center of the universe. Suddenly, silence. 2 last bids. The beautiful young mother places her hand on her husband's arm and nods. He bids. One. Last. Time. The amount is astonishing. Our mouths are agape. The husband wins! The crowd explodes! Teachers are screaming and hugging each other on stage. The beautiful young mother runs to the stage and the teachers surround her, hugging her. Her tears of joy make her husband the proudest man in the universe. I stand up, tell him "Well Done! Well Done." He smiles, embarrassed. Our entire table stands and applauds his generosity. Then the entire room stands. His wife runs back to the table and hugs him, then gently kisses him. It was a Powerful Thing they have just experienced. I laugh, having witnessed this before. The pure joy that generosity brings. And they have young children! Many years to experience such joy.
Then the dinners arrive. Okay fare, held too long due to the medical emergency. No one complains. Then, one last opportunity to contribute to the capital fund. A dear friend of my parents is retiring from the School. The film of her life of service to the school brings many tears. My mother honors her with a bid. Others match. The bids are amazing in their amounts and frequency. She cries in unabashed emotion. It was a very sweet moment.
Then dessert arrives. Cahuna is circulating in the room, thanking the guests for their amazing generosity. His absence is taken immediate advantage of; I exchange our desserts. The generous couple's jaws drop in amazement as I also distract my dear friend The Cahuna's Wife and rob her of a portion of dessert. My sister and I then exchange bits of my father's dessert as he has foolishly left the table to circulate, leaving his dessert unprotected. My mother begs us to leave him some chocolate; we plop a good portion back on, garnish it with a generous portion of fruit, and then give up a bit more of the luscious dark chocolate banner, to boot. Cahuna and Father arrive back to the table. And sigh. It happens every year. They never learn.
This event is my parents opportunity to shine. And I wouldn't miss seeing their joy for the world. And the couple at our table? We shook hands, smooched and the husband said "Maybe we'll sit at a different table next year..." and Cahuna muttered in my ear, very quietly, "I don't think so..."
Friday, April 28, 2006
10 jobs before I die
1. CEO of any major corporation. 1st thing I'd do is cut my pay to 4 times what the top salaried person is making, and give the zillions I'm not stealing out of the company back to the workers. In-company daycares. Health benefits that include speech therapy and OT. On site Health Club. Since everyone would then want to work for me, I'd shit-can all the chaff.
2. Island Owner.
3. Astronaut.
4. Jockey.
5. Race Car Driver.
6. Presidential Muse. I'd whisper sweet somethings into the empty space between our current fearless and clueless leader's ears.
7. Cooking School instructor for the common folk. "This is how you slice an onion."
8. Home Organizer "First we make 3 piles. Then we throw almost all of it away!"
9. Clothing Designer for us Zoftig women. You know, the ones with T & A. And a teeny bit of a belly that we have earned from c-sections and bearing children. Title Nine type stuff, but lots more style.
10. Mother of at least 5 more children. But I'd need a cook and housecleaner, too.
2. Island Owner.
3. Astronaut.
4. Jockey.
5. Race Car Driver.
6. Presidential Muse. I'd whisper sweet somethings into the empty space between our current fearless and clueless leader's ears.
7. Cooking School instructor for the common folk. "This is how you slice an onion."
8. Home Organizer "First we make 3 piles. Then we throw almost all of it away!"
9. Clothing Designer for us Zoftig women. You know, the ones with T & A. And a teeny bit of a belly that we have earned from c-sections and bearing children. Title Nine type stuff, but lots more style.
10. Mother of at least 5 more children. But I'd need a cook and housecleaner, too.
Thursday, April 27, 2006
Bloom Where you Live: Our Street
Taken from the back deck - yes, we have a skeeter breeder in back of us, which attracts lots of wildlife.
We also have a construction site in back of our house, which is endlessly thrilling for the boys. And lots of mountains and foothills, which offer an ever-changing view for all of us.Show and Tell Thursday requested by Blackbird
Wednesday, April 26, 2006
Stolen from Poppy
| the Wit |
| CLEAN | COMPLEX | DARK You like things edgy, subtle, and smart. I guess that means you're probably an intellectual, but don't take that to mean pretentious. You realize 'dumb' can be witty--after all isn't that the Simpsons' philosophy?--but rudeness for its own sake, 'gross-out' humor and most other things found in a fraternity leave you totally flat. I guess you just have a more cerebral approach than most. You have the perfect mindset for a joke writer or staff writer. Your sense of humor takes the most thought to appreciate, but it's also the best, in my opinion. You probably loved the Office. If you don't know what I'm talking about, check it out here: http://www.bbc.co.uk/comedy/theoffice/. PEOPLE LIKE YOU: Jon Stewart - Woody Allen - Ricky Gervais  The 3-Variable Funny Test! - it rules - If you're interested, try my best friend's best test: The Genghis Khan Genetic Fitness Masterpiece |
| |
My test tracked 3 variables How you compared to other people your age and gender:
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| Link: The 3 Variable Funny Test written by jason_bateman on OkCupid Free Online Dating, home of the 32-Type Dating Test |
Monday, April 24, 2006
Life Amongst the Super Rich
or: What In The Love of Pete Are We Doing Here?
Vail offered a glimpse into a world the normal joes of the planet don't usually see; how the super wealthy live.
Our suite of rooms had a bathroom larger than many bedrooms in sluburbia; a tub so huge - Hello? Water Conservation? Ever heard of this? And walls of mirrors. A shower completely encased in glass, that you could dance in if the mood struck you. Huge, thick, pure white Turkish towels. Heated limestone tile flooring.
Our bedroom? Comfy, plush mattresses with high-end cotton linens, chocolate brown and pink bed covers and huge billows of ceiling to floors drapes on the many huge windows. Our living room? The most comfortable sueded chairs with an ottoman that was comfortable for a long time while we watched Mrs. Henderson Presents on the fancy tv. A gas-log fireplace that would have been utilized except that
It. Was. Hot. In. The. Room. We opened windows and turned the HVAC to it's coldest setting, the fan on Blast-Off setting. Still, the room was a bit too warmish for me to sleep well. Luckily, it was a gorgeous suite to be reading and not sleeping in, if one must.
And while we weren't sleeping? Or trying to sleep? We were eating. Scrumptious snacks swirled by on gleaming silver platters. Glasses of wine or soda that magically refilled. Yummy meals cooked to perfection by Swiss chefs, served by smiling, athletic, gorgeous people. Never-ending breakfast buffets with the flakiest of pastries, the Most New-Yorkiest of Bagels, the sweetest butters and jams, the most-vegetabled of scrambles, the thickest & meatiest of bacons, the most steel-cuttiest of oatmeals swimming in cream and butter. Excuse me while I emitted the most unladylikiest of *belches* while pausing inbetween courses. While reading the New York Times. And sitting in the most beautiful of breakfast porches, while the dappled sun shone, a perfect breeze occasionally wafted by, and the perkiest of birds chirped.
We walked in downtown Vail, which was enjoying 60+ degree weather. People were enjoying the last weekend of skiing, in $10,000's worth of outfits and equipment. Whole families decked out in amazing get-ups, happy and smiling. Conquering the mountain. We heard so many different languages. And enjoyed the sun, the fresh pine-scented air, and the sights of a posh resort.
And I missed two little boys, who were taking care of their Daddy for me. While I lived a most unusual 24 hours among the rich and famous enjoying Spring Skiing. Wonderful Food. And looking at Beautiful People.
Vail offered a glimpse into a world the normal joes of the planet don't usually see; how the super wealthy live.
Our suite of rooms had a bathroom larger than many bedrooms in sluburbia; a tub so huge - Hello? Water Conservation? Ever heard of this? And walls of mirrors. A shower completely encased in glass, that you could dance in if the mood struck you. Huge, thick, pure white Turkish towels. Heated limestone tile flooring.
Our bedroom? Comfy, plush mattresses with high-end cotton linens, chocolate brown and pink bed covers and huge billows of ceiling to floors drapes on the many huge windows. Our living room? The most comfortable sueded chairs with an ottoman that was comfortable for a long time while we watched Mrs. Henderson Presents on the fancy tv. A gas-log fireplace that would have been utilized except that
It. Was. Hot. In. The. Room. We opened windows and turned the HVAC to it's coldest setting, the fan on Blast-Off setting. Still, the room was a bit too warmish for me to sleep well. Luckily, it was a gorgeous suite to be reading and not sleeping in, if one must.
And while we weren't sleeping? Or trying to sleep? We were eating. Scrumptious snacks swirled by on gleaming silver platters. Glasses of wine or soda that magically refilled. Yummy meals cooked to perfection by Swiss chefs, served by smiling, athletic, gorgeous people. Never-ending breakfast buffets with the flakiest of pastries, the Most New-Yorkiest of Bagels, the sweetest butters and jams, the most-vegetabled of scrambles, the thickest & meatiest of bacons, the most steel-cuttiest of oatmeals swimming in cream and butter. Excuse me while I emitted the most unladylikiest of *belches* while pausing inbetween courses. While reading the New York Times. And sitting in the most beautiful of breakfast porches, while the dappled sun shone, a perfect breeze occasionally wafted by, and the perkiest of birds chirped.
We walked in downtown Vail, which was enjoying 60+ degree weather. People were enjoying the last weekend of skiing, in $10,000's worth of outfits and equipment. Whole families decked out in amazing get-ups, happy and smiling. Conquering the mountain. We heard so many different languages. And enjoyed the sun, the fresh pine-scented air, and the sights of a posh resort.
And I missed two little boys, who were taking care of their Daddy for me. While I lived a most unusual 24 hours among the rich and famous enjoying Spring Skiing. Wonderful Food. And looking at Beautiful People.
Saturday, April 22, 2006
I'm Off! And I leave you w/TenRandom (4 below)
What are Your Ten Random? -Idea wilfully pilfered from Suse
Friday, April 21, 2006
Thursday, April 20, 2006
Show and Tell Thursday: Daily Look
This is what I look like, nearly every day. Shorts in summer, but same Keen shoes, polo, omit the jacket. But the jacket? It's washable, yes machine washable and dryerable, skin of the piggy. The polos hang hopefully in my closet, each yelling "PICK ME! PICK ME!"I never wear socks. Well, only with Birkenstocks, she yodels.
TEN RANDOM - Footloose and Fancy Free:
Knicked from Suse
1. Breakie was a lovely cranberry walnut scone, served on my lovely Noritake Royal Orchard everyday Spring/Summer china. I. Love. This. China. The Civilized Breakfast, Above. Made from the contents of that Full-to-Bursting refrigerator. Again, Above.
2. Our crabapple tree is fixin' to pop!
3. Two neighborhood teenagers are 'solving the pigeon problem' *ahem* (but with their parents' knowledge and approval - the pigeons are plague-ing the entire neighborhood)
4. Yesterday was Official Nap Day. Oldest was sobbing in the car while fastening his 5 pt harness. We were supposedly trotting off to TaeKwonDo. I offered him 2 choices 1) TKD or 2) Nap. I have never seen a child shed a uniform faster, scoot up the stairs and pick 2 books for his prior-to-snooze read. Youngest kept insisting I'M NOT SWEEPY so the babysitter laid on the couch with him. She slept, he didn't. I tried to nap, but instead...
5. Took a quick trip to the Post Office and posted 3 things that have been lurking in the corners, waiting for shipment: 1) a present to my friend Liz who's got a brand new baby girl, 2) a diaper case box full of previously-loved boys' clothing, paired shirts to trousers; flying its way to New Zealand to my wonderful friend Kathryn and her 3 gorgeous boys (I LOVE seeing our boys' duds on her boys!) and 3) a letter to a friend. Why not email? Cuz sometimes you've just got to set pen to paper.
6. A looooooong soak in the hot tub at the club, followed by a loooooooooooong shower, while the boys took their swimming lessons.
7. A trip to TarGet to look at birthday presents for Girls for an upcoming party. Which The Dad will be taking the boys to because I'll be at
8. THE SONNENALP!!! Am I packing? Yes!
9. 80 degree days. And No WIND!
10. Bioidentical Hormone Replacement Therapy. I am so happy. So normal. So Un-Weepy. So Un-Screamy. The fact that I am also so bleedy every 28 days is a small price to pay.
What about You?!
Wednesday, April 19, 2006
The best outfit in the house as at 4/18/06
I think this was the Best Outfit In the House this past week. Oldest is sporting a Gap polo shirt, with a #12 applique that was rescued from his most favorite pj's in the world and sewn on the shirt 2 days ago. The crisp ankle-zip athletic trousers feature a matching zip-front jacket which I would have posed with him dangling it over a shoulder, but I was doing good to catch him this still. Newish Buster Brown's, triple-roll, non-skid socks (these boys of mine have teeny feet - so the non-skid socks still work well) and a watch from good old TarJay complete the ensemble.
I would dress the boys in polos and nice trousers every day. But they? Prefer the gaudiest, cheapest clothing on the planet. Give them a shirt with a big corvette and the words "Wrap Your Ass In Fiberglass" on it, and they'd be happier than pigs in mud. Gone are the days when they would wear sweet animal shirts, plain shirts, polo shirts. They want Power Rangers, Star Wars and Spiderman. Nevermind that they have seen none of these shows; their friends talk about them and that's enough. The consumeristic lemming march has begun.
But, for today, I have held Hollywood at bay; and my son was dressed in a downright sporting outfit.
Requested by Blackbird for Deb.
Is capping pigeons at 5:22 a.m. bad neighborly?
We now have a flock of pigeons (gaggle? covey? SHITLOAD?) roosting on our roof eaves, cooing and scrabbling on the tile, at the crack of dawnish every morning. Why the sudden interest in our roof? Our Clueless Neighbors To the North, legendary in the neighborhood for their insensitivity and self-centered lifestyle, have managed to completely stun the neighborhood once again - they have put up 7 birdfeeders on the One Little Tiny Tree in their miniscule front lawn. Which attracts all manner of birds, including the much sought after and rarely seen (yes, I am joking here) PIGEON. First it was just a few; gosh, aren't they pretty? Ah, NO! Now it's lots. As in, we've got a situation here.
Since shooting them off the roof is probably forbidden in the HOA rules, I'm going to get a couple of owls and put them on the roof. Or possible a big stuffed bob cat - now wouldn't that make our house look special?
And I won't even get started about the 6 cars, the teen parties while the parents are away, the trash that they let fly all over the neighborhood - grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr
Since shooting them off the roof is probably forbidden in the HOA rules, I'm going to get a couple of owls and put them on the roof. Or possible a big stuffed bob cat - now wouldn't that make our house look special?
And I won't even get started about the 6 cars, the teen parties while the parents are away, the trash that they let fly all over the neighborhood - grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr
Tuesday, April 18, 2006
But WAIT; There's MORE!
I'm in a Popeil Dream - There's More To the Deal!
An email from Sherry:
Can you go this weekend? There is a cocktail reception at 5:00 p.m. on
Saturday night and a breakfast on Sunday morning. If you want to get a
massage, it is 25% -- probably need to make a reservation now for ideal
time.
If you can't make it, don't worry at all. I can go by myself. I have a
lot of reading to do for PeaceJam training.
As in, Two Free Meals, and 25% off Spa Services. YAHOOOO!!!
An email from Sherry:
Can you go this weekend? There is a cocktail reception at 5:00 p.m. on
Saturday night and a breakfast on Sunday morning. If you want to get a
massage, it is 25% -- probably need to make a reservation now for ideal
time.
If you can't make it, don't worry at all. I can go by myself. I have a
lot of reading to do for PeaceJam training.
As in, Two Free Meals, and 25% off Spa Services. YAHOOOO!!!
Tuesday's Future Fun Post::
I had a phone call yesterday from my best friend, Sherry. We go back a looooong way, almost 35 years. I love her. She is the mother of my goddaughter, and a major source of inspiration to me. Sherry is beautiful, chic, loving, tolerant and has raised her daughter by herself.
Sherry has invited me to go to Vail with her -- and stay at the very wonderful Sonnenalp resort! http://www.sonnenalp.com
To say I'm excited would be majorly understating my emotional state right now.
No Boys!
No cooking 3 hot meals a day that someone is certain to express less than great zeal over!
NO LAUNDRY!
And she's an event planner, so NO ROOM CHARGE!
Vail has great restaurants. Great Shopping. Great Body Work people. I sense a massage in my future.
The sound you hear is my heels clicking together. And I may also be whistling Zippity Doo Da out my arsehole.
Sherry has invited me to go to Vail with her -- and stay at the very wonderful Sonnenalp resort! http://www.sonnenalp.com
To say I'm excited would be majorly understating my emotional state right now.
No Boys!
No cooking 3 hot meals a day that someone is certain to express less than great zeal over!
NO LAUNDRY!
And she's an event planner, so NO ROOM CHARGE!
Vail has great restaurants. Great Shopping. Great Body Work people. I sense a massage in my future.
The sound you hear is my heels clicking together. And I may also be whistling Zippity Doo Da out my arsehole.
Monday, April 17, 2006
Monday Musings, but I'm not calling them Confessions!
Kim and Suse (if I could do the highlighted links, I would. But the technology isn't obvious to me.) have recently posted (as have others, I'm sure) their guilt about their special needs sons.
I don't often cry, but I did reading both their posts. I live their guilt. I cry their tears of hopelessness and hopefulness at times.
Oldest is almost 6; is ahead of the curve for reading, writing and empathy. He seems light years older than some of his contemporaries. And also 'school of hard knocks' younger. We have chosen to let our sons live a more gentle life and have controlled their tv viewing, peer group and outside influences. We have elected to delay their entry into primary education by one year, each. They are summer birthday boys, so we feel well within our rights. As a result, they are both very gentle, kind, loving little boys. They are also pretty quiet, as boys go.
Youngest is almost 5; and he is way ahead of the curve in math and numerical skills. But very much at the bottom of the rung for speech, interaction and social skills. He arrived at 7 months of age to our family; and he was very ill with ear infections for the first 7 months he was with us. He also was a very needy child; very clingy to me to the point that I had to run out of the house to escape; screamed if he couldn't see me, and wouldn't tolerate variations in any part of his routine. Didn't he UNDERSTAND that there were 2 babies in the house (Oldest is not quite 11 months older)? That I was flipped out by 2 babies in 2 years? That K's job still meant 60-70 hours of week a week, even though he tried to work less? That I didn't know he was a different baby, and needed so much more of me? I look at photos of our family back in the early days of being the Four of Us, and want to sob. Youngest looks bewildered, sad and lost. I look the same, frequently. In some of them, I am tearing Youngest's hands off me; I simply couldn't take one more minute of his clinging, pinching grasp. In some of the photos, Oldest is trying to comfort Youngest, which really makes me sob; the Baby is trying to comfort the Baby. Why didn't I see then that Youngest was different, that he needed some professional help? Why did it take friends of mine saying "Hey, he should be doing "x" by now - do you think you should have him evaluated?" and then finally getting the appointment, but then it took Four More Months to get him in? Then putting up with what was 'offered' vs. 'demanding' what he should have gotten, early on? How much time have we lost because I was too scared, too much in denial, too LAZY to do more research? How much have I set him back permanently due to being angry with him most of his very young life, parking him in front of videos to get a break, feeding him the wrong food, not getting intervention sooner?
But, I have forgiven myself, mostly. I did the best I could. His skills fooled me into thinking he was ahead of himself. He walked at 9 months, ran actually. He could count to 30 when he was 19 months old - nevermind that was the only talking he was doing. He didn't make eye contact with us, but he was avidly taking apart things and putting them back together - isn't he gifted?
But the one thing that I did, the deal that I made with the Devil that I will never forgive myself for, was having surgery on his foot to correct Syndactyly - connected toes. The surgery was successful, but who knew about Asians and Keloids? That a keloid on the foot would be a horrible, terrible thing? That it would be inoperable to repair, and would continue to grow, as that's what keloids do? That it would mean he could not walk properly, as putting pressure on that huge keloid causes him great pain? That it would affect him for quite probably, the rest of his life? This is the biggest grief that I carry. That it was elective surgery, and I made the election for him when he was too young to vote. And it may hurt him forever. All the other things I can forgive myself for, but for this surgery, I cannot. I think I have forgiven myself, and then he limps towards me, and I die. A. Thousand. Times.
I don't often cry, but I did reading both their posts. I live their guilt. I cry their tears of hopelessness and hopefulness at times.
Oldest is almost 6; is ahead of the curve for reading, writing and empathy. He seems light years older than some of his contemporaries. And also 'school of hard knocks' younger. We have chosen to let our sons live a more gentle life and have controlled their tv viewing, peer group and outside influences. We have elected to delay their entry into primary education by one year, each. They are summer birthday boys, so we feel well within our rights. As a result, they are both very gentle, kind, loving little boys. They are also pretty quiet, as boys go.
Youngest is almost 5; and he is way ahead of the curve in math and numerical skills. But very much at the bottom of the rung for speech, interaction and social skills. He arrived at 7 months of age to our family; and he was very ill with ear infections for the first 7 months he was with us. He also was a very needy child; very clingy to me to the point that I had to run out of the house to escape; screamed if he couldn't see me, and wouldn't tolerate variations in any part of his routine. Didn't he UNDERSTAND that there were 2 babies in the house (Oldest is not quite 11 months older)? That I was flipped out by 2 babies in 2 years? That K's job still meant 60-70 hours of week a week, even though he tried to work less? That I didn't know he was a different baby, and needed so much more of me? I look at photos of our family back in the early days of being the Four of Us, and want to sob. Youngest looks bewildered, sad and lost. I look the same, frequently. In some of them, I am tearing Youngest's hands off me; I simply couldn't take one more minute of his clinging, pinching grasp. In some of the photos, Oldest is trying to comfort Youngest, which really makes me sob; the Baby is trying to comfort the Baby. Why didn't I see then that Youngest was different, that he needed some professional help? Why did it take friends of mine saying "Hey, he should be doing "x" by now - do you think you should have him evaluated?" and then finally getting the appointment, but then it took Four More Months to get him in? Then putting up with what was 'offered' vs. 'demanding' what he should have gotten, early on? How much time have we lost because I was too scared, too much in denial, too LAZY to do more research? How much have I set him back permanently due to being angry with him most of his very young life, parking him in front of videos to get a break, feeding him the wrong food, not getting intervention sooner?
But, I have forgiven myself, mostly. I did the best I could. His skills fooled me into thinking he was ahead of himself. He walked at 9 months, ran actually. He could count to 30 when he was 19 months old - nevermind that was the only talking he was doing. He didn't make eye contact with us, but he was avidly taking apart things and putting them back together - isn't he gifted?
But the one thing that I did, the deal that I made with the Devil that I will never forgive myself for, was having surgery on his foot to correct Syndactyly - connected toes. The surgery was successful, but who knew about Asians and Keloids? That a keloid on the foot would be a horrible, terrible thing? That it would be inoperable to repair, and would continue to grow, as that's what keloids do? That it would mean he could not walk properly, as putting pressure on that huge keloid causes him great pain? That it would affect him for quite probably, the rest of his life? This is the biggest grief that I carry. That it was elective surgery, and I made the election for him when he was too young to vote. And it may hurt him forever. All the other things I can forgive myself for, but for this surgery, I cannot. I think I have forgiven myself, and then he limps towards me, and I die. A. Thousand. Times.
"I", meme
I AM: Astonished at the beauty of my sons, and their peaceful, loving selves;
I WANT: My sons to know joy and love all their lives;
I WISH: For World Peace, but would settle for an end to World Hunger;
I HATE: mean kids, and the parents who won't parent them;
I MISS: Adult vacations where we could spend hours in the Louvre, etc.
I FEAR: Dying before my sons are adults
I HEAR: The sounds of 2 sons negotiating through their world;
I WONDER: What it would be like if we had not declared war on Iraq;
I REGRET: Very little
I AM NOT: Quiet, unemotional or sad;
I DANCE: Not Nearly Enough;
I SING: Not very well, but often;
I CRY: Seldom
I AM NOT ALWAYS: Kind or patient;
I MAKE WITH MY HANDS: Wonderful food, good things to wear, decor for our home, wild gestures;
I WRITE: Because it's a Gift that gets better with use;
I CONFUSE: Many with the speed at which I speak;
I NEED: To read more;
I SHOULD: Stretch more;
I START: Way too much, and with good intention;
I FINISH: most, but not usually with the initial grandiose plans;
I TAG: Lazy Cow, Blackbird and anyone who cares to Bare Soul.
I WANT: My sons to know joy and love all their lives;
I WISH: For World Peace, but would settle for an end to World Hunger;
I HATE: mean kids, and the parents who won't parent them;
I MISS: Adult vacations where we could spend hours in the Louvre, etc.
I FEAR: Dying before my sons are adults
I HEAR: The sounds of 2 sons negotiating through their world;
I WONDER: What it would be like if we had not declared war on Iraq;
I REGRET: Very little
I AM NOT: Quiet, unemotional or sad;
I DANCE: Not Nearly Enough;
I SING: Not very well, but often;
I CRY: Seldom
I AM NOT ALWAYS: Kind or patient;
I MAKE WITH MY HANDS: Wonderful food, good things to wear, decor for our home, wild gestures;
I WRITE: Because it's a Gift that gets better with use;
I CONFUSE: Many with the speed at which I speak;
I NEED: To read more;
I SHOULD: Stretch more;
I START: Way too much, and with good intention;
I FINISH: most, but not usually with the initial grandiose plans;
I TAG: Lazy Cow, Blackbird and anyone who cares to Bare Soul.
Sunday, April 16, 2006
Yes, our friends prepared all this luscious food, and more. All home made, plus they had crafts!
Oldest, K, and Youngest, decorating Easter eggs on t-shirts. The children also got goody bags from the hostess and her mother.
But before the mid-day brunch, we fixed our traditional Sunday meal - Daddy's Waffles!
K makes them with pecans - they are yummy! Oldest, me and Youngest, getting ready to wolf them down. I love waffles, but they don't stick to my ribs. I am ravenous an hour after eating an entire waffle.
Amazingly, the boys slept in until 7:30. I heard oldest shriek "Mommy! The easter bunny left a jelly bean trail! And I already found the baskets! Hurry!" While we were eating waffles, our favorite neighbors hid a bunch of eggs in the front yard. The boys were ecstatic to run outside and find all the eggs, loaded with more candy.So, the boys essentially got 4 easter baskets today. A ridiculous amount of candy -- and guess who's eating most of it? I'm actually nauseous! Baaaaaaaaaaad mommy.
Hope you all had great holidays. And are having better luck staying out of the kids' goodies than I am!
Friday, April 14, 2006
Blogging Family Tree Meme
The first blog I found was a foodie blog, but I cannot remember who it was - it was a couple of years' back. I found Threadbared through Sewing Commons boards over a year ago. I had a brief flirtation reading alot of sewing and knitting blogs, but I just Didn't Have The Love. I then found Finslippy through weirdbabe (1/2 of Threadbared), and I must've found blackbird through a link in Finslippy links, and then a bunch of youse through say la vee. I found out that a few of my friends have Blogs, too. And some people I know have no idea what a Blog is.
It took me a looooooong time to start up my blog. I wasn't kidding when I said in my Sunday Confessions a while back that I thought you had to have intense intestinal troubles to Blog. I reckoned no one would be interested in my daily triumphs on the toilet.
Then my mostly normal bowel habits friend Karen started one on Blogspot, so I decided to try it. And left my innards totally out of it.
Oh, I found this idea for my first meme from Sarah Louise, who is pink sneakers n'at, after all.
It took me a looooooong time to start up my blog. I wasn't kidding when I said in my Sunday Confessions a while back that I thought you had to have intense intestinal troubles to Blog. I reckoned no one would be interested in my daily triumphs on the toilet.
Then my mostly normal bowel habits friend Karen started one on Blogspot, so I decided to try it. And left my innards totally out of it.
Oh, I found this idea for my first meme from Sarah Louise, who is pink sneakers n'at, after all.
Lamb for Passover, anyone?
I come from Irish/Finnish ancestry. Catholics and Calvinists. Just so you can comprehend the amount of guilt that went into my upbringing.
Occasionally, I just have to inadventantly give my very religious parents the Faithless Middle Finger. Let me take a bit of your time and set this up for you:
I was trolling through Costco with the children this past week. They were cooking Austrailian lamb, and the boys asked me to stop to let them try a sample. I was surprised that Youngest eagerly held out a paw; he is a notoriously picky eater. They not only wolfed down one sample - they each wanted another! And another! A leg of lamb quickly found its way into our buggy. I can't remember the last time I cooked lamb - I am married to a vegetarian. (He is also half Jewish-this will apply further on in this tale.) I decide when we get home to invite my parents over for dinner the evening that I cook the lamb as my father loves lamb and my mother won't cook it. Hey! How about Saturday? Since it's a 5 pound leg 'o, I invite my sister and bil, too.
We got an invitation to attend an Easter brunch at friends' with children, so of course we jump at the opportunity. This is my most crafty friend. She will have crafts! T-shirt to adorn! Cookies to decorate! Wonderful Food! I'm bagging my extended family for Easter day festivities - this is way too good an opportunity to pass up.
A friend whom I've known Forever calls and we talk about future plans. I mention what K, the boys and I are doing for Easter. She says "You aren't having your family over?!"
You must understand, I always host the festivities. My mother's kitchen is an original 1956 General Electric Profile appliance special - and those suckers are worn out. As in she has 2 burners that kind of work on her flip-down burner units, and one oven still works - well, sort of, etc. One day 10 years ago my older sister and I were buzzing around my parent's kitchen, trying to get a brunch on the table for 2 priests, 5 nuns, and 7 of us. After repeating 'Try this one burner - oh you have to jiggle the switch' and 'that oven isn't working and the other one cooks low - add 25 degrees to the temp' and then realizing that mom's toaster and blender were iffy, and that her coffee maker was an 8-cup v. a 12-cup - are you beginning to get the picture? And everyone was out on the patio visiting and sipping juice and cocktails, while my sister and I were Keystone-Copping It around this dysfunctional, ancient kitchen. I looked over at my sister and she had Sweat. Running. Down. Her. Nose. I yelped out "The only thing working in this Fucking Kitchen is the two of us!"
The sliding glass door to the patio is whisked shut. I clap a hand over my mouth, and my sister and I look at each with The Big Eyes. The crowd is silent for maybe 10 seconds, then everyone starts talking again. I see my mother's face in the kitchen window, sporting her Angry Eyes and Skinny Lips. My sister and I are leaning on the counters, roaring with laughter. Then we get back to work. And continue to double over in laughter for the rest of the morning.
So, you can see why no one is anxious to host festivities at the parents' house. This was 10 years ago, and things have only gone downhill over there since. We have the biggest house, the house that is kid-proofed; we have the Beer On Tap.
Anyway, back to the conversation about hosting Easter Dinner. Nope. Not doing it. I then mention the lamb that we are having Saturday. The side dishes. The dessert. Friend is silent for a few seconds. Then she states "You do realize you are fixing a classic Passover dinner?" I am silent for a few seconds. Then we both ROAR with laughter. I am going to be laughing while I cook tomorrow, and especially when we all sit down to enjoy our Classic Passover meal. Noodle Kugle, anyone?
Occasionally, I just have to inadventantly give my very religious parents the Faithless Middle Finger. Let me take a bit of your time and set this up for you:
I was trolling through Costco with the children this past week. They were cooking Austrailian lamb, and the boys asked me to stop to let them try a sample. I was surprised that Youngest eagerly held out a paw; he is a notoriously picky eater. They not only wolfed down one sample - they each wanted another! And another! A leg of lamb quickly found its way into our buggy. I can't remember the last time I cooked lamb - I am married to a vegetarian. (He is also half Jewish-this will apply further on in this tale.) I decide when we get home to invite my parents over for dinner the evening that I cook the lamb as my father loves lamb and my mother won't cook it. Hey! How about Saturday? Since it's a 5 pound leg 'o, I invite my sister and bil, too.
We got an invitation to attend an Easter brunch at friends' with children, so of course we jump at the opportunity. This is my most crafty friend. She will have crafts! T-shirt to adorn! Cookies to decorate! Wonderful Food! I'm bagging my extended family for Easter day festivities - this is way too good an opportunity to pass up.
A friend whom I've known Forever calls and we talk about future plans. I mention what K, the boys and I are doing for Easter. She says "You aren't having your family over?!"
You must understand, I always host the festivities. My mother's kitchen is an original 1956 General Electric Profile appliance special - and those suckers are worn out. As in she has 2 burners that kind of work on her flip-down burner units, and one oven still works - well, sort of, etc. One day 10 years ago my older sister and I were buzzing around my parent's kitchen, trying to get a brunch on the table for 2 priests, 5 nuns, and 7 of us. After repeating 'Try this one burner - oh you have to jiggle the switch' and 'that oven isn't working and the other one cooks low - add 25 degrees to the temp' and then realizing that mom's toaster and blender were iffy, and that her coffee maker was an 8-cup v. a 12-cup - are you beginning to get the picture? And everyone was out on the patio visiting and sipping juice and cocktails, while my sister and I were Keystone-Copping It around this dysfunctional, ancient kitchen. I looked over at my sister and she had Sweat. Running. Down. Her. Nose. I yelped out "The only thing working in this Fucking Kitchen is the two of us!"
The sliding glass door to the patio is whisked shut. I clap a hand over my mouth, and my sister and I look at each with The Big Eyes. The crowd is silent for maybe 10 seconds, then everyone starts talking again. I see my mother's face in the kitchen window, sporting her Angry Eyes and Skinny Lips. My sister and I are leaning on the counters, roaring with laughter. Then we get back to work. And continue to double over in laughter for the rest of the morning.
So, you can see why no one is anxious to host festivities at the parents' house. This was 10 years ago, and things have only gone downhill over there since. We have the biggest house, the house that is kid-proofed; we have the Beer On Tap.
Anyway, back to the conversation about hosting Easter Dinner. Nope. Not doing it. I then mention the lamb that we are having Saturday. The side dishes. The dessert. Friend is silent for a few seconds. Then she states "You do realize you are fixing a classic Passover dinner?" I am silent for a few seconds. Then we both ROAR with laughter. I am going to be laughing while I cook tomorrow, and especially when we all sit down to enjoy our Classic Passover meal. Noodle Kugle, anyone?
Wednesday, April 12, 2006
Show and Tell Thursday: Junk Drawer
This is the primary junk drawer. (They are ALL junk drawers, however. )
We seem to have an extraordinary amount of flashlights, stamps and homeopathic remedies.
Another drawer was all batteries, all the time.
But the true junk area was purged last week. It's a counter in the mud room that gets everything dumped on it. Teeny pieces of supposedly important slips of paper; many different diaper bags, purses, computer carriers and briefcases. NONE of them in use, of course. I cleared it off this past week and shredded all the old receipts. Happily put the diaper bags away. Yahoo; we are done with that. Until, God Forbid, one of us starts wearing Depends...
Feeling Stuck, or something
The Blogger's Blank that has been going around has struck me something fierce. I read alot of great Blogs and think "My life is so BLAH. I have nothing interesting to say." What am I going to write about: Ovulating at my age? Oldest's TaeKwonDo feats? Youngest's swimming insecurities? Fund Raisers? The fact that suddenly, this very week, my feet look fucking old?!"
It's a tenuous place; I am the new kid on the block of blogs. I read your blogs with great interest almost every day. You guys are interesting, you guys are cooking new and great stuff; hell - you guys are acquiring great purses and shoes! Me? Pulling out the old trusty capris and polos from the closet. Running two little boys here and there. I swear, it's the same stuff you're doing, but your stuff sounds fun!
Has this happened to you too? Or am I truly Just Boring?!
It's a tenuous place; I am the new kid on the block of blogs. I read your blogs with great interest almost every day. You guys are interesting, you guys are cooking new and great stuff; hell - you guys are acquiring great purses and shoes! Me? Pulling out the old trusty capris and polos from the closet. Running two little boys here and there. I swear, it's the same stuff you're doing, but your stuff sounds fun!
Has this happened to you too? Or am I truly Just Boring?!
Sunday, April 09, 2006
Sunday Confessions
Today is Palm Sunday. My parents gave the boys palms. My children don't even know who Jesus is. They know about God, I think. I myself am a recovering Catholic. I do not feel the need to go to Church. Around here, the ministers are frustrated LA actor types; flowing hair, beards, a What's Happenin' Now? kind of feel-good singing and dancing type of preaching dude, pretty much doing a LOOK AT ME LOOK AT ME routine. *yawn* For those of you that go to church and get something really good out of it, that's great.
I have not done Pilates for 10 years now. We have a Reformer in the lower level, but I don't use it. And the only mammal on the treadmill is the rabbit - he likes to sun on it. We belong to a very nice club, and I sometimes take the children to the very good daycare, go do a sauna and hot tub, get a massage, take a long shower and then go pick up the kids. Work out? Nah.
I eat chocolate every day. Dark chocolate.
I don't pay as much attention to our sons as I should. They entertain themselves. I may regret this when they get a bit older and don't want to have much to do with me.
I worry about weird stuff. Not things I should worry about. Right now, we've had a way-above-average snowpack for the winter. I am worried about flooding when them thar hills start doing their annual thaw - nobody else is. Yet, I should be doing more for my health. Dropping dead of a heart attack is alot bigger risk for me than flooding, yet do I worry about leaving my children motherless? Yeah, okay; I do worry about that. But not as much as the flooding.
I have not done Pilates for 10 years now. We have a Reformer in the lower level, but I don't use it. And the only mammal on the treadmill is the rabbit - he likes to sun on it. We belong to a very nice club, and I sometimes take the children to the very good daycare, go do a sauna and hot tub, get a massage, take a long shower and then go pick up the kids. Work out? Nah.
I eat chocolate every day. Dark chocolate.
I don't pay as much attention to our sons as I should. They entertain themselves. I may regret this when they get a bit older and don't want to have much to do with me.
I worry about weird stuff. Not things I should worry about. Right now, we've had a way-above-average snowpack for the winter. I am worried about flooding when them thar hills start doing their annual thaw - nobody else is. Yet, I should be doing more for my health. Dropping dead of a heart attack is alot bigger risk for me than flooding, yet do I worry about leaving my children motherless? Yeah, okay; I do worry about that. But not as much as the flooding.
Saturday, April 08, 2006
Care to see a photo of me?
This is not a bad job to have, not at all. Dressed in jeans and Life Is Good t-shirts, beautiful boys close by, frequently in the kitchen. I'm a lucky woman.
Friday, April 07, 2006
Oh for GOSH SAKE! I told K I was purging! Gees!
Please, no more phone calls begging me to 'Be Kind to K". He knows I am doing this.
Yes, he is afraid he will come home to find the house plucked bare.
But he has faith.
He also knows there is so much stuff, I will barely make a dent. Plus, there are 2 little boys who have been trained in the Value of Daddy's Stuff. They are plucking things back out of piles, saying "Oh, Mommy. This is NOT trash. This is a Good Thing." Martha Would Not Agree. I will have to do this after they are in bed. As fast as I make piles, the piles they get rearranged.
The 3 of us are exhausted. Even the BunSter is tired. I started in my sewing room, which is the Bun's home, after all. He had to smell everything, and ran around with his pile of towels in his teeth, fairly hollering "But Not THIS, Mommy. THIS is my crib. It's my life!" He's pretty spry for an old rabbit. He growled at me when I moved his poof!
I am meeting my sister D for some dinner. Boys are at Parents' Night Out. I had to bribe them with an Odwalla bar to get into the car! They were afraid I was going to start throwing out their toys. ACK! Pack Rats, the lot of them! I promised I would not touch one of their toys. We shook on it.
Darn it.
Yes, he is afraid he will come home to find the house plucked bare.
But he has faith.
He also knows there is so much stuff, I will barely make a dent. Plus, there are 2 little boys who have been trained in the Value of Daddy's Stuff. They are plucking things back out of piles, saying "Oh, Mommy. This is NOT trash. This is a Good Thing." Martha Would Not Agree. I will have to do this after they are in bed. As fast as I make piles, the piles they get rearranged.
The 3 of us are exhausted. Even the BunSter is tired. I started in my sewing room, which is the Bun's home, after all. He had to smell everything, and ran around with his pile of towels in his teeth, fairly hollering "But Not THIS, Mommy. THIS is my crib. It's my life!" He's pretty spry for an old rabbit. He growled at me when I moved his poof!
I am meeting my sister D for some dinner. Boys are at Parents' Night Out. I had to bribe them with an Odwalla bar to get into the car! They were afraid I was going to start throwing out their toys. ACK! Pack Rats, the lot of them! I promised I would not touch one of their toys. We shook on it.
Darn it.
Mornings are The Best
I love early mornings. The boys wake up (one early, one later) and come and crawl in bed with us. Youngest is always first to throw open his door, trot down the hall and worm his way into the middle of the pack and under the covers. He brings his 'baby' (a My First Pony) and gets his baby comfy, too. His lovely little body is mostly roasty-toasty, mostly. I bury my nose in his bushy little noggin and breathe, and then gasp - the little devil has parked his chilly bits on me! Every morning, I get sucker punched. Two icy little feet find the warmest spots on my legs, and get firmly planted. YEEEEOW! I am instantly wide awake. And now that he has my attention, he puts in his breakfast order; "Waffles, Mommy!" After I agree on his breakfast choice, he occasionally goes back to sleep.
Then in comes Oldest. Repeats the parking of chilly bits and the breakfast order. Youngest barks out his previous order. Oldest occasionally brings in his babies (a hippo and a zebra), and we all play babies for awhile.
Sometimes the best part of my day is being the bologna in a boy sandwich.
Then in comes Oldest. Repeats the parking of chilly bits and the breakfast order. Youngest barks out his previous order. Oldest occasionally brings in his babies (a hippo and a zebra), and we all play babies for awhile.
Sometimes the best part of my day is being the bologna in a boy sandwich.
Will Not Pass My Lips:
Friday List: Things I Will Not Eat:
1. Liver or any organ or innards. Ew.
2. Spam. Again, Ew.
3. Cheese that smells like somethin' died.
4. Sea Urchin at Sushi Joints.
5. Chocolate-covered insects.
6. Any kind of okra that isn't pickled. (But love Talk O Texas pickled Okra)
7. Cantalope. It makes my throat close. I am not kidding.
1. Liver or any organ or innards. Ew.
2. Spam. Again, Ew.
3. Cheese that smells like somethin' died.
4. Sea Urchin at Sushi Joints.
5. Chocolate-covered insects.
6. Any kind of okra that isn't pickled. (But love Talk O Texas pickled Okra)
7. Cantalope. It makes my throat close. I am not kidding.
Wednesday, April 05, 2006
Spring Flinging
My husband is leaving town tonight (at 1 a.m. God what we have to do to use frequent flyer miles these days) for a few days. You know what that means, don't you?
YES! More of his pack rat piles are going into recycling, charity and the trash heap! *backflip, limping back to computer*
When we moved into this BIGGER house 3 years ago, he had loaded up his SUV with piles of metal that I thought were headed to the big recycling center. (Do not ask why we have piles of metal; no go ahead and ask. HE IS A SCROUNGER. And he is not old! If there is a pile of stuff in the "Take Me" pile in his campus at work, he lovingly goes through it and then takes stuff. It is disgusting. He comes home with 'found treasures'.) Anyway, I have the SUV on one trip back and forth, and note that I could stop at the recycling and have lots more room for actual valuable stuff next trip, no? Makes sense to me.
A large portion of the stuff was rather large chunks of pure aluminum that is used at his job to create 'stuff' (I could tell ya but I'd have to shoot ya, blah blah). Odd sized sharp pointy chunks, big wedges, weird shapes obviously scrap stuff, but big pieces. These things weighed a TON. Before I can get to those piles, I notice that there's alot of old cast iron pipe resting on them. I got to javelin one into the huge container-sized dumpster, and this voice bellows "VICKEE! Hold On!" I think, SHIT, who can this be? Turns out it was a contractor whom I'd recommended to some clients - one of the really good ones. He wanted the old pipe as he needs it during remodels, etc. Okaaaaaaaaaay...into his truck goes the pipe. We are catching up about mutual acquaintances, and I start to grunt and lob the pieces of aluminum into the dumpster container. With this, 3 guys come racing over from recycling paper and cardboard and yell "Aluminium?" I say "Yes..." but before I can answer further, my cell phone rings. It's my husband, asking what's taking me. I tell him I'm at the recycling place, recycling the metal. Big Pause. WHAT metal? Well, the pipe and the big pieces and the aluminum... "THE ALUMINUM?! NO WAY! GET IT BACK! I'm going to MAKE SOMETHING with it!" Huh?!
The 3 guys are now IN the SUV, looking over stuff but not touching anything. They are speaking Spanish, and I can tell they want that aluminum badly. I say "OOPS - that was my husband. Turns out he wants the aluminum..." and with that, they jump into this huge dumpster and haul every piece out that has made it in there, and run away with it, back to their vehicle, and go screeching and careening off.
I blink and look at the contractor - he says "Well, don't you think it's worth alot at an aluminum recycling center?" D-oh!
I got back to my house and there is the husband, fairly wringing his paws and looking worried. No smooch for me; just flings open the trunk (tail gate?) and says "Oh, thank God! There is some left!" My parents are there, and they give me questioning looks. He quickly starts stacking the metal into a section of the garage, safe from my careless toss. My parents and I go back into the house and they sigh and say "Were you able to throw anything away?" Yes, he is legendary in our family.
However, that's changing this weekend. I am going through Stuff. We have bank statements, statements from old stores, long closed; stuff that goes back 25 years. What for?! Then there's 4 sizes of pants (yes, the man has some 30's in the very back of his closet!), 2 sizes of which might ever fit. And piles and piles of junk. I will have pity on some of the piles, but the paperwork is getting shredded. He is incapable of throwing anything away. And the clothing? It's going to charity. He is taking up 2 full closets, and impinging on one of the boys' closets as well. We have under-bed boxes of too-small clothes. I doubt he even remembers any of this stuff.
This house is obscenely large, and it is junked out. Well, starting this weekend, we are putting an end to it. I am woman, watch me PURGE. (and lots of my stuff is going as well. And the boys old toys too. Maybe even some of the bunny's toys.)
Ah, this feels good!
YES! More of his pack rat piles are going into recycling, charity and the trash heap! *backflip, limping back to computer*
When we moved into this BIGGER house 3 years ago, he had loaded up his SUV with piles of metal that I thought were headed to the big recycling center. (Do not ask why we have piles of metal; no go ahead and ask. HE IS A SCROUNGER. And he is not old! If there is a pile of stuff in the "Take Me" pile in his campus at work, he lovingly goes through it and then takes stuff. It is disgusting. He comes home with 'found treasures'.) Anyway, I have the SUV on one trip back and forth, and note that I could stop at the recycling and have lots more room for actual valuable stuff next trip, no? Makes sense to me.
A large portion of the stuff was rather large chunks of pure aluminum that is used at his job to create 'stuff' (I could tell ya but I'd have to shoot ya, blah blah). Odd sized sharp pointy chunks, big wedges, weird shapes obviously scrap stuff, but big pieces. These things weighed a TON. Before I can get to those piles, I notice that there's alot of old cast iron pipe resting on them. I got to javelin one into the huge container-sized dumpster, and this voice bellows "VICKEE! Hold On!" I think, SHIT, who can this be? Turns out it was a contractor whom I'd recommended to some clients - one of the really good ones. He wanted the old pipe as he needs it during remodels, etc. Okaaaaaaaaaay...into his truck goes the pipe. We are catching up about mutual acquaintances, and I start to grunt and lob the pieces of aluminum into the dumpster container. With this, 3 guys come racing over from recycling paper and cardboard and yell "Aluminium?" I say "Yes..." but before I can answer further, my cell phone rings. It's my husband, asking what's taking me. I tell him I'm at the recycling place, recycling the metal. Big Pause. WHAT metal? Well, the pipe and the big pieces and the aluminum... "THE ALUMINUM?! NO WAY! GET IT BACK! I'm going to MAKE SOMETHING with it!" Huh?!
The 3 guys are now IN the SUV, looking over stuff but not touching anything. They are speaking Spanish, and I can tell they want that aluminum badly. I say "OOPS - that was my husband. Turns out he wants the aluminum..." and with that, they jump into this huge dumpster and haul every piece out that has made it in there, and run away with it, back to their vehicle, and go screeching and careening off.
I blink and look at the contractor - he says "Well, don't you think it's worth alot at an aluminum recycling center?" D-oh!
I got back to my house and there is the husband, fairly wringing his paws and looking worried. No smooch for me; just flings open the trunk (tail gate?) and says "Oh, thank God! There is some left!" My parents are there, and they give me questioning looks. He quickly starts stacking the metal into a section of the garage, safe from my careless toss. My parents and I go back into the house and they sigh and say "Were you able to throw anything away?" Yes, he is legendary in our family.
However, that's changing this weekend. I am going through Stuff. We have bank statements, statements from old stores, long closed; stuff that goes back 25 years. What for?! Then there's 4 sizes of pants (yes, the man has some 30's in the very back of his closet!), 2 sizes of which might ever fit. And piles and piles of junk. I will have pity on some of the piles, but the paperwork is getting shredded. He is incapable of throwing anything away. And the clothing? It's going to charity. He is taking up 2 full closets, and impinging on one of the boys' closets as well. We have under-bed boxes of too-small clothes. I doubt he even remembers any of this stuff.
This house is obscenely large, and it is junked out. Well, starting this weekend, we are putting an end to it. I am woman, watch me PURGE. (and lots of my stuff is going as well. And the boys old toys too. Maybe even some of the bunny's toys.)
Ah, this feels good!
Monday, April 03, 2006
What's your Lucky Underwear Color?
| Your Lucky Underwear Is Red |
 You're confident and bold, and your lucky red underwear will only make you more sure of yourself. You have a great zest for life, and you tend to take on impossible goals - and succeed. When it comes to love, it's hard for you to take the time to open up. You're too busy conquering the world. So if you're looking for a little more romance, put on your red underpants. And see where their passion takes you! |
Sunday, April 02, 2006
Sunday Confessions
Sunday Confessions borrowed from http://www.glamorouse.blogspot.com
1. I do not suffer from constipation. It took me a long time to blog because of this. I thought severe constipation was a requirement.
2. I am way older than most bloggers with preschool age children.
3. I am hair inept. It ridiculous for me to spend good money on haircuts, as I never fix my hair.
4. Carrying heavy toddlers has wrecked my back. I should quit carrying my sons, but I continue.
5. I watched a few minutes of Gray's Anatomy for the 2nd time tonight, and was crying so hard at the mother who was dying of cancer talking to her daughter end scene that it alarmed my husband.
1. I do not suffer from constipation. It took me a long time to blog because of this. I thought severe constipation was a requirement.
2. I am way older than most bloggers with preschool age children.
3. I am hair inept. It ridiculous for me to spend good money on haircuts, as I never fix my hair.
4. Carrying heavy toddlers has wrecked my back. I should quit carrying my sons, but I continue.
5. I watched a few minutes of Gray's Anatomy for the 2nd time tonight, and was crying so hard at the mother who was dying of cancer talking to her daughter end scene that it alarmed my husband.
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