Cross-contamination

reposted from www.bakingandtaxidermy.blogspot.com

Liberal Interpretation

If the Unibunny didn't already give it away, this one will.

I am, by any form of measurement, short of stature. Sure, I can give my height in inches (60.5) or centimeters (153.67) to kind of boost the perception of me. But what it comes down to is I am 5 feet tall. It took some time (like, 20 years) for me to recognize that extra half inch does not really matter. At this stage in my life, it is going to disappear soon anyway. The least I can do is start to mentally prepare for it.

There are some advantages to being short. No one asks me to help with tall jobs. Time to arrange canned goods on high shelves? I'm not your gal. Tinsel on the tree? Only if you want the top 1/3 naked. Also, I am a handy tool for estimating. How far away is that rock? About 3 Alphas. Some quick mental math and you know that rock is 15 feet away.

Have you ever been driving down the road and thought the minivan in front of you was driving itself? That was me. The top of my head does not clear the top of the seat. My kids like to pretend they are being chauffeured around by ChittyChitty Bang Bang or that car from Flubber. They have even nicknamed the minivan "Herbie Jr.".

But not today! Today we were running late and I pulled my coat on over my pajamas, went with the slippers, and grabbed one of my kids' hats and we rolled out of the cul-du-sac. Maybe about 1584 Alphas into the trip the 7 year old behind me started laughing.

"Mama, you know how no one behind us can see you driving? Today it looks like the DOG is driving the car!"

Yep. The only parts of the Yeti poking above my headrest were the ears and the furry bit between them.

And the 10 year old offers: "Um...it's like there's a Husky driving us to school!"

Well, at least he got that part right!

Keep Your Options Open

You all know by now how much I adore my friend Lorraine. Well...we are collaborating on a project which you can find here.

Yes, yes, I know it's a little heavy on the taxidermy right now and quite light on the recipes (now you're going to have to click to see what the flup I'm talking about...see what I did there?) but I have a planned segue from the world of stuffed animals to the world of stuffing. Wait for it!

Fox in Sox with Locks on Box

I was just wondering why women put on nice underpinning to go to the OB/GYN. No one is going to see them anyway. When we fold our clothes to put them on the chair we tuck the smaller bits into our pants pockets or purse anyway. Because, ew, what if they fell on the floor?

If you want to make a good impression, put on nice socks.

Make an Impact

Looking at other fun gadgets to entertain you while you visit. Take your pick. The top three are:

Teeth Whitening Tips: I think the guy updates it regularly. But if there were really that many different ways to brighten your smile England wouldn't be the butt of so many oral hygiene jokes. SO I think this one's kind of bunk, but I'll add it if you'd like.

Pictures of Campfires: It might be nice this time of year. Kind of cozy. I could add the MP3 thingy too and play Ella Fitzgerald's Holiday Album all day. Then you could pretend you are sitting in my living room because that is kind of what this cold weather has reduced me to. I stay in my pajamas all day in front of the fire place surrounded by 3 dogs and a laptop playing Pandora to warm me. (Truth: I sleep in warm clothes, so it isn't as bad as it sounds.)

Flash Pinball: I was afraid to click on this one. World Wide Web + the word FLASH = nothing good.

Dear Santa,

For Christmas this year, Little C wants 48 crayons, clothing, and a back scratcher.

Having some trouble deciphering this list. It either means his basic needs are not being met...or he has all he needs and simple things bring him pleasure.

Since he did not ask for any non-perishable food items, I'm going with the latter.

Xtrafun

I have been wasting my afternoon on Xtranormal.

If you are in need of some Friendly Advice you should clink the link and check it out. If you have no interest in almost 5 minutes of oddity and inside jokes I made for Lorraine then I do not recommend clicking. But if you like baking and taxidermy it might be worth your while.

Interesting fact for the day

I am feeling mildly amused that Mistletoe is both parasitic and poisonous...

Horror! (a retelling of a tale presented by Miss M)

Little C wanted me to read to him from my Science textbook. So I picked a spot and started reading. Then he just wanted to look at the pictures so I let him. But THEN, he screamed and ran out of my room. I looked at the page and it was full of pictures of diseased livers and kidneys.

I went to find him and he was hiding under a blanket. "Little C, it's ok. Those are just pictures of what happens to you when you drink alcohol and smoke."

"Bbbut...are those a kind of KID?! Did that happen to a KID from doing those things?!" he cried.

"NO! Those are KIDneys. You have them inside of you," I explained. "Right here and here."

"Inside of ME?! Aaahhhh!" More crying ensued.

"Little C," I hugged him, "it's ok. Yours are all pink and cute. Just don't ever drink and smoke, ok?"

"Ok," he promised meekly.

(Some days, I can flip my parenting on cruise control and just let Miss M handle things!)

Away in a manger...

Driving by holiday light displays is one of my favorite things to do this time of year. I don't go looking for them or anything. I prefer to let providence be my navigator. Which might explain why I get lost all the time. Anyway...

One of my favorite things to do is to write the story that goes along with the particular arrangement of lit figures. Like this:

Herod's Tin Soldiers were steadily advancing on the small stable. Mary could do nothing but watch, listen to the clockwork ticking, and swaddle the baby again and again.

"Stop it Mary, you're making me nervous! Just put the baby in the manger!" said Joseph.

"I'm sorry," she replied. "You know how anxious I get." She set the sleeping babe aside and started biting her cuticles instead.

Joseph was about to charge the field when a band of guerrilla carolers came out of the candy cane forest! "Don't worry, we've got 'em covered, Joe."

Joseph fell to his knees in thanks, bowed his head, and offered them his only weapon, a shepherd's staff. "I pulled this off the last guy who tried to get in here. Take it!"

The carolers, with their music books of death, held the hilly ground around the stable. All they had to do was bide their time and to wait for the ticking to stop. "They have to unwind sooner or later," the leader yelled as he tore another page from the hymnal. Deftly, he folded it into a wedge, cut a few notches, shook it lose, and lobbed another snowflake at the soldiers.

"Do you smell gingerbread?" Mary asked Joseph.

"Not right now Mary. We're in the middle of a battle field here, I don't have time to play along with your neuroses!"

"No! Honestly, I smell it for real. It's getting stronger now..."

Joseph lifted his nose to the air just seconds before the carolers did. They all turned and saw the biggest, glowing gingerbread man they could have imagined! No one was quite sure what to do. Was he friend or foe? For that minute that felt like hours the giant walked steadily over the hill, coming to a stop next to the stable. He placed himself against the corner for stability and turned to face down the tin soldiers. Shouts of relief and renewed energy sprang up from the guerrilla carolers and the couple in the stable. Perhaps this would all work out after all. And just in time, too, as the advancing troops gave no sign that their springs would ever uncoil.

But just as the defenders redoubled their efforts, invigorated by the arrival of that sweet, spicy reinforcement, a new sound jingled down from above. What was that? Everyone stopped and looked up.

Something was falling from the sky...

It landed just feet from the carolers! When the snow settled they could see it was a present, wrapped in glittery paper and tied up with a bow. "Go Go Go!" shouted one of the carolers and they all dove for cover under the slanted roof of the dilapidated stable.

The clouds broke and down from the moonlight sky came the worst thing they could have imagined. A man. A very large man. Dressed all in red, riding in a sleigh pulled by nine demonic reindeer with razor sharp antlers. The one in the lead had a glowing red face as if to just drive the point home. The bearded and bundled man tossed another large gift at the small band huddled together. It hit square on the roof, shaking the flimsy structure.

"Ho Ho Ho!" he laughed as he followed up that direct hit with a series of smaller boxes. Some of them made it through the cracks and openings. A camel was hit. And always, always the tick-tock sound coming closer and closer.

It wouldn't be long now...

Here's a secret...

The real reason I ask Moose to go shopping with me after dinner while the cygnets stay home:

Anyone want to guess?

(Go ahead. Take a guess. I'll give you the answer in 24 hours. But I am wondering if you all can figure me out!)

Screw Calgon...

Lysol, take me away!

(60% of the household has a stomach bug. And by bug I don't mean parasite. I mean viral or bacterial in nature. The kind the produces 18 hours of vomiting and diarrhea every hour on the hour. You know me well, right? The anxiety level is through the ROOF and down the PIPES.)

Why it sucks to be me with insomnia:

It's late and I'm in the mood to confess:

I don't know the numbers for any TV channels. Not even one. Really. If it is not in the DVR, I can't watch it unless I surf past it accidentally. To make matters worse, our remote has a damaged button and can only surf down, not up. Poking in random numbers does not help because half the numbers I enter are not even channels. Why the hell are they in my TV then?

And do you even know how many channels there are??! Apparently, just a few shy of putting me to sleep.

So Much Depends...

A few weeks ago, just before the snow, a glossy, red chicken was hit and killed on the road by school. Over the next couple of days cars swerved, willing to risk an accident just to avoid hitting it. Me? I recited William Carlos Williams as I drove around it four times a day (having changed it to white wheelbarrow and red chicken, my apologies Mr. Williams) without pause in one breath. But if I actually saw its eye I had to do it again. If I messed up the words I had to do it again. I am willing to bet that's a compulsion you haven't heard before!

Maybe it was the oddity of farmstead roadkill in an environment that is more used to squirrels and opossum. But I've seen cars on that road not even flash a brake light when they send cracked turtles spinning across the lanes.

Not so with the chicken. We all were avoiding that bad mojo.

And then the snow came.

And the reprieve from looking at the bird in the road. See, the snowplow took care of that for us. Scooted it on over to the side, buried it under a mound of snow, and let us all take our kids to school without thinking about our food chain.

And then the snow melted a bit.

Just enough to allow those yellow, gnarly feet to poke through. Which is just enough to keep me from eating chicken until we get another few inches of snow.

so much depends

upon

a few inches

of snow

covering

the legs

of a squashed red

chicken

I swear!

Looking at my last two posts I feel the need to let you all know, I am not actually the dad from Footloose!

Dear Rihanna*: child, child, child!

Do you remember that interview you gave after leaving Chris Brown? How you talked about realizing you are a role model to young girls out there? And how staying in an abusive relationship is never worth it? No? You were wearing all off-white....now you remember! That interview.

So, what I am wondering is this: are you no longer a role model? Or do you just not recognize that (according to your latest song) sucking the dick of a guy who does not know your name just because he would rather do that than sit in traffic is also part of a pattern of unhealthy, self-destructive decision making?

Where is your mother, child? Because you need some serious muth-er-ing!! And since everyone around you seems more interested in making money off of you than in YOUR welfare or the health and welfare of the kids who listen to your music I will do some pro bono mothering right now.

Drugs. Alcohol abuse. Early sexual activity. Hyper-sexuality. Relationship abuse. ALL THAT SHIT is related to low self esteem and self-loathing. The wack-a-do hair and the outfits and the strutting around--its a mask. And no one tells you not to because you are lining their pockets. In fact, I'd bet they encourage it.

When the girls who listen to your songs and behave that way get pregnant and suffer the downward social and economic spiral that is teen motherhood...no one is going to help them out. News flash!! Getting a boy to have sex with you is not power! It's about the easiest thing in the world. The 55 year old, scarred up, disease ridden hooker still makes some money, honey.

And what about the boys (who think a man should behave the way the pigs in your songs do) who end up with children they cannot even begin to care for or support? And what about those children, who are born into circumstances they statistically have almost no chance of changing and every chance of repeating...what about them?

Here's what you are going to do. You are going to walk your ass down to an urban grade school and volunteer. You are going to sit in a classroom with children who are not regularly bathed, fed, or put to bed because their parent is beyond overwhelmed. You are going to help those kids learn to read. You are going to do math and sing songs and play games. And you are going to fall for them. I swear it is true. Those kids will amaze you every day.

Then one day you will go to a pre-production meeting for your next album, review lyrics and song choices, and realize that the machine whirling around your career is chewing those kids up and spitting them out. And when you learn to give a shit about their lives and their welfare and their futures, maybe you'll have your epiphany.

Until then use this as your litmus test: "Would I walk into a classroom of 10 year olds and be ok reading these lyrics to them? Would I explain the innuendo to first graders and be proud to teach them something new? Can I walk out of that middle school, picture them emulating these behaviors, and feel good about what I have accomplished?"

No? Then you are singing the wrong song, sweetheart. You can carry the tune, no doubt. But you have not even begun to carry the load.

*Feel free to substitute Katy Perry, Ke$ha, or any of the other famous, young girls who have no understanding of the impact their media has on children and teens.

Can't wait to hear how this comes out in their therapy session 20 years from now.

Moose and I took the kids to an open studio arts event this weekend at a former industrial site that now houses artists' studios. There were the expected hacks and the unexpected true masters available to show their work.

Going into it, I expected there would be nudes. I was all geared up to let the kids experience this. I talked to them ahead of time about how there are many ways to show and view the human form and sexualizing it is only one of them. How if we are only shown that one way through commercials and movies and the internet then we are limited. When we only learn to view bodies this way it leads to objectification.

The only problem was....

No one had this conversation with the artists. Not to say there was NO range at all. Some of them threw a little violence in there as well.

Which left my preemptive parenting looking less like offense and more like, well, offensive.

Taste Tests are my Favorite!

So the cultural concepts of Change and Stick it to The Man have progressed in a direction I was not expecting.

Oatmeal.

Really. There's a Revolution afoot and I can only thank the grocery store end cap for alerting me to the problem. If we are to believe the packaging (and why wouldn't we? they teach us to read it for a reason!) old fashioned instant oatmeal is ruining everything! What with their paper envelopes and recycled/recyclable boxes and having to pull out a measuring cup for the water...they are hastening our downfall.

As luck would have it, there is a better option! WHOLE rolled oats. Not the broken bits you find in those large, paperboard canisters. TINIER boxes to reduce packaging. And...take a breath...envelopes that also function for measuring the WATER!

But are their claims true? Well, I tested it today. And here are the results:

Number of Servings:

Old Fashioned Instant---> 10

Revolting Instant (isn't that what you call one who is stirring up a Revolution?)--> 5

Cost per Bowl:

Old Fashioned Instant---> $0.39

Revolting Instant--> $0.27

Size of Box:

Old Fashioned Instant--> bigger box, thicker paperboard

Revolting Instant--> claims to be up to 35% less, but you have to buy 2 of them, so it actually comes out to 30% MORE packaging for the same number of servings.

Easy of Preparation:

difference is so slight as to seem equal

Taste: oh. yum. this is why I do the research for you!

Old Fashioned Instant--> classic, yummy, nothing wrong with it, comes in dozens of flavors

Revolting Instant--> dear me, quite good, and I hear it comes in dark chocolate...

Results: Oh, good golly. Did I just spend my morning comparing oatmeal? I did. I even called the grocery store claiming to be writing an "article" on healthy, warm breakfasts for kids. (The man was very helpful, by the way.) So I guess the conclusion is I have a complete lack of shame and no meaningful work to do on a Friday in October. Hope we all learned our lesson here.

sympathetic my ass!

Last week I stopped with the cygnets for dinner after Miss M's Volleyball Game. Chinese. No one protested the choice. All was going smoothly.

Until...

Little C started trying to eat his rice one bit at a time with chopsticks. I am all for some fine motor skills development, my friends, but not when we have to drive another 20 minutes through traffic, get Miss M changed for dance, and then actually get her to dance. Little C was reminded. He was warned. There was some pleading on my part. Then he lost his chocolate covered fortune cookie.

Fast forward to this morning...

I just found a chocolate covered fortune cookie in my bag! Woo Hoo!

The message "You are sympathetic to the problems of others."

I might be mixing my mythologies here, but I think The Fates have just reminded me this was clearly never meant to be Little C's fortune in the first place!

Conversation, at the end of which I refrain from yelling HA!

The weather has turned quite chill in the mornings here. Which means the next 5 school mornings will all include some form of the following conversation:

Mama: You will need warm sweaters!

Kid: I've got one.

Mama: Do you need to keep the inside of your backpack warm? Put it on your body, child.

Kid: Awwwwww!

Other Kid: What kind of fleece is this?

Mama: Polar fleece.

Other Kid: Is it a hide?

Mama: No. It is recycled plastic turned into fibers.

Other Kid: So it's not polar bear hide?

Mama: No. Go get in the car.

Other Kid: But is it polar bear fur like their wool? Is it cut off?

Mama: No. Plastic bottles. The polycarbonate is melted and spun kind of like cotton candy. Get in the car.

Other Kid: I can't wear this. It feels like polar bear hide and that makes me sad.

Mama: FINE! Get. In. The. Car.

First Kid: This sweater is wrong.

Mama: Good. God. Get your head through the hole.

First Kid: But the inside of the wrist part is bothering my hands. Like it is tearing at my flesh.

Mama: Well, cotton jersey is known for its tearing properties. Put your head through the hole.

First Kid: Why would you BUY me this then?

Mama: 1. It is a nice hand-me-down. 2. Sarcasm. Put on your sweater. Get in the car.

First Kid: I CAN'T WEAR THIS!

Mama: Grab another one. I am getting in the car. I suggest you have your butt in your seat inside of 45 seconds.

Mama: Where the heck is your sweater?!

First Kid: The only other one I will wear has oatmeal crusty on the zipper.

Mama: Good. God. We're leaving. We're just leaving.

Both Kids: M-m-m-m-m-mmamma? C-c-can you turn up the heat? It is cold in the car!

A few questions for you

Did you know that if you sprout your chickpeas prior to making falafels they are healthier for you and easier to digest? You did? Oh.

Did you know that sprouting them is an activity best attempted under refrigerated conditions? You did? Hmmmm.

Because I just learned both of these things. The second one I will never forget. Because on about day 4 on your counter (even if they are covered and you are changing the water and rinsing daily) they will go punk on you. They will bubble up and smell like your old dog just ate shit and a dead squirrel, let them stew for about half a day, and then vomited the contents of her retching gut upon a pile of rotten fish. Or something similar.

Did you also know that if you pour a full bag's worth of fetid chickpeas in your garbage disposal (even if you run it for a long time, and even if you leave the water running longer) you will essentially make hummus that will work its way just beyond the reach of any layperson's plumbing snake and then re-solidify into a putrid mass? You did? Did you also know about how it will continue to ferment and belch noxious odors into your kitchen until you can bust it up and remove every last trace of funk? This too you knew?

What about the part where if one chooses to do stupid things like this one really ought to consider marrying a plumber next time? Huh.

Well when the hell were you planning on telling me?!

Mr. Eddie Long,

There is only one reason ANYONE takes camera shots of themselves posing in a bathroom. They are varying degrees of a mating display. Any other excuse from you is a cover story. You are lying to your family, your congregation, your victims, and yourself.

I suspect that if you had been allowed to be your true self as a young man you would not have felt like you had to hide your organic nature. If you had not been judged or feared judgement you would not have made it your life's work to cruelly judge others who have the internal strength to live their lives honestly.

I know how abuse works. At some point in your life you were abused. Physically. Emotionally. Spiritually. And now you abuse. Physically. Emotionally. Spiritually.

I know how Narcissistic Personality Disorder works. You have learned to consider yourself infallible as a coping mechanism. The other option was to look at your behaviors and your desires and injuries honestly. And you can't do that can you? You can't do it because you live in a world of hatred that you helped create and perpetuate.

I know a little about fanaticism too. Have you figured it out yet that your external judgements are really about what you hate in yourself...not in others? Probably not yet. You need to hit bottom first, I guess.

With any luck it will be a fast fall and a hard landing.

Sister Knows Best

Big C's fish died last night. It wasn't a surprise. He'd been lingering near the top for a couple of days. We'd all had a chance to say farewell so the grieving is progressing as expected: some tears, some trouble sleeping, and a renewed respect for all life...even the box elder bugs that are currently trying to turn my house into hibernaculum. The cygnets have been picking them up in the house and carrying them outside. Of course, for every one they displace, three more fly in and two ride in on the kids' backs.

It is clearly a battle we are losing.

But there is another one we are winning. It is called "Raising Our Children To Be Friends Not Rivals." For proof I submit Exhibit A:

Miss M finds out about Horace, the the fish, and immediately goes to find her beloved brother. This is what she says into the top of his head as he cries and they embrace:

"I sure wish I knew what a big sister was supposed to say in times like these to ease her younger brother's suffering. (Pause. Sniffle. Sob.) I'm so sorry about Horace. He was a good fish and he never did anyone any harm. We'll all miss him."

Decision Time

Shaved and shivering Goldendoodle.

Serendipitous Scooby-Doo Halloween costume.

What would you do?

Yep, me too! Only, I didn't get any pictures for you yet because I was laughing too hard. And now I am doing laundry, because both Olly and I peed on the sidewalk.

You'll be SO proud of me!!

I finally did it and it didn't backfire! I did not have an anxiety "issue" and I didn't even piss anyone off. Just what did I do and how did I do it so deftly? I'll tell you!

But first, you must know, that I have been practicing for his moment most of my life. One of my earliest memories of it not working was when it got me kicked out of church choir. But since that was kind of my claim to fame for many years it wasn't a total failure. Hell, I still pull that one out if I want to sound like a Wild Child. More recently there was that flight. And that Attendant. And the whole Pre-flight Instructions Situation. Yaaahhh...that one was a flop. I was right, I'll have you know. But a failure nonetheless.

During the 27 year gap between those two events the practice has mostly been in my head. But tonight was the perfect culmination of 30+ years of Thinking Something I Want To Say To An Annoying Person And Then...Actually Saying It!

What made this so perfect was that I was not in trouble when I said it (Exhibit A above) nor was I holding up a crowded flight, risking removal from the plane and flirting with police intervention (Exhibit B). I was correcting the pompous clerk at Office Max.

The 20ish check out boy was the only one ringing on a Monday night. There was a line of two in front of me and by the time I was done there were three more behind. Uncommon, I'll admit, for a Monday night. Staffing was clearly an issue. Which is when anyone with retail experience knows...you cut the chit-chat and move the line. Right?

Not this guy. He was clearly under the impression that because we were standing there to see him we qualified as an audience. It must help him sleep at night. How he justifies dropping out of Community College to pursue a smoking Stand Up career in the Midwest. And how he makes it feel ok that he works nights at Office Max but only when he doesn't have a gig. So, you know, every night.

He used BIG words in his repartee like "neither" and "nor." He even used them correctly, emphasizing them and all. What I gathered while listening to his shtick with Customer 1 was that his "persona" is kind of that smarter-than-you-nerd. Character development was a little weak but his timing and delivery were spot on. I have to give him that. What I gathered from his banter with Customer 2 was that he needs to write some more material. Same lines. Same jokes. Same tempo and pause for the laugh. Customer 2 gave it to him too, that wimp! But not me.

(I am going to break this down because I'd like to be able to repeat my success. There is a fine line between public service and being an ass.)

Clerk: blah blah blah...neither A nor B...(run hand through shoulder length wavy hair)...blah blah blah...can I see your card just to verify that you are, in fact, humanoid...blah blah blah...so if you'll just present me with your Herbie Hancock right there on the screen...

Alpha: Are you even old enough to know who Herbie Hancock is?

Clerk: (all bravado fades) Um, well, I saw it on Tommy Boy. He's like a guy from some band or something.

Alpha: Do you know why that line is funny in the movie?

(chirp chirp chirp--those are crickets)

Alpha: (cont.) Do you know who John Hancock is?

(chirp chirp chirp)

(And here is how I know I was still operating in the realm of public service)

Clerk: (nervously) Well, I know his name is what some people say when they ask for a signature.

Alpha: Declaration of Independence?

Clerk: YAH! That guy! He wrote his name real big, right?

Alpha: He did, indeed.

Clerk: (genuinely smiles) Thanks!

on the lighter side...

I had a 7 year old tell me the following last week:

"You're kind of weird. I mean, from the outside your house looks abandoned. Like no one lives there. But on the inside it is so nice. I am not trying to hurt your feelings or anything. 'Cause your house is really clean. But only the inside part."

I told him we spend the WHOLE year getting ready for Halloween on the outside.

While I died just a little bit on the inside part.

My thoughts on the subject

9-11 started with fear and resulted in fear. It was a violent and horrific fundamentalist response to the fearful sensations of a changing world. The response? An increase in fundamentalism in our own country. That just breaks my heart.

Fear is the spark that ignites fundamentalism of every flavor.

It minimizes internal reflection and correction. It isolates us from any true connection with others because people are taught to apply rules harshly. It requires strict obedience or else. It cuts off any growth.

It glorifies simplistic moral reasoning.

It is the absolute opposite of love.

A Confectionary Life

Have I told y'all I live next door to a cupcake? She is 4. Nearly 5. Miss Lil is not one of those vegetables-disguised-as-dessert kind of cupcakes. Not a speck of carrot or zucchini in this kid. She is like spun sugar on a windy day. With sprinkles.

Miss Lil was playing with Miss M the other day. It is worth mentioning that Miss M is the only one who notices the 8 year gap in ages but doesn't mind it one bit. She really enjoys playing with cupcakes. So they walked through the kitchen while I was making dinner and I showed her what we were having and invited her to join us. After checking with her mother, she skipped back over and helped set the table. (You think that is something, I had her 2 year old sister washing my windows this week too!)

We were all on our best behavior and having a genial conversation when she asked me this:

"So, Alpha, were you fired or something?"

Which is, I guess, her way of asking why I am home during the day when the women in her family work outside of the home like the men do. It was a tricky thing to answer because, yes, I was fired from the last job I held. I was fired for being pregnant. In 1998. No shit. But that seemed a sullied path to drag a 4 year old cupcake down. I didn't want to be responsible for smudging her frosting or knocking some nonpareils off the top. So I frosted my answer too.

But I am sitting here today with my kids back at school and I miss them so much I washed curtains and upholstery this morning. But now that the afternoon is here I feel my mind settling and thinking about why I stay home. Not what I do or how I fill the time. But actually why.

And I don't know how to answer that completely. For myself or for her. As the morning's sun gives way to the afternoon's gust with the smell of rain on its heels I am remembering a day like this almost a year ago...

I was just home from the morning deliveries (both boys AND both lunches thank you very much). I picked up our Netflix movies and grabbed an umbrella to go take them to the mailbox on a cold and rainy Fall day.

But when I looked out there was now a kid's bike in the road that was not there just 2 minutes ago. It wasn't parked. It was thrown aside.

At first I thought it was our neighbor Teddy's and I was going to walk it up to his house. But then I had a horrible premonition that I should not touch the bike.

I'm looking at this bike, up and down the street, and back to this bike with its handle bars at a drastic angle.

A neighbor pulls out of his driveway and sees it too and stops me. "What's wrong?" the lawyer asks when he sees the bike in the road and me with my concern under a frog umbrella. "I don't know, Dave."

And just then the neighbor boy comes out from between two houses. Riley is a good kid. He should be in school. But it is his week on for chemotherapy so he is home.

Last winter Riley's family had to put their old dog down. And Riley LOVES dogs. He had spent months asking for a dog.

Then in June, he doubles over at a soccer game and they ran him to the ER thinking it is his appendix. Nope. It is a grapefruit sized, very rare, and very aggressive cancerous mass in his abdomen.

Riley is Miss M's age. He is smart and polite but with an edge of sass to him--just the way I like them. And I have ALWAYS had a soft-spot for this kid who never stops smiling. Who will wave every time he rides by.

From falling on the field, to arrival at the little ER in Wisconsin, to being taken by ambulance to the Children's Hospital, to surgery took about 4 hours.

They had a new puppy in the house within a week.

The pup is SO cute. And I totally understand why they bought the red headed golden retriever. Oh, he is so vintage golden! None of that square-headed blonde thing going on. Snipey and shiny golden-red. He is a good puppy. He will be a great dog. But the dear family does not have the time to train him. And even if they did the dog is 6 months old and SASSY.

Anyway...Riley comes around the house with an empty leash and I tell the lawyer in the car it is ok. The boy stumbles over. He is wearing pajama pants and a t-shirt and a stocking cap. His feet are bare with bits of grass and leaves pressed to the wet between his toes.

And my heart just cracks down the middle.

He has no eyebrows and he is pale and bloated. And he is standing in the rain in his jammies, crying.

He won't take my jacket. He won't get in my car and drive around with me to look.

But I go to get my car anyway to help him look. I grab a jacket to make him wear it. And I planned on finding the pup and then calling his mom and making the boy hot chocolate.

But...

When I stepped out after grabbing my keys and a coat for him, his mom is stopped with her car in the middle of the street.

She came home from running an errand and Riley was gone. So she drove around looking for him and found his bike in the middle of the road.

And then my heart shattered.

I yelled for Riley and he came around from behind another house, she looked up and saw him with the empty leash in one hand and the puppy in the other. And she fell to her knees. In the leaves. In the gutter. In the rain.

And here is this beautiful boy. His tears hidden by the rain. Smiling and holding his puppy and waving at his mom. The puppy which, more and more, seems like a symbol of this battle they are fighting.

He put the dog in the car. Picked up his mom. And then picked up his bike.

And if I'm not here who would see this? Who would hold this in their heart and never forget it? I am reminded, once again, how lucky I am to have this time at home. This sweet, frosted time in my life.

It Pleases The Gods

I was walking through TJ Maxx today helping Miss M select a pair of gym shoes for school. Select may be a generous term. Handing her shoes and making her put a foot in at least one and...gasp...actually tie it is closer to the truth. She does not like shopping. People tell me that she will grow into it, she's a girl and MY child after all. At 12.2 years of age she shows no sign of it yet. Her general compliance today was the result of bribery. Yes, I told her she could rent a movie of her choice if she at least didn't cry and yell at me when I handed her clothes to try on.

So I am in the shoe aisle. We happen to wear the same size now, you know. And I was thinking that with all the money I save due to her aversion to purchasing clothes and shoes this might be the year I buy myself those red, mid-height Frye boots. Just then I turn to check the rest of the size 7's and guess what!!!!? NO. Not Frye. But Franco Sarto, whom I also love. Red. Mid-heights. COWGIRL boots! For 1/4 the price of the ones I was going to go home and order online.

The shoes gods must be rewarding me for taking such fastidious care of my soles! It pays to exfoliate, girls.

Yawl: a drawling yawn which can last between 20 seconds and 3 months

Can we just blame my lack of posting on the fact that I have no idea where my alarm clock is? I don't generally know what time it is these days to be honest with you. It is that time of year. That is as close an estimate as you are going to get out of me. End of summer. The part where I avoid any and all mention of back-to-that-place-the-children-go-to. I am not ready for that yet. So NOT ready, in fact, that I do not know when the first day is. People keep asking me and I don't know. Really. There is some stuff some time about meeting teachers and dropping off disinfecting wipes. I suspect we will be missing it. Or may have already. Rest assured, Educators, this is a parenting choice. Not indicative of neglect or substance abuse. Just about our priorities as a family.

Back to this morning:

Miss M is enjoying hot chocolate and buttered toast on the porch watching her brothers and covering up her urge to laugh at them. See, a few months ago Moose's father was here for a visit. Every morning he walked the kids to the coffee shop where they did I know not what but they always brought me home a beverage and that was all that mattered. But one day...they came home and left again with the little red wagon. When they returned there was a very heavy Old School Ergometric Exercise Bike on it! A neighbor had it out with a "Free. Take It." sign on it so they did. This machine now rests on our front porch where the boys generally pretend it is something like a speeder bike or a pedal-powered solo helicopter.

But back to today:

Miss M and I are amused because the boys have turned the friction knob thing so tight that their body mass is not enough to move a pedal. I went over and pedaled it for a bit just to prove it was not broken. And so we could watch them try to figure it out a little longer. Turns out their combined body mass is still not enough to turn the crank shaft. I am going to make a conservative estimate here and say we are going to get another 2 hours enjoyment out of this.

But wait! Big C just came back with a tool box. And a pocket knife. His new plan is to cut away the felt pad thing that is clearly gumming up the works. Perhaps I'll step in and save the integrity of this vintage piece. Or not. It is that kind of a summer.

And I am not ready for it to end just yet. Try me again in November.

I Have Failed My Family

We pulled out of the driveway just as the sky opened up and rained solidly for half and hour. For those 30 minutes, we were mostly trying to decide on a place to eat as our first choice was too busy to bother getting out in the rain. We finally chose another local spot and as we parked the rain stopped. It was quite fortuitous, as the air conditioning inside was set so cold and so high that we were all shivering. I don't know if I could have stayed if my clothes had been wet.

The waitress asked if we had any questions. Ha! Of course we do. Little C wants to know if he can order a pepperoni pizza with no pepperoni. (Remember, this is the kid who asked a plantation tour guide what 7 times 243 was when he was asked for any questions.) Big C wanted to know if there was meat in the sauce on the mostaccioli. (There was. Pause game to come up with another choice for dinner.) Miss M wanted to know if the tomato-mushroom-bisque soup was with chunks of mushrooms or were they pureed. (Chunks. But she had an available Plan B.)

Eventually we all order. We all talk politely through chattering teeth and finished a couple of kids' menu puzzles. The place was not too busy and it wasn't long before a waitress brought our food out. She was not the one who took our orders. Our waitress had shorter hair pulled back neatly.

Not this lady.

This one had LONG like there-is-not-one-valid-reason-to-justify-hair-so-long kind of hair. It was wound up in a loose, loopy kind of thing that was bouncing against her spine somewhere around C6 or C7. Long chunks were loose and hanging down her back.

My real problem begins here. The inconvenience of the weather and the complaints in the car about every other place we drove by? Sure, they contributed to my choice. But I had only complained about the air conditioning so far.

So...

I was the only one sitting where I could see the waitress carrying out the tray of food on her shoulder. It was dinner for 5. It was heavy. So she scrunched up her shoulder and...hold on while I gag again...balanced it against the side of her HEAD. And when she turned to find an empty table to set it on IT happened. Her HAIR went smack into one of the dishes.

My lips parted to protest but I had a flashback of what it took to get to that table. I had a flash forward to what someone in the kitchen might intentionally do to any replacement food if I bitched about the waitress he has a crush on. I took note that it was not my actual plate involved.

And I

said

nothing.

I slowed my breathing. I averted the anxiety and swallowed the bile rising in my throat. And I ate my dinner. And if the family member who ate the food that was wiped by her snarly mop gets ill, I will feel responsible. But until that happens, I'm not telling whose dinner was violated.

An Invitation

Mama: Hey, Miss M! Do you want to go and get a pedicure with me?

Miss M: NO! Wait...what kind of pedicure?

Mama: The kind where they rub your feet and paint your toe nails.

Miss M: Do they have silver polish?

Mama: I don't know.

Miss M: Can your feet be dirty?

Mama: They wash them. Wait. Come here. Not that dirty! Go wash the mud off your feet first.

PROFUSELY EMBELLISHED

We have books all over our house. Every room. Almost every horizontal surface. But I keep one shelf, appropriately in the main library, for the older books in our collection.

Marvels of Natural History, published in 1897, is among my favorites. I have to confess I have never read it. Not like my collection of John Kendrick Bangs which I read frequently. Nope. I only read the descriptions under the engravings. Here are some of my favorites:

"A HUGE BONE-PLATED ANIMAL" appears under a big lizard from the Sea Reptiles chapter.

"FAMOUS BACTRIAN CAMEL" under the famous bactrian camel. What he's famous for doing, it doesn't say.

"ELEPHANT" under an elephant sweeping the forest floor with a broom in his trunk. Why is he not famous?

"WHITE ANTS AND THEIR SINGULAR DWELLING" accompanies a cross section of what is also known as a termite mound.

"THE FLAMINGO'S STRANGE NEST" precedes "A WREN'S BEAUTIFUL NEST" which always makes me think of growing up with my sister, tucking my head under my wing, and standing on one leg.

Also, there is an entire chapter devoted to Wild Asses and another to the Titmouse. (Yes, I am 12 on the inside.)

The engravings are amazing but the binding is terribly fragile. So fragile, in fact, that I am often tempted to frame a few of the pages. If I can ever bring myself to take a page out, the centerpiece of the display will be the first page inside the cover. There are no images on the page but here is what it says:

MARVELS OF NATURAL HISTORY

CONTAINING A

COMPLETE DESCRIPTION OF THE ANIMAL KINGDOM

INCLUDING

MONSTERS OF THE ANCIENT WORLD; WILD ANIMALS OF THE TROPICS AND POLAR REGIONS; BEAUTIFUL BIRDS; CURIOUS INSECTS AND MARVELOUS FISHES

EMBRACING

Their Habits, Modes of Life and Striking Peculiarities

THE WHOLE FORMING

A CAPTIVATING DESCRIPTION OF THE MOST WONDERFUL AND INSTRUCTIVE FEATURES OF THE ANIMAL KINGDOM

BY

HENRY DAVENPORT NORTHRUP

Author of "Earth, Sea and Sky," "From Pole to Pole," "Museum of Wonders," Etc., Etc.

PROFUSELY EMBELLISHED WITH SUPERB ENGRAVINGS

I know this was put in the book to function as a way to entice the reader into buying the book. It is not actually part of the book proper. The fact remains it is my favorite page. I find it such a wonderful example of marketing history that I can't get past it to even read the book! Plus, I hear the page in Yul Brynner's voice. Etc., Etc., Etc.

perpetual motion?

The cygnets' lunch conversation today was about the Physics of Newton's Balls. After returning from my mad dash to the bathroom I corrected them. Conversation progressed concerning Newton's Cradle...but not until after cleaning up from one kid shooting water out of a nose, another spitting a mouthful of Boca nuggets, and the third making his own mad dash to the bathroom.

Rivals: a one-act play

I am sure I have mentioned Big C's introverted nature before. And the clever among you have certainly picked up on Little C's more...outgoing personality. Well, no surprise then when I tell you there have been some conflicts lately. They usually start when the Big One needs some space to regroup. Which feels like rejection and isolation to the Little One. Who then clings like a starved tick while the object of his attention runs to his room, slams the door and yells something like, "I NEED SOME PERSONAL SPACE!"

How do I handle this? Usually I remind Little C that his brother regulates by himself in a quiet environment, then I distract the bugger or pass him off to Miss M. As time allows. But sometimes I go into the whole psychological rigamarole. All it usually does is diffuse the immediate situation. All I hope for is that the concepts stick somewhere in their big brains and thinking about their own motivations comes into regular play somewhere down the road.

But this morning I seem to have solved the problem for good! Read on...

***************************************************

(whining, growling, slapping sounds from off stage followed by the ubiquitous...)

Chorus: Mahahahahammmm!

Curtain Rises.

(The stage is simply set with a desk, chair, and a laptop computer. The mother is sitting at her writing desk, the boys enter in a hurry, each trying to elbow past the other, both start talking at once...the smaller boy also dramatically pantomimes his brother's recent offense by hitting himself)

Big C: (hitting his brother) I did NOT hit you that many times!

Little C: I counted! It was 7, now it's 8! Mahahahammm!

Big C: HE was reading over my shoulder and telling me not to turn the page! (he cannot imagine a worse crime at 8:54 am)

(The mother hits SAVE and turns to her boys. She gently pulls one to her right side and one to her left and then launches into her monologue.)

Mother: (turns to the smaller boy) Little C, you know that your brother needs space and time to himself in order to pull himself together and be comfortable on the inside. You are different that way. But when your brother feels you hovering over him he feels stress. Did he ask you to back off a few times before he pushed you away? (small boy sheepishly nods) And did you respond by leaning in further? (small boy nods again, his eyes bigger) Then why are you surprised that Big C's response escalated as well? (small boy's face changes to guilty as his neck shortens and he shrinks a bit)

(turning to the bigger boy) And YOU know that your brother feels that same kind of distress you do when you push him away from you. He needs attention and contact with people in order to regulate himself. Especially in the morning. We all know this about him. Have we talked about kinder ways to let him know you need space? (the boy nods) Did you mean to tell him that hitting you is an appropriate response when he is stressed? (shakes his head no) Do you recognize that you did, though? (no response) That when you hit him you are, in fact, giving him permission to hit you? (after a pause to consider, he nods again)

(to both boys) So this is how you two are going to solve this problem. You are going to tell each other what happened in the living room in a way that shows you understand where YOU made a mistake. Because you both made some mistakes this morning. Then you are going to think of a solution that will help you both in these types of situations in the future. When you have that figured out, you come and present the plan to me, I'll type it up and you can both have a copy. Agreed?

Bic C: (to his mother) But, I don't see how we can both get what we want when what we want are opposites?

Mother: That is something you will have to talk to your brother about. You both might have to bend a little bit to make this work. Now go. Go off somewhere and figure it out.

(Little C reaches for Big C's hand [seriously. I am not making this shit up.] and the boys walk off stage together. Drifting back to the mother are their sweet, young voices saying words like: "stupid," "she's wrong," and "we'll show her." The mother smiles and goes back to her work, confident her work is done.)

Curtain Closes.

***************************************************

Yes, friends, that was just Chapter 3, section 4 in the Group Dynamics text book. Cross referenced with Chapter 12 in the Guide to Social Psychology. One highly effective tool for helping opposing groups reach resolution is to help them find a common goal. NO, I don't mean the little assignment I gave them. I meant me. The Common Enemy. The Obstacle They Must Unite Against In Order To Defeat.

Worth the Audible Laugh

Alice Bundles

You don't even have to announce it to anyone if you do. But you can. I am. Because Alice is a good person who makes me feel pretty sane.

Please Accept This Submission...

...for WORST NAME EVER!!

Colin Wormor.

Is it too much to hope for that his middle name is David? Probably.

The Evolution of "lol"

Taking a look at "lol" is like an etymological study in fast forward. I mean, it probably took a couple of generations at least for the Canadian "eh" to settle in to its current status. Not so with "lol." This abbreviation/short hand notation has gone from a way to save money on the per-character cost of texting to actually being pronounced. That's right. I've heard it two different ways:

There's "lawl" which sounds decidedly lower class next to the French-sounding option of "ellowell."

I find it hard to believe there is that much laughing out loud in reality. But I have been keeping my eyes and ears open the past few weeks to try and decipher the colloquial usage of the term. It is still being added to, but here is my partial list:

1. When offered in response to someone else's wit, it most often means "I am laughing out loud on the inside." (Oxymoron.)

2. When used to tag your own comment (easily 85% of the cases) it can mean many things;

--I think I am funny.

--I think I am clever.

--Don't you think I am funny?

--Don't you think I am clever?

--You should.

--Because I am.

(Please note, the actual funniness or cleverness of the comment is irrelevant. Conservatively, 94% of the comments it tags are neither funny nor clever.)

3. A passive-aggressive safe word. As in, "I am going to insult you now. I can't help it. I am a bitch/douche bag. But I don't want anyone else to think I am a bitch/douche bag so I will laugh out loud when I write this on your social network page. That way, the people reading it will all laugh out loud on the inside as well. But they will still be thinking about what I said about you. Only, with the laughing part, the rudeness of my remark will roll away from me and stick to you instead. Like digital cooties."

Please feel free to add to the list by leaving a comment!

OOOhh! Didn't see this one coming!

Jeremy might actually be the EVIL TWIN after all! I am going to have to rework Season 3.

The plot thickens

Guess What!!!? Jeremy London has a TWIN! My guess is, an EVIL twin. And the evil twin has always been jealous of his brother's "success" and staged the whole thing! The good twin is being held somewhere, not dead, because there are limits even to the Evil Twin's wickedness. The drugging and the trauma and subsequent prescription pills will be the cover story for the small changes everyone will notice in him now that he is home again. Only...the thing is... The good twin will struggle and finally escape! What a cliff hanger for the end of Season 1! Season 2 will open with fresh drama, though. He will...oh you know it...LOSE HIS MEMORY during the escape! He will be found by a young, though worn woman. Turns out she is hiding from an abusive husband and trying to get her son back. Slowly...his memories return as they work together to save her son and make plan to run away to South America. Only, all of the memories are from CHARACTERS he has played and not his real life!! Meanwhile, the evil twin is spending all of his brother's money. The wife is turning to alcohol to self-medicate her depression because she feels guilty for not loving her "husband" anymore. Something is off. And the kids are angry and don't know why. But the dog knows, dammit! The dog always knows.

Season 2 will end with the wife, in a drunken stupor, visits the set where they met (she was the make-up artist on an episode of 7th Heaven that he was on in 2004). Just as she is passing out, she will see HIM! He is trying to re-experience things from his memory. But he won't recognize her. She will wake up at home...someone called home on her cell phone for help but was gone when the evil twin arrived to pick her up. And the kid, the kid is INSISTING it was his DADDY on the phone!

stay tuned....

Me? I'm not buying it.

So...Jeremy London. One of the steadiest working actors I have never heard of by the looks of his IMDB page.

I am sorry, but if you are buying his "news story" about the kidnapping and forced drugging, I know a guy looking for a fourth wife. Let me know if you are interested in the "sincere liar" type.

My guess...dropping X with a cross-dressing hooker and he just lost track of time. It is, statistically speaking, far more likely than being kidnapped off the road while changing a tire and having illicit drugs forced into your system and then just being sent home a day later. Maybe I am stereotyping here, but the kind of guys who have enough drugs to generously share like that usually have more than enough D-list actors hanging around them. No need to grab one off the curb.

review part II

Miss M: Hey Mama! I have good news...the new neighbors were outside playing frisbee! That is a big relief.

Mama: ?

Miss M: I am just glad they weren't moving in a bunch of video game stuff. I think I might like them.

Reviews are In!!!

I have been listening to some of my formerly-favorite music today. Let's call it the next phase in a small, longitudinal study. Turns out some of those Oldies are not such Goodies.

Anyone else remember Limited Edition? No? Didn't think so.

And even older...The Jets are another band that did not stand the test of time. Let's be honest, they barely stood their own local niche. Not only does this age me, but it geographically places my high school as well.

Annabella? No one? Her cover of "Fever" lead me to Nina Simone and then Miss Ella. Sometimes it is the trials in life that bring us salvation, no? Plus, I am thinking this cassette tape is a real collector's item. Like an unintentional limited edition.

Stellar Moment in Parenting

So...maybe I would handle this situation differently next time.

We had guests over for dinner this evening and their kids were in the yard playing with our kids. At one point Little C came running in with some serious tattling to do:

Little C: Um, just so all of you grown ups know...Miss E (the 5 year old visiting) just called all of us "freakin' losers."

Mama: (trying to spare the guest a bit of embarrassment) Well, did you stop to consider that you might be?

Things I Learned the Hard Way

May you all benefit from it:

Locksmiths can run red lights in emergencies. Really! Like when you lock a 3 month old, sleeping infant and her diaper bag in the minivan on a sunny day. (No, the keys were not in the diaper bag. They were under the baby in the car seat.)

If you ever have a moderate allergic reaction to something and decide you don't want to bother anyone by asking for a ride to the ER...know that you will piss off everyone when they find out you didn't call them. Especially the nurses. Call for a ride when your mouth starts going numb and your eyeballs itch but before you start gagging. Also...this is what an ambulance is for. They like their jobs. Let them do it.

Emergency Rooms will rush you past check in if you say "bee sting" and your eyes are red, puffy and oozing, you can't stop coughing, and your neck is raw from scratching at it. They will rush you in a wheelchair even.

(You also get good service when you arrive with a kid on immune suppressants who needs stitches during flu season. No waiting room full of coughing, crying, nose wipers for you!)

little C at his finest

It wasn't me! It was a dog! Mama, dog farts don't make noise. It's because they don't have cracks or cheeks to make the noise part. They just have holes. So if it is quiet, you know it is a dog.

Oops.

Excuse me.

Motorcycle Safety?

It is biker season around here. Since it is kind of a short one, due to weather, everyone with a motorcycle rides them as much as possible. They are kind of like peaches that way, I guess. Enjoy them while they last because they won't last long. I have been seeing many more reminders around town to "Start Seeing Motorcycles." Not a bad sentiment. It is good to be reminded that there is a seasonal element on the road right now. Kind of like ice and snow the rest of the year.

And I don't have trouble seeing the bikers that follow the traffic laws. Really. When a motorcycle moves in a predictable pattern along WITH the rest of traffic I have to believe that those of us on four wheels are better able to contribute to their safety on the road. Happy to help, really.

But I do have trouble with those riders who insist on speeding and performing random, radical lane changes willy-nilly. Yes, I said willy-nilly.

I have seen the fresh aftermath of two fatal motorcycle accidents in the last couple of years. And one of them, Moose and I saw the driving behavior that preceded the accident.

Willy-nilly on crack.

Turns out he was a middle-aged husband and father out at dusk on a well-travelled rural road. He was zipping around cars (easily 80 to 90 mph in a 55 zone), driving in the oncoming lane, racing past on the shoulder, and flipping off anyone who was obeying the speed limit. Shortly after he passed us, finger-a-flying, he turned onto a highway where he met another car. This one was, like us, filled with a family.

Unfortunately, his unpredictable and erratic behavior didn't land him that coveted 6 feet in front of the next car this time. It spread him thin across two lanes and landed what they could scoop up off the road 6 feet under.

We spotted his helmet, which had been sitting on the seat behind him, roughly 75 yards down the road. A little scratched up, but in one piece.

I was reminded of this just this morning on my gentle drive home from the garden center. My radio was off. I was not drinking coffee. Wasn't giving a practice spelling quiz to a kid in the backseat. I had both hands on the wheel and the windows down. Traffic was moving at the posted speed since there are several stoplights on this divided, 4 lane highway. And then Willy came along on his crotch-rocket. Wearing jeans and a t-shirt with the wind freely whipping through his light brown hair. He was hunched down, leaning forward, low and out of sight. He zipped between me and another car on the dotted, yellow line. At one of the red lights he actually rode on the shoulder and then pulled to the front of the line and waited in the crosswalk for the crossing light to turn red. He took off before his light turned green, cutting off the cars with a green left arrow and then drove off up a hill and right under a digital sign that said "Look out for motorcycles."

And now I want to know where the digital sign is that says, "Motorcycles are subject to traffic laws." And the bright bumper sticker with a silhouette of a bike on it that says, "I see you when you drive safely."

cheap remedy

So the gnat bite on the corner of my eye puffed up and filled in those crow's feet quite nicely. For about 2 minutes. Since I happen to be allergic to gnats, I now look like a prize fighter who lost the prize.

Have you ever had your foundation rocked? Not in a "damn...that was...wow, baby!" as you catch your breath kind of way. Though, if you get to choose, that's the one to pick.

I don't mean the "Do you wanna rock!?" variety either. Though, as our list is growing here, that one takes third. Right after, "Want to see my rock collection?"

I was referring to the kind of rocking where you know you will never get up off the floor again. It is not even a question. In fact, if you have ever been dropped like that and you have the where with all to even ask a question then you are only getting close to what I mean.

And if you do get up (and I really hope you do) it is only because the doorbell rang. And standing on the other side of it is a young man offering his tree trimming services for a really great deal because he happens to be in the neighborhood today doing some work for a house around the corner. You'll say "yes" because nothing else will come out of your mouth. And he'll ask you which trees...

And you'll say...

"all of them."

"They don't all need trimming, Maam."

"just cut them all down. all of them."

He'll look nervously over his shoulder to the truck full of his co-workers. They'll be hanging out of the windows looking for a breeze. You will notice that they sent the cute, clean one with all of his teeth to the door. Smart marketing move.

"Um. Are you ok?" he'll ask.

You don't have any questions. You will wonder if you even have any more answers. That "yes...all of them" took a lot out of you. Turns out you only have one more.

"no."

He'll hand you a flyer printed on neon green cardstock. 1/3 of a page. Cut a bit crookedly by hand.

"We'll, um, be in the neighborhood for a couple of days," he'll add.

You'll look in his eyes as he backs away while offering a shyly concerned smile. You will know that he recognizes you. Not you, exactly. But the look in your eyes. The emptiness in your words. The trembling of your hands.

And you'll go back to the floor.

You'll listen to the neighbor's tree branches being chipped and shredded and wonder if the nice boy with all those teeth has been on the floor.

...

Many years later you might experience a moderate rocking sensation again. You may even scout out locations on the floor. But you will be surprised to find yourself looking out a window and thinking how glad you are that you still have all your trees.

Little Old Lady Dog

Sweet Tanner is rather deaf. But I can't complain because she is still jumping into the car and stealing bones from the neighbor dogs at the age of 16. Today I was watching her bark to go outside. I was sitting right by her, she just didn't know it. And being hard of hearing, she barks pretty loud just to hear herself.

So loud, in fact, that her front feet come right off the ground!

fallen apples

This morning when I kissed my little boys to wake them I was again reminded of the cutest compulsive behavior...ever. If you don't believe me, read on dear visitor. But don't say I didn't warn you.

Whenever I kiss Big C or Little C they automatically tap the place I kissed and then press their hands together as if in prayer. They will even do it when in lighter stages of sleep. But they always do it when awake. EVEN if I sneak a kiss in when I pick them up at school. If I kiss them more than once, they will tap and press the exact number of times I made a smooch noise.

And if that didn't get you this might. If they are awake they whisper, "collect it save it." It is the most love-y gesture.

(Miss M has some compulsions too. Like she has to interrupt whatever she is saying if we drive by a Wal-Mart Sam's Club tractor trailer and she says very rapidly, "walmartsamsclub," and then carries on like nothing odd just happened. It is quirky Miss M all the way. And, in my own odd way, I find it as endearing as the "collect it save it" habit.)

Dressing Room Conversation

Lucky: hmmm? i'm not sure that calvin klein shirt is doing you any favors.

Alpha: What? Who said that? (looks around sees no one)

Lucky: know who that shirt would look good on? a 12 year old boy. might want to swing over to intimate apparel too, dear. or maybe just shorten those straps. it'll help.

Alpha: It's you! (takes the sweater down from its hanger)

Lucky: (sigh) that feels better. now shrug up those straps before you try me on.

Alpha: (does what she was told and pulls the sweater over her head) Say now! You are one cute sweater. And look at that! Somewhere between you and my new haircut...my neck looks long!

Lucky: yah. i get that a lot. people love me.

Alpha: You are a deep-v, banded bottom, kimono sleeved hoody, what's not to love? And you feel very soft right off the rack.

Lucky: yah. like you've had me for ages, right? i'm kinda known for that. it's the long cotton fibers. i wash well too.

Alpha: Those are great qualities in a sweater. So why the apathy?

Lucky: hmm. people love me...they just don't $100 love me. i'd say they more like $60 love me. so here i hang. waiting for a markdown.

Alpha: Someone will $100 love you! They will! You just have to be patient. But she'll come for you. I just know it. Maybe if you were a little...I don't know....maybe if you just sighed a little less.

Lucky: what? and act all i.n.c.? like "i know you are a mother of two but if you wear me you can keep those memories of being a slightly-slutty club-hopping 20 year old fresh for a bit longer."

Alpha: I KNOW! Right!? No, I didn't mean like that. 'Cause that's just gross. I was trying to suggest that you have a lot going for you so smile about it! You are a classic color with some amazing details. You are a go-to closet staple, my friend. Not some trendy thing that will get left at the cleaners because someone forgot to come and get you. You can go with dark trouser jeans and heels and look appropriate for a nice dinner out. Or a pair of bermuda khakis and sandals and be right at home at a summer bridal shower. You can even go over a tank with a long skirt and flip-flops and pull off the midwest surfer thing that is so popular.

Lucky: surfer?

Alpha: I know we're functionally land-locked. What can I say?

Lucky: (sigh)

Alpha: There you go with the mournful exhale again.

Lucky: it's just...

Alpha: What? You are talking to me in a box of mirrors...we have no secrets here, Lucky. What is it?

Lucky: it's just that...well...it's not you. you don't $100 love me either. i can tell.

Alpha: It's true.

Lucky: you don't have to smile about it.

Alpha: But I know something you do not know! (pulls something from her purse)

Lucky: (dares to smile) you don't!

Alpha: I DO! And...it's for 20% off. Lucky, darling, today is your day! I $80 love you!

Lucky: you do!? I thought you might be the one when I saw your Artist Circle bag. something about an embroidered bird saying, "Peace!" made me think it might be you! i feel so...lucky!

Alpha: Me too!

Oh, the shame of it!

This is a silk blouse. Top designer. Very upper end. Styled and photographed by professionals which means...this is as good as it will look! I cannot tell you the name of the designer because I can empathize with his or her GROSS embarrassment with this product.

See, I think it must have been some sort of accident. Like a sample from The Vermont Country Store fell in with the samples from this designer at the manufacturing facility overseas. And how could one expect underpaid, undereducated, underage workers to recognize the mistake?



But the real mistake...is charging over $700 for it anyway! My right ring finger did not slip there. I don't mean $70 (which is still too much!) I really did mean OVER $700. Like they thought, "Shit. Who signed off on this?! We just paid HOW MUCH for this crap? What? Really? Dang. We are not going to sell very many of these so we better make a play out of the pharmaceutical handbook and recoup the cost up front."

Mother's Day PSA

So...this is what breast cancer looks like.




And, quite thankfully for me today, it is also what it does NOT look like. (Is it inappropriate to hug the ultrasound tech while topless and sticky from the gel? I hope not. Somehow...I suspect she gets that a lot.)

Check yourself. Check your partner. Remind a friend.

Field Notes:

(Lessons learned after a long day at the Zoo with 7 year olds.)

1. Stop at the first bathroom you see and make them all use it after the bus ride. Seriously. I don't care if they went at school. Because one of these corners you come around is bound to have a waterfall. It might be penguins. Might be bears. For us it was Sea Otters. Either way you will have at least one soggy child for the next 4 hours. (It starts to smell about 18 minutes in.)

2. Chances are, kids can climb on things where you are going. You can let them as long as more than half their body mass is on the right side of the obstacle. Kneeling on the rim of the Tide Pool exhibit and leaning in to pet the starfish does not meet this requirement.

3. It is a good idea to bring a small bag with an extra sweatshirt in it. This is especially important if the day is chilly. Also...see #2.

4. Any sentence that begins with "I want..." can, and should, be ignored.

5. Manage expectations. I cannot stress this enough. Tell them on the bus that you will not be buying them treats at the zoo. And then...don't buy them treats at the zoo. When you see weak-willed chaperones who have a group of kids covered in snow cone juice, feel free to tsk-tsk and shake your head in their direction.

6. Never forget you are a pack. If you do not assume the role of Alpha one of them will. Are you familiar with the work of William Golding?

7. Sometimes the most amazing part of the day happens by accident. Today...it wasn't the nesting Trumpeter Swans on exhibit. It was the wild Canada Goose who was warming her freshly hatched babies under her wings. No one needed a colorful sign with things to flip or buttons to push. The boys sat still and just watched the mama. They asked other kids to stop hissing at her because hisses are warnings and threats. They discussed how the color of the babies helped them blend in to the world around them. And then, if you are lucky, one of the boys will look at you and say, "Wow. Look how we are all getting along nicely now."

Daily Vocab

Today we have two words: extortion and monopoly. Both words are brought to you by Miss M and her clever, clever brain that is built for planning. And also for finding the advantage in a situation. Both useful skills, no doubt. They will get you places in life. But not necessarily when used together and in this way and in MY house.

See, she has checked out ALL of the Calvin and Hobbes books from the Public Library. She is hoarding them in her room. And she is trying to charge her brothers 10 cents for 15 minutes access to the stash.

my 10:30

I have a 10:30 appointment on my calendar today. 10:30-11:30 is what I entered. I even highlighted it in the correct color to let me know it was something for me, specifically, to go do and not one of the other 4 people whose calendars I keep track of.

I like having my calendar updated and accurate. It is settling for me. But I do recognize I am generally more off the wagon than on it. But right now I am ON IT, baby! I am color coded, updated, and backed up. I am so on the wagon that I am driving the damn thing. Yee Haw! I'm organized and in charge!

Except...

I didn't type in what it is I am supposed to be doing at 10:30.

See, one day last week I sat down with loose bits of paper and appointment reminders and put them all in the program. I called doctors and dentists and got that all squared away too. And everything I can remember entering or scheduling is still in there. The only glitch is this odd 10:30 thing with no identifying information attached.

I am very sorry if you are supposed to be my 10:30. I will not be there. If you happen to call me at 9:30 or 10:00 to confirm I will rush on over. But if you call me at 10:45 or 11:00 to reschedule I won't be able to answer the phone. I will be hiding under the covers in shame.

Please leave a detailed message. I don't do so well with vagueness.

Followup: Now I feel better

And this is all it took:

1. A tiny little woman at Sam's Club buying 2 gallons of prune juice, 3 bags of dried prunes, 10 pounds of apples, and bulk stool softener. Whatever I have going wrong in the facial hair department, the rest of that stuff is working fine.

2. An odd conversation with the cart-checker as I tried to leave Sam's Club. It went like this:

Her: What the heck is THAT? (peering into my cart)

Me: Cupcakes. With plastic baseballs on them. I think they are rings.

Her: In that canister?

Me: Oh, that. That's the second of 2 items in my cart.

Her: (not going to give me a smiley face until I tell her what is in the plastic container)

Me: Does it matter?

Her: .

Me: Fine. They are hacky sacks. 32 crocheted hacky sacks.

Her: WHAT?

Me: They are toys. For my son's class. To give out with the cupcakes...

Her: Hrumph. (just a bright pink line on my receipt)

3. If older people get to behave like that anytime anyplace...sign me UP!