STEAMY

I took the plunge. Bought another appliance but I did clean out my appliance cabinet today and got rid of a few I haven't used in three years. Came out to the good, square inch wise. That's my story and I'm stickin..........ehh you know the rest.

I had consulted friends, cyber and real life about whether it was the thing to do, buying one of these things that is. I had a heavy feeling in my stomach and I got sweaty palms every time I looked at one of them. Big, heavy bubbly appliances with a footprint. Can't like 'em. I don't like leaving them on my countertop, and I don't like to have to get them out every time I want to use them. And I don't like conundrums either. And I don't have an appliance garage, so that's the only solution to that, right?

Here's the pic from the website. The front of mine doesn't look exactly like this, mine has a couple more buttons, but it's made like this one. Not bad, huh?

But as I read the box and all the features, and I thought about our lifestyle, our diet, and the amount of time I have to prepare dinner and - here's the straw that broke the camel's back - how both my steamer and cooking rice sputters all over my cooktop and makes a huge mess - I blinked my eyes and that rice cooker just jumped right in my buggy!

Here's what the box says:

• Cooks a variety of white, brown, or wild rice to perfection
• Steams a variety of food while cooking rice
• Non-stick cooking pot
• Prepares up to 12 cups of cooked rice
• Easy 1 touch operation

But there are a couple of additional neat things it does too which might've been deal clinchers. It has a delay timer. Delay timers are in my top five favorite things. They make me twice as efficient. They sort of allow me to be in two places at once, which is almost a turn on, maaaaan I love efficiency . . . and at the very least a necessity around here. At any rate it's what I do.
The other thing is that it keeps the food warm, which is also a pretty cool feature. Supposedly it does so without drying it out, and since it's a steamer, I'm assuming so. We shall see.

My idea is going to be to cook the largest portion - or perhaps all - of our meal in this contraption. Throw it all in there, hit the delay button, then go. I guess I'll have to put rice, broccoli, and fish in at three different times but that's OK. That'll take three different trips into the kitchen but only a few seconds each time. I can run in from a yard soccer game with the kids, cleaning out the garage, or planting fall flowers and gardens. Can you tell I'm thinking about the coming week?

So I'm off to look for great recipes for steamed stuff.....

TTFN

YYYYEEAAUUUUUP. HERE'S PROOF, IF YOU NEED IT.

We're rednecks. Crackahs. From the cy-oth. Where the women swarr annna menr . . . well, mostly named Bubba.

We do all have guns. Yes. In fact, there's a quaint little burb very closeby that reQUIRES you to do so. Not a prollem, Mayor. I never did understand why they made such a big honkin' ta-do about it. Everbody around there had a piece anyhow. Duh. But the media got aholt of it, and there it went. Well there's dumber thangs. Remember Ross Perot?

Ok so anyhow when your life is The South and you were born in it raised in it live it and breathe it and thrive on it, and it's rich beyond your wildest dreams, then you get to make fun of it. Just like when you vote you can complain.

This is my brother and my son in my brother's basement. I may've described my brother's basement before in a previous post. It's a 1970's home and what they're doing is working on a computer but more importantly what they're leaning on is a black leather bar. Note the print in the background. It's my brother's favorite,and one of mine.

I'll resist the urge to use the "You may be a redneck if...." schtick. I think sumbunny with the initials Jeff Foxworthy already thunk up that one but nevertheless my brother and I have always joked about loving that print so much. Clearly there's an appropriate environment for it and his basement is the perfect one. It's absolutely in it's spot right there behind that black leather bar and really there's not another print that would look any better, one that I'd rather look up there and see. . . . . still. You have to have the redneck in ya.

And you know what? Redneck has nothin' to do with intelligence either. This is a common misnomer with folks who aren't familiar with the club. The redneck club that is. Mebbe is cause rednecks sound so goofy or some of the behaviors or slang appear or sound a little less than intelligent but just lemme tell you whut's the truuuuth. (See now that's a perfect example right there.) I know a VP of Corporate Communications with a large cable network and a research scientist at the CDC that both use that expression regularly actually truth be known I know beaucoup folks that use it iss just that those are the two with the best titles to make my point at this particular juncture.

This young man is going to be a doctor. Dontcha just hope he's YOURS? Har. This is my nephew, the seventeen year old son of my husband's brother. He really was just clowning around at a party at my house (he's wearing a used up, empty car pinata on his head) but it illustrates another of my points, which is that us'n rednecks have NO SHAME. We don't care. We just don't! This kid - who by the way made something like a 180,000,000 on his SAT's and is the most pleasant, most respectful, most responsible kid EVVVer, (just had to get that in) - picked up the pinata after the candy-frenzy pile-up was over to help his Uncle clean up - that would be my handsome husband - and took a look at it and up it went! onto his head! without a thought! what a personality....but there it is. Now to his right that half face you see is his Aunt Donna, my handsome husband and this child's daddy's sister. See that smile on her face? She's proud of that baby walkin' around like at. Rednecks. All-un-us.

You gotta be proud of your kids. All of your kids, I mean, not just your own, see? Down here we boss each other's kids around and brag on 'em like we raised 'em our very own selves, which actually we sorta do. It's not uncommon at a family gathering for a Mama to bark at a child that doesn't belong to her, but my gosh if we tried to stop long enough to figure out what kid it was that was doing wrong before we barked the dang biscuits'd burn or the mimosas wouldn't get mixed right and priorites do have to be established, deah.



Here's one of handsome husband at one of our kids' birthday party. The deal was our kid wanted to have water battles in the back yard, and Daddy was supposed to manage the event. Do you see who has on the largest water weapon?
Weapons and southern men. Well. We've already had that conversation.

This is the future of the South. Right here before you. Now we're done with redneckville and just onto silly boys I think. I dunno. I guess boys all over the world do stuff like this. But as I uploaded this picture, and as I was waving bye to my boys this morning when the three of them left to go on their Cub Scout camping trip, they looked so grown up with all their gear and their Daddy The Den Leader was discussing with them how much fun they were going to have with the hiking and the campfire and the woodchopping and the BB gun
and archery practice and the marshmallows and I thought what if they're NOT the future of The South? What if they grow up and move away? Settle in California? Idaho? New York?

How do I enjoy The South then? How do you get joy how are you joyful in your heart when your heart leaves you? Goes to another state? Another part of the country? Oh! What if they go TO another country? The two right there with the buckets on their head. Yeah those two. So I - in my first minutes of Mommy freedom which I'd been looking forward to for weeks - sat with tears in my eyes and my heart feeling as though rubber bands were squeezing it, and grieved over my children leaving me on airplanes and boats and taking all their possessions and making a wonderful life in parts thousands of miles away.

Then a couple of the rubber bands broke and I heard in my head the one word I was neglecting to comprehend. Wonderful. Yeah, I guess you can make a wonderful life somewhere besides The South. Was that why I couldn't hear it in my head, because it wasn't in The South, or because it was just far from me. Three guesses. South shmouth. And their leaving is about them, not me, and besides that, it's not happening this weekend. Or this year. Or this decade you numnuts. So I won't think about it today. I can't. I'll think about that tomorrow.

Right now I'm going to buy some new shoooooooes!!! Then I'm goin' for an RC and a moon pie.

Ta.

ZEE COLLAGE

Yes, tis fineeee. That word collage just makes me feel so verrrrry Fraiinch. And no my dear handsome husband if you read this I am NOT wearing the french maid costume. Anyway thank you friends for the comments, compliments, words of encouragement. My children and I worked on this together and it turned into the most enjoyable of projects. I guess you never know what's gonna work itself into a memory builder and somehow the header of my cyber journal ended in a tousel in the kitchen floor between an old broad and her two sweet boys well that's not true, that's just what happened when we needed a break. After that, we brushed ourselves off (boy did I realize just how much I needed to mop!) and got back after it. At the next break time I fixed graham crackers and peanut butter and hot chocolate with mini marshmallows floating on top just the way they like it.

The thing about letting someone else work with you on a project is that you lose some ownership of the end product, although the positives of my oops our lil group project far outweighed what I missed in having a collage that represented exactly what I saw in my initial vision, in this case. The pics scattered throughout this post are ones that ended up on the cyber cutting room floor. I couldn't let them go, so here they are. There are more yet, ones I love but didn't belong in the collage, ones I ran into while looking, so they'll go in the next post or the next. Thank goodness for this outlet to show off the pics I love. Blogs, huh. What'd we do without 'em.

The thing about letting your children work with you on a project is that hmmm they have their own brains and well, while most of the time you nurture that and celebrate that, give them their heads when you can and go to bed happy they've developed grey matter of their own, sometimes this being one of them you just wanna

QUASH IT. Like when they take the mouse left instead of right, click before asking why, keep clicking, click click click CLICK clicky clickidy double click click some more...... get the idea? My kids. Buffalo clickers. Click then ask. POOF! Where'd the pikshur go? wOopsie. Then click on the eraser, What's THAT? THAT's coowull Mom. Hey let's slash that thing across the whole collage we've worked on for a half hour and haven't saved. K? What'r these colors down at the bottom? Hey y'know what? If you click on this spray can and then the blue you can WHOAAAAAA lookie! Granny's face.......... brother looooook, it looks like Granny's smuutherin, man! Blue, she's baaaluuuuuue!

HEY MOM???? Mom, mom mom mom MoMOmOMomom caaaaaaan you make me a big ol blow up of this picture of Granny, please? Liiiiiiiiike, how big can you make it? hhhhheeeeeee hheeeeeeeee bruuuther cmmmeere.

And so. The upshot is this. The collage, after the collaberative effort of my two random clickers and myself, turned out to be something ever so much more representative of our family and the message this blog was created to convey. So as usual I was taught a lesson in letting go.

Just wait'll Weezie sees herself in Smurf.

GET FUNKY WITH IT! Hands on your kneeeees . . . .

Don't tell me you won't enjoy it. Ahhhh, come on. Let loose. Give it a chance. Look around, make sure nobody's lookin' and go WILD. Oh before you know it you will just be laughing out LOUD. This is contagious.

STOMP! Left foot. Four stomps.

Here's how this came about. We have the coolest coaches in the WORLD at our elementary school, and a few years ago I walked into (actually I just walked BY) the gym on the way to the front door and I heard this - the Cha Cha Slide (it's in the music playlist at the top of my blog) - bbbbblaring such that the gym was sort of orbing, pulsing, bubbling with the beat. It stopped me in my tracks and I looked at the gym and thought ok that HAS to be the coolest thing that I've come across today, that my kid is in there doing suuuuumfink to THAT, and not doing sit ups. To a whistle.

So I walked in I couldn't help it it drew me in like chocolate strawberries draw me I was helpless to stay away. Surely the rhythm gods would be on my side and my child would not be amongst the little people moving and bopping to the beat but alas no there he was stomping three times to the left. Maybe I can scooch in behind him but hmmm priorities . . . *sigh*

Well, the upshot - I asked Coach to burn me a CD. At the time, nobody knew who this artist was and the Cha Cha Slide wasn't really popular, but the Assistant Coach had been on a cruise with her daughter and they had done this as a line dance, so she came back with the idea to do it with the kids as an exercise. It has clean lyrics but also it's 'hip' and updated and something the kids go wild WILD I say when they're allowed to have Cha Cha time in PE.

So. Get Funky With It! My kids requested that I change up the music and add some that they like, which reminds me of skating rink music. Well actually that's prolly zakkly what it is, so here it is. They've also requested that I spice up the format. I've no clue how to do that, and I s'pose they think I'm made of time (ha, you thought I was gonna say money - well that's usually what comes out of Moms' mouths, ittn it.....) but I'll be making the effort in the near future. I reckon. Gads.

HANDS ON YOUR KNEES!!! ;- )

....AND HEEEEEERE'S WHY THEY NEED US......among other reasons

I met handsome husband at Sweet Tomatoes for lunch. Outlook calls it a "recurring event". I call it my every Wednesday lunch date with my very own hunk meister. So we're talking about Cub Scouts - ain't THAT a kick in the head. I have him to myself and whadda we talk about? Crrrrrimany.

I talked to Mark last night, says he. Mark's his Assistant Den Leader. Our den is in charge of bringing the Halloween lollipop tree for the Pack Meeting Friday night. So Mark's got a two by four and he's-

Wait. A two by whuuuu?

A two by four. Youuuu know, lumber. So he's gonna make a cross-base for it and then use a drill to drill holes for the loll-

Hold up there Bubba. How's that gonna look like a tree? In fact how's that gonna look like anything but a 2x4 with lollees stuck in it?

Blank stare.

And another thing. Before you tell me you're gonna use duct tape for any portion of this lollipop tree, can you tell me if there's any particular reeeeeezun you're a-doin it this-a way? Is this the Cub Scout method or sunthin?

Nnnneeeewwwww, you got a better idea?

Smatter a fact, I dewwwww.



OH MY GAWSH, IT'S A READY MADE LOLLIPOP TREE! AND IT'S NOT EVEN WOOD! Well that's entirely too easy. Who knew? Mark won't even get to use a saw or wood glue or nuthin.

No, but on the upside, it'll look like a lollipop tree. Well. When you stick lollees in it. Tell Mark he can get one at Walmart. Tell him to get a green one.

Why green?

You're kidding. Right?

MARIO PATRICK AND 4999 OTHERS. . . . .

Here's an excerpt from the website 5000 orphans. Please go there and sign the petition.

You could sign it for my cyber nephew Mario Patrick, who hasn't gotten to come home yet with his Mom Jill, or you could sign it for the 4999 others who are waiting patiently for their parents. Doesn't matter. . . . just sign.

http://www.5000orphans.com/

There is currently political unrest within Guatemala. The outgoing Guatemalan administration intends to shut down Intercountry adoptions.

There are approximately 5000 pending American adoptions in Guatemala right now. The Department of State (DOS) has announced that these cases may not go through. Why?

UNICEF is dangling several millions of $$ in front of outgoing Guatemalan President Berger. He gets the money, if Guatemala gets "Hague compliant", which will effectively shut down adoptions. Berger announced on 09/26/07 that ALL CASES, including the pipeline (5000 cases) would NOT be grandfathered in after January 1st 2008.

The Media has not been helping this cause. Many media outlets have been ignorant and slanted regarding this issue. Most recently NPR aired a clueless piece with false and biased information provided by an under informed Unicef representative. Many media outlets are producing articles and television pieces without clarifying the FACTS.

Update: On 10/3/2007, it has been reported that Guatemala has passed the Ortega bill (#3217). This is disappointing news to families that support intercountry adoptions through Guatemala. More news to follow over the next week.

This is a crisis waiting to happen.

Guatemala has NO WELFARE SYSTEM, NO INFRASTRUCTURE and a weak economy. So what is going to happen to the 5000 children? We don't have an answer to that.

Seems that the children are the losers in all of this.

What are our government, the media, UNICEF and other child welfare agencies doing to help these children and us as citizens, taxpayers, consumers and waiting families?

We don't know. But we need to find out. Today. Now.

AND HEEEEEEERE THEY ARE.........my shining lights

This is last year's cub scout caving trip. My three lovelies. Now they're getting ready to go on a camping trip. . . . oooooOOoOoOOoooh right around Halloween. BOO! The big boo is that Mommy gets to spend the weekend alone. Is that booooo-tilicious, or WHAT???!!! Oh, I can't even just wait to PLAN it. Wow.

Aoooouuuuu, focus woman. The guys. Camping. Anyhooptie, they're doing their gathering thing. Every time I go somewhere it's a personal victory for their trip. "Can you git me a can of corn or two? Has to be Green Giant'cha know. Niblets. NIBLETS, k? N-I-B-L-E-T-S!!!"

Got it, babe. Niblets. *sigh*

Screwed up and mentioned I was going to Walmart. "Oh! Scream through the sporting goods department for me, wouldja? See what's on sale in the camping aisle. We need some light sticks, coleman fuel, mantles, and our air mattress has a hole in it somewhere. OH! And pick up a couple roles of duck tape. Uuuuuh you know the camo kinduud be guud but jes any ol' ell do."

*sigh*

And yes. I know how to spell duct tape. Ask me if my hunky husband knows how to SAY it. ;- \

Saying duct tape the proper way in The South if you're a man would be tantamount to admitting you're a real wuss or a Yankee schmoe* or something pwiiiiiiiity howwible. Whyyyyyy, I have seen Southern men in custom made suits wearing $1000 Italian shoes with two personal assistants use duct tape to fix something and act like it was exactly the thing to do. Right out in the open!! Only in The South.

So then the weekend after they return from their Cub Scout camping trip, the family is taking a camping trip to the mountains to camp by a North Georgia stream in a location that we have called "our" camping spot for over ohhhhhhh twelve or fifteen years I guess. Other family members are meeting us there. We'll have a camping COMPOUND. It's a sight to behold. Ropes strung from one tent to another with wet clothes flung over them, firewood stacked up ready for the evening campfires and overnight fire for warmth, coolers full of food, big water bladders hanging from trees, canteens hanging from limbs here and there, fishing rods stored in tree limb V's, but the best part of the whole campsite ALWAYS is my lawn chair sitting by the mountain stream with the fleece blanket in it. When we first started camping hunky husband complained a little that lawn chairs didn't belong on camping trips. They don't look right he said. Well he's either given up, realized it's part of my camping experience, or he's decided he likes to look over and see it. I hope it's the latter. I think so because for the past twenty years every time we go camping he's packed the sucker for me before I have a chance to ask.

TTFN


*Nothing wrong with being a Yankee you understand, but a Yankee schmoe is a Yankee who has not learned the Southern colloquialisms. Now THAT is a prollem because it either means said Yank a. doan ketch on too fast, er 2. doan keer. Needer's guud.

FUNNEL CAKES AND JUMPIE THINGS

The North Georgia Fair is in town. Our Friday night is booked baby. I got ta hunt up the sh*t kickers. Haven't worn 'em yet this season. Traditionally the fair is the first time to pull out the cowboy boots. The boys, all three of them - one big and two littles - will have to wear camo on some part of their body, else people on the midway'll thank we're uppity. Cain't have nunn uv it.

Naayow the exhibits'll be first, eeeeein aaaaaawl the fleurs'll be hunkered over dayedd beeins its the third day of the competishun. The leaves'll be crispy and brown, an all the first and second place ribbons will-a been yanked off the winnin' displays by the monster no-count yung-uns what their monster no-count parents is off drinkin' at the nickel-suds ring toss. Where'dja winnat ribbon, Chesterjunior? At the whuuuut? The PETTIN zoo?!!! They give 'em for whuuut? They do not. Do not. Do NOT! Ches Ter Ju UHhhh They do NOT. Give ribbons. For ridin'. A dayum GOAT backers now go git me another Buuuuuuuuuud gooseneckkkk.

Fortunately for us our kids have taken field trips in school earlier in the week to see the exhibit hall and the petting zoo. We can skip that side of the fair tonight and go STRAIGHT for the animal shows, the funnel cakes, corn dogs, cotton candy, and various and sundry other delights known only at the fall county fair. We'll come home coated with a film of fair dirt, sticky midway ashphalt, overstimulated, smelling of beer, overfilled garbage cans, and totally thrilled with the whole experience. It's a once a year experience. That's a good thing. ;- )

I DON'T CARE, cuz - LOOOOOKIE, I HAVE NEW SHOOOOOOOOES!!!!!

Great icebreaker when there's a looming, imminent or critical problem and no one knows what to say, do, think. I say it in my Marilyn Monroe voice. Used to use the Anna Nicole voice but now, as you may imagine. . . . not humorous.

That trick requires the physical comedy that would accompany such a Marilyn comment in order to make it funny. To make it work. Something like, ohhhhh, maybe a little back foot kick - just from the knee, simultaneously with a 'throw your hands up, palms open' gesture, elbows tight to your bod, as if you were surprised or something. The cherry on top is to roll your eyes up and to the left while cocking your head the same direction and fairly sing the last word (shooooooooooes!) about an octave higher than you spoke the rest of the trick icebreaking sentence.

Guaranteed for a huge laugh. Totally relieves the tension of the moment with its inappropriateness. Used to use it when I worked - sometimes I would come back from lunch and immediately get pulled into a meeting (really - pulled) that had reached critical mass in a short period of time, fueled also by the fact that no one in the meeting had eaten, but had meeting-marathoned from 8:00am until ohhhhhhh 1:00pm and still . . . customer(or boss, take your pick)-not-happy. So I get dragged in. More ways than one.

Here's the problem!!!

I still have bags in both hands from shopping at lunch. My LUNCH is actually in one hand. Haven't eaten it yet. Guess whut's in the other hand. Yup.

Ohhhhhh nnnnnnnooooooo. Well. Hmm. I don't care, cuz - LOOKIE, I HAVE NNNNNNEWWWWWWWW SHOOOOOOOOOES!! whereupon I would fling open the top of my new shoe box to reveal the most luscious new pair of Bruno Maglis, which were ALL the rage at the time. Women gasped. Men froze. There was a pregnant pause, then laughter broke out. My job was done.

Remember in psychology class, a hundred or so years ago, when you had to learn about fight or flight and whether we were the type personality that dealt with issues straight on or ran away from them? That's laying it out on the table, but that's about the size of it, ittn it? Guess which one I am.....doh!!
So anywaysidoats, I'm noticing more and more that my kids are learning the careful and cheezy art of diversion. Now whether this means they're flights, in the fight or flight choice, or whether it just means they're trying to dupe their ol' goofy Mom and make life easier on themselves remains to be seen but I have my idears.

Hey Pooh Bear, weren't you s'posed to vacuum the car out before you went outside to play?

"What? I couldn't hear you. Oh hey Mom guess what! The homework from yesterday? Every SINGLE one correct. Hey you helped me with that, 'member? Cool, huh. 'Kay, you're comin' to eat lunch with me tomorrow, right? Cuz the Brother QUIT! other kids were askin'. And OH by the way, I have to STOP IT! I'M GONNA HURT YOU. have $14 for the Performing Arts field trip next week. MmmmmMmMMMMmm, that's GOOD. What is it? Is that dinner? Anyway, ok, I'm goin' outside now."

Uhhhhh, Button, nice try, but go vacuum the car then you can go outside.

Huh? Can't hear you, I'm outside!

This would go on for hours if I let it, presumably. I call it brain drain. Starts the second their feet hit the ground off the school bus in the afternoon and I'm convinced it wouldn't stop until they're asleep at night. And I have to admit that sometimes I get duped! They're soooooo proud when they pull one over on me, but here's the irony. It takes more energy and time on their parts (and more angst all around) for them to go to all this trouble to get out of stuff, then if they'd just go ahead and get the job done.

Now how long have mothers been saying that? Which just goes to show that it's not just the job they're trying to get out of - it's us they're trying to get the better of. So good for them when they win one every now and then.

Ohhhhhhh, well. Some days you get the bear, some days the bear gets you. I don't care - cuz I got new SHOOOOOOOOOES!!!!!

ttfn

IT'S HIS PARTY AND I'LL CRY CAUZ I NEED TO. . . .

Cry cauz I need to,
CRY-YY cauz I need to,
You would cry too if this baby grew up on youuuu!!!





WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!

He's not a baby anymorrrreee, look at himmmmm oh my gosh he might as well be a MAN but look how happy.

I'm a big bag of whiny mush. He's turning double digits. Ten. Ten years old. He's been practicing how to say it.

I'm ten.

I'm ten years old.

Ten.

Ten years.

Ummmmm, ten? Yeah.

Hmm? Oh. Ten.


Here's what his heart is saying.

I AM TEN YEARS OLD, WOOOO HOOOOOO!!!!

He's one of the oldest kids in his class. Usually THE oldest but this year one kid beat him to the punch. It's one of his big deals, and this year? the kid that beat him out? GIRL. Oh yeah. He's suffering. Well. Mom's coming with Toll House Cookies at lunchtime. That'll kick him up a k-notch-ie or three, so he thinks. Last night at bedtime we're lying in his bed he has the best bed in the house I said Pook how many kids in your class now? and he said twenty, do you think you could make twenty THREE cookies? I said what are you KIDDING me I'm making sixty three. Turned to him and winked and gave him a squeezie. He turned over and we spooned a minute before I kissed him and turned off his lamp and snuck out of his bedroom. He was already snoring.

N-E-G-L-I-G-E-N-C-E

Well, we're working on spelling words. Ohhhhhhh kaaaaaay, I could give you tons of excuses. We've taken several trips this month, school has started back, we're working on homework. spelling words. baseball. karate. painting the hall. the stairwell. the ceiling. trying to get grass to grow. scratch that one, we're in Georgia where it's over 100* and there's no rain and no watering. Back to reality. Oh heck forget it, everybody's busy, I just have put this at the bottom of the list, that's what. No blog entry since the beginning of August and now it's the end. What HAPPENED to August anyway?

Life. That's what. I have a friend who says (yes, here it comes) Life is what happens when you're making plans. She says it so much I fear my ears slam shut when they hear it coming. It's her mantra I think, or perhaps it's her mantra (message to moi) when she's in my presence I dunno but in the month of August life is what happened instead of writing the blog. I just couldn't get here. She'd be proud. I must remember to tell her. I'll make plans.

So anyhow here we are nearly in September, the month of many special days - #1 son's birthday, my brother's birthday, my mother in law's birthday, and Labor day long weekend. Don't look for me to improve my blogginess soon. ;- ' I'm making birfday pahty plans . . . er, I mean livin large.

TTFN

TRAVEL WITH YOUR YOUNG, or.... GET BACK IN MY POCKET SO MOMMY CAN HOP FASTER, ROO!!!

They just don't move fast enough, dangit. Their butts are too close to the sidewalk, they're too young yet to be in a hurry, and last but not least, the more you hurry them up, the slower they go. My oldest has outgrown sitting in the buggy BUT he has heelies. Heelies are a wise investment for Moms who have legs that rival the length of giraffes'. My youngest can still fit in the large part of the buggy but then that precludes buying a lot because the bin's filled up with hunk of boy and no room is left for merchandise. Well then. Kills two birds with one stone. Money management AND time management. Can't beat it.

I pushed my oldest around in an umbrella stroller until he was four. Would've done it for longer except for two things. The wheels wallowed out, and people started looking at him like something was wrong with him. It was only in places where I could zip around five times as fast and keep him from getting too tired too soon (it's not all about me, no matter what you hear).

They have two jobs when we go anywhere. They must keep up with me and they must stay in front of me. These are their jobs. If one of them drifts beside or slightly behind me and I have to even turn my head a TAD to see them, they know they're in trouble. #1 will say, as his step quickens and he reclaims his space directly in front of me, I'M TRYING, I'M TRYING!!! but you're legs are soooooo darnnnnnnn loooooooong. Jr. Mint just makes a fantastic, gutteral noise that I have never, to my great consternation, been able to reproduce audibly or in writing. It sounds quite like a cross between a dog growling and a croaker frog, but as he's groaking those legs still shift into high gear and move his body back into place.

Now here's an irony. Earlier this week when I took these very same young 'uns to the Jumpy Place, I could not get out of the car fast enough for them. Couldn't keep up, couldn't get to the front door fast enough, couldn't pay for them fast enough. Mom, you're not keeping up! It's your job to keep up - come ONNNNNN!

And just as I was thinking, Now ain't this a kick in the head - how come they don't move this fast when I need 'em to????, my youngest son plants both fists on his hips, cocks his hip and stands hipshod and says, Say Mommmmmom, how come you can't move that slow when you're at the store draggin' us along at a jog?

TTFN

OHHHHHHH I MISS HIM, and OH NO WE ENT, JUMP SOME MORE!!

#1 son is off at camp this week. We're pining away. All three of us!! We're ate up with it actually. It's sorta sappy. He's never been away for an entire week that he wasn't with family. Even his five year old brother, who fights with him like a pit bull or sonthin has cried over brothah this week.

In my head I know this is so very healthy for him. It's what allows him to grow, thrive, get a perspective, understand others' perspectives, understand himself and the world.

*****BLAH BLAH BLAH*****

I can't wait for Saturday. We pick him up at 10:00. I'll be there at 9:45. I want to hear everything. The swimming twice a day, the hiking, the crafts, the games, the campfires, EVVVVVVVerything. I just want to breathe his air.

Meanwhile on the homefront in a turn of events that has quite discombobulated Jr. Mint, he has discovered that he is quite the big boy. In his brother's absence he has enjoyed yes I said enjoyed doing CHORES. Now only the ones he has initiated mind you but who cares? They're chores and it's an eye opener for the young man. YOUNG MAN? ACK!!! With brother out of the way I mean mix it leaves way for him to do the big boy chores and oh myyyyy is he thriving. Let meeeee grind that coffee for you Mommy I mean Mom. - Usually #1's job.
In another discovery that's been a slow one coming since we left brother at camp but when it finally arrived it knocked him on the head like a brickbat, he has discovered that he can go ohhhhh ten minutes without being told how to do just e-v-e-r-y l-i-t-t-l-e t-h-i-n-g by his older brother (aka his second mother).

I wonder how it will all work out when they reunite. Interesting.

So. Mommy and youngest have spent quality time together this week during the day. Yesterday we went to the jumpy place. We both love the jumpy place. A mom opened it I am just SURE. I'm only jealous I didn't do it first. Inflatables around the perimeter walls, the desk at the front door for security, in the center are tables for parents, total viewing ability to all inflatables from tables. Free WIFI, people. Ohhhhhh yeah. Table set up with free coffee. Filtered cold water machine. TELL ME A MOM DIDN'T DESIGN THAT.

So. Got out the computer. Fresh coffee, ahhhh. Jr. Mint's already found two friends. Life's good. I brought 'work' with me, a stack of papers, letters, invitations, stuff I wanted to get through from home. Added some things to Outlook, synched the palm, RSVP'd to a couple of things, then......... glanced up to last week and noticed the entry for Uncle David's funeral on my calendar. Ohhhh, I missed him. Sitting in the eye of a storm of screaming jumping young uns and a half dozen pumped up frogs and palm trees, I missed my dead uncle for the first time. What I had felt until then was the sadness of his death and the deep grief of the loss, but now I missed him. Being here. With me. In front of me. Different. It's a different feeling than the immediate grief surrounding the death and the funeral and even the days after. Suddenly (really suddenly) I realized I missed him. Wow.

BUT. What a great place I was in for that realization to descend, for my youngest at that moment hit me broadside like a linebacker and fairly shrieked in my left ear, MOM, I'm ready to go!

OHHHHHHH no you're not. You just thought you were. I paid eight dollars for you to be here. Jump more. Jump LOTS more. Plus and which, I am spread out here like cheap yellow margarine on a slice of white bread. There's free coffee to be had, it's raining outside, we're in a good spot. GO FORTH AND JUUUUMP!!! Wherezzat cute lil redhead with the twinklie socks, anywayzzzz?

I was NOT moving. My table was covered with magazines, the newspaper, papers, computer accessories & cables, palm pilot, cell phone, coffee cup, water cup - you get the idea. I looked like I had moved in.

Just then, Redhead Twinklie Socks stealthed up behind him and grabbed his shirt, pulling him backwards and singsonging in an angellic little voice, You're not leaving now are you? You're my new friend! Come on!

Ahhhhh, Mommy sinks back down in her chair, for today those words are a good thing. Ten years from now my heart will sink when I hear them coming from a redhead with twinklie socks.

DSW, 80% OFF, INDIAN QUISINE, AND THE DAY AFTER

It was strangely like the day after Christmas. DSW had sent me (only me you understand, not the general public, their Rewards Customers, or their email customer list in toto) a personal email to inform me that there would be a Summer Clearance Sale which would allow me to purchase shoes that were already on sale for 20% of their SALE price. IT WAS AN 80% OFF SALE. Now let me do that math for you. That means that shoes marked down to $100.00 are $20.00. Shoes marked down to $50.00 are $10.00. $40.00 ones are $8.00. $30.00 ones are $6.00. But here's the clincher. One pair of Donald Pliners left. My size. ON SALE for $149.95. Most gorgeous. Classic black. Stretch micro. Pump. Pointed toe. High heel. Sexy cut out on the sides with skinny straps. I walked out of there with them clinched in my arms for $30.00. donald pliners donald pliners donald pliners donald pliners one can hardly get a good pair of flip flops for that people.

Those were the priiiiiiize. There were three other pairs I'll have to admit, but the total STILL was well under $100.00, and in my bag was a pair of Kenneth Cole jesus sandals, a pair of funky BCBG flesh colored rocker sandals with buckles, and a pair of Doc Martin powdered leather flip flops for my handsome honey hubby.

After the shoe shopping whirlwind, the guys, who had gone on their own version of a shoe shopping trip - a trip to the discount tool store and the batting cages - called my SIL and me and requested that we meet them at the Indian restaurant. Now they serve a buffet at lunch and JUST HOW HUNGRY DO YOU THINK WE WERE after shoe shopping????? So after tandoori chicken, naans, butter chicken, basmati rice, fried zucchini, and more, more, and more more MORE, what do you think we did???

We went back to DSW.

Can't get enough of a good thing. I walked away with a sweet pair of Kenzie tooled leather slides with teardrop cutouts the second time......

When we got home we all compared our spoils. The kids (that would be all four of the male humans.....) had purchased new tools, then practiced batting at the batting cages and played arcade games - well, you HAVE to play them if they're THERE.

After I changed clothes, sat down and spent a little time with me baybees, I called my Mom.

"How are you today?"

"I'm fine honey, how 'bout you?"

"Well I'm OK. Did you sleep OK? Sleep up at Grandmother's? Get any sleep?"

"We did. We actually slept well. We were exhausted. I only woke up once, and Mother didn't even know it."

"Mmmm, how is she today?"

"She has too much time to think. . . not that it would be any easier to lose a child if she didn't have time to think, but today she said she was imagining that David was sitting here beside her."

So we talked for awhile, and when I got off the phone with her, I looked at my four pair of new shoes and thought about my little Grandmother squenching her eyes tight and pretending her son was alive and sitting in the rocker beside her.

Took the fireworks right out of my four pair of new thrills. I just would give every pair of shoes I ever had and the pleasure of shoe shopping trips, to give her back her baby, and it would be a small token to pay. The things you'd give up to make your loved ones happy.......

DISCOMBOBULATION, ROOT CANALS, AND FIREWORKS

Oh. And new, fabulous sheets. FABulous I say.

My uncle passed away on Monday afternoon and Tuesday morning I had a root canal. Be careful what you ask for, you just may get it. I don't use this example in disrespect but rather as a perfect example of how God can keep me in check.....remind me of something literally and figuratively at the same time. WHO is a better joker than God, anyway, has a better sense of humor, to use my own cliche on me and then wait until I figure it out myself. I stopped in my tracks. Laughed out loud. Tooooo perfect. What a good joke on myself and a lesson in relativity. Good one, God. Comic relief during a time of morbid grief. You are the Master.

Monday evening, being rather without focus, I performed regular dinner/kid-bath-bed duties by rote and for a large part with a phone attached to my ear. At some point I dropped into the bed more than somewhat like a felled tree. During the night I prayed for, among soooo many other things, the strength and guidance to "live the interim". In other words, to have the ability to pay attention to what I'm supposed to be doing between now and the funeral at the end of the week, to do my job well, focus on the focus, for after all, nothing's as horrific as what my cousins, my Mother, my Grandmother are going through right now. Yes, I lost my Uncle but others are hurting much worse. What, that I'm dealing with, could be that bad?

OK. Got up Tuesday morning. Good morning God, it's me! Looked at my Palm. Ohhhh ho hooo hhhooooo. 9:00am. ROOT CANAL.
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Welllll, well well WELL well well. Talk about a disTRACtion! What do you bet it's a long, long, loooooong time before lil miss smartypants (that'd be me) says "I'd rather have a root canal" again............

And tonight? No fireworks because of the dry spells we've had, so only sparklers in the cul de sac. It will be a low key evening, how wonderful will that be, just the four of us, celebrating Independence Day, family time, chicken on the grill, and a nice calm positive day, then handsome hubby and I can crawl into nice, new, soft, blue sheets and cuddle up, before a couple of days that will be hard on our hearts.

TTFN

IT GOES DOWNHILL

Rather, it's supposed to. Things that occur naturally occur in a downhill trickle. I can't think of anything that occurs without interference or force that travels UPhill. It's a battle. It's hard. It's not, well, natural. Family's like that too. Rather, it's supposed to be. Happens that way naturally. There are parents, then children, then their children, and so on. Goes from senior to junior. Old to young. Big to little. Life goes on and the grand circle of life is that more children come and our seniors' leave our earth and we don't get to see them, visit with them. For awhile. A lonnnnnnnnng while, it will seem, to us.

So. My Uncle David, who is seventy five years of age, will die within the weekend, says his hospice worker. He has been my uncle for forty seven years. My only one. He's been Daddy to my cousins for 49, 45, and 42 years respectively, Daddy in law to their spouses, and Grandaddy for 19 years 7 times over.

He has been a husband for 51 years, and a brother for 74 years.

But he has been his Mama's boy for 75 years. And she is 101 years old.

Throughout his illness I can't even count the times I've heard You're not supposed to bury your son...., and now I can't remember how many of those times someone else was saying it and how many I was just feeling it, repeating it, hearing it in my own heart. It's a battle. It's hard. It's not, well, natural.

Grief is a selfish emotion, for the most part. Rather, if you believe in my God that's the case. There'll be a hole where my Uncle David was. On the earth, in my heart, at the table, in the family, just - sort of - in the air. World's not the same. Can't call him. Not that I would've. Right then. Can't hear his voice if I want to. Not that I would've wanted to. Right then. I just . . . . . can't. My whole world, family, * e-v-e-r-y-t-h-i-n-g* dynamic will be always different, and I won't ever get it back. Notice how many I's there are in there? Selfish. Selfish emotion.

For the part that's not the most part, I guess what's left is sorrow for the loss of my Uncle David's life. . . that he's losing it, that he's going through what the disease has put him through, that his dignity has been robbed, if he knows that it has, that his immediate family is in such unbearable pain, that his death won't be the end of the pain but the beginning of a different kind of pain for them, that his grandchildren will grow the rest of their years without their "Pa".

That my Mama is losing her brother.

So I have a couple of coping mechanisms for dealing with grief. Wanna hear 'em? Here they are. I write. (Duh.) I clean, move stuff around, I cook, and I clothes shop (this one has always seemed strange to me but I think I've figured it out. Clothes shopping isn't something I do recreationally; it is enjoyable but takes extreme concentration for me and so - TAH DAH! - guess what I push to the back of me pea brain).

When each visit with your uncle may be your last you remember every nano-second of it. I do. I remember when he lifts his finger. Twitches his leg. Opens his eyes. Turns his head toward me, away from me- the reason I remember THAT so well is because I think OK, he's gonna know me this onnnnnnneeee last time.

This isn't a downhill trickle. We're pushing this one up the mountain.

OHHHHHHH THE WISDOM OF MEN

This evening as my handsome husband was going in and out of the house to cut wood for the hardwood floors he's installing, he was besieged by all manner of insects - mosquitos and no-see 'ums mainly but others joined the party here and there. He was quite flusterated, as my Aunt Pearl used to say, and so as he passed through the kitchen mumbling ugly words under his breath and scratching, I stuck a Bounce dryer sheet in his back shorts pocket, explaining that it would keep the bugs away and he wouldn't have to apply bug spray (which bothers his skin).

So Mr. Fixit trots back outside and saws a few more planks in half, comes in and installs them, does it all again, then doubles back into the kitchen and pulls the Bounce sheet out of his pocket with a wild, dramatic flair, pinching his nose up with the other hand, and says, I can't handle this thing...it STINKS.

"That's what makes it work honey," I said. "Don't you think it's better than having to spray that bug spray all over your skin?"

"Well, I guess so, but.. but..well, can't we get them in unscented or something?"

DOH!!!

SOME DAYS, or, THE GIRLFRIEND GODS

Some days are gifts. Technically each day is a gift but some days, more than your regular days, . . . . . . . . . . ok this ain't goin' where I want.

Every now and again I get a day, sandwiched between two "get up and do it all again" days, where it seems the Girlfriend Goddesses have looked down, waved their wands and tilted their tiaras my direction. Slipped a Glorious Girlfriend Day in just for me.

I got one of those today. And I'm getting another one tomorrow. My #1 son's mantra is "treasure your time". He began saying it when we had a discussion about how he would get gloomy when it was close to time to leave Jumpits or Pump it Up or American Adventures or the pool or (insert any fun place here) and all he could think about was how pitiful he was because it would soon be time to leave, instead of how much fun he was having and how glad he was he'd gotten to go. I would tell him to treasure the time he got to spend and make every minute count instead of being gloomy about the time we had to leave.

So I'm treasuring my time. Can't believe I'm getting two girlie days in a row. Must be living right. Sumthin.

BEEN TOO LONG

Wow, I have missed THIS. I have a friend who says Life Is What Happens While You're Making Plans. Sometimes I think (I wouldn't give my handsome husband the satisfaction of telling him but) my hubby lives by this credo because he flies by the seat of his pants Holy SMOKES I don't know how he skins by or whether it's that he's perked it down to something that's an oiled engine for him or whether the Sprytes are awatchin' over him, but somehow he slides through life with a minimum of late fees, lost keys, and missed appointments. As for the oiled engine it's plausible as an simile-esque example only but in reality no. I think the "add windsheid solution" blinkie has been blinking on the Volvo for two years. We won't travel there today.

He's never forgotten our kids anywhere. that i know of

The point is I make plans. I plan for time to make plans. It soothes me, it makes me happy, calm, eeeeeasy. Gives me a peaceful easy feelin'. (Yep I'm that old and I AM a fan.....) I want to know by Wednesday what I'm doing on Friday night. Saturday night. Vacation this summer. RETIREMENT. The funeral. Eternity. (Well I already know that, praise God.) Anyhoosie, you get the drifffff. In Ronny terms, I have a corncob up --------ok. When we first got married, (well you know you appreciate your differences then) the Ronny term for my corncob-ed-ness was "she likes to plan ahead which is good because I - well, I really - sort of - don't".

Now. The key there is "I - sort of - don't." I heard it. But I was so blinded by his incredible beauty and OH OH OHHHHuHuHuhhhhho those legs and that hiney *sigh* well and that thick back and wiiiiiiiide shoulders well who just cared? Plan shman. I was twenty. Plus, and, also, it was cute when he said it then. He cocked his head a little and sucked in one corner of a lip and that dimple got deeper, his big brown cow eyes glistened, then he stood hipshod and all that unbeknownst to himself. See he dint even plan his own sexiness. THAT........ is such a frackin' turn on. Big ol' lug.

So now we're twenty six years later, the first seventeen years just the two of us. Inseparable but independant. When you're two, both work, big delicious careers, each others' baby, go your own way during the day, do things your own way, come together after work enjoy each other, respect each others' independence have courtesy for the others' preferences, yada yada.

Then you have babies and you're not each other's baby anymore.

Oops.

Schedules matter planning matters communicate work it out write it down make a list copy the list it takes Outlook Palm Pilots SmartPhones Pocket PCs Synching Laptops Thumbdrives Charts meetings reconoiter IT TAKES A VILLAGE, PEOPLE!!!!

says me.

says Ronny and the sprytes . . . it'll be fine. I'll find out the schedule a few minutes before I need to know it I'm doing something else right now can't stop. And I'll meetcha there. I'll bring the cooler and the Powerade, be there by the bottom of the second, and if he forgets his jockstrap I prolly have one under the backseat somewhere. No worries baybee.

Fffffffffphft. What do you say to that? There just isn't a response no response atall. As my #1 son said one time to his little brother who had just rubbed his last nerve, "just pack your toopcase and go on your own journey." Definately on his own journey, my handsome husband.

Here's the thing. I appreciated that journey when I met him. The two of us are so constantly reinventing our dynamic, our relationship, and now we're reinventing that part, so that's what I'm working on - re-appreciating that part of my handsome husband. I keep thinking about Madonna and other artists that reinvent themselves frequently. Always appreciated them for the ability to do that, and of all the couples we know who seem to have a 'constant' relationship where nothing seems to change, things seem to always be so static over the years, I feel so sorry and worried. (You thought I was gonna say envious didncha!) But how can it happen!?? Things change, times change, everything changes - - - -

OK so. Where did things shake out. What fell to the bottom. Here's where I am. I was watching Barack Obama's wife - Michelle, I think - being interviewed by Robin Roberts the other day. This was NOT an accident. This comment that she made was for my ears and my ears only. If you heard it more the better for you, but it was intended for moi. She was discussing their life, she and Barack, and their differences and their busy schedules and how she was the stable influence, the planner in their relationship, that liked repetition and schedules, and he was always the one that was never afraid to try something new, risky, different. So she said, "If I wanted to be able to have family dinner around the table at six o'clock every night, I should've married someone else. But I wanted Barack more."

That's profound. Simple. But profound.

So that's life! And that's what's happening while I'm making plans..... maybe. Still love my plans, but guess what. I can take my pocket pc with me anywhere - or leave it at home. One planner plus one free spirit with a great derriere makes a great balance I say. Gives two kids a great scope.

So I have to go. I'm watching the free spirit swing a hammer. Ooooooooh. Turning the Smart phone off now.........

THE PARRRTAYYY

What a bunch a crackers and a salad bowl mix to boot. We're the mesclun of famblies.

The party was held at my sister in law's house. Now her house is a 50's rancher with a one car carport on the end, which she has converted into a porch. Not many people could pull that off but there we sit every time as weather permits, at trash-art cafe tables and wrought iron patio sets. A breeze blows through from front to back and trinkles wind chimes that have been purchased with delight, packed with care and brought home from some kitchsy art village. Half a dozen thriving orchids in as many colors sit on an antique table with chipping paint and just behind those, off the porch in the grass, is a turkey tail fern hanging on a shepherd hook plant hanger. There are beverage buckets around the perimeter here and there and a off the back side of the porch is a small patio vegetable and herb garden with a bluebird feeder and a finch feeder taking center stage. The kitchen door opens from the porch into the house and has cafe curtains hanging on the window that swing & the breeze sorta brushes past your nose & smells like fresh cotton when you open the door to go in. There's metal yard art shaped like a goony bird, toys for the grandkids (and my kids) in one corner, but for the most part, there are people laughing, smiling, eating, drinking, embroiled in conversation, kids running through, and never do you feel you are sitting in a carport.

So. SIL has writer's block and she feels like if she reads us a chapter maybe she'll get unblocked. One character didn't like her name, another didn't want to do what SIL wanted her to. They were not cooperating.

"UNBLOCKED!" says BIL - her own brother, we're speaking of now. "I doan wanna be read tooooo, dayuhm!"

"DAVID, SHIT! QUIT CUSSING, my KIDS are around SOMEwhere!" This is the OTHER brother we're speaking of NOW, who, unfortunately, happens to belong to ME. Well, not unfortunately, but I'm not quite proud to be sharing this particular convo. although it is purty dang funny......

And the worst part is BOTH of these men are in their FORTIES. Jiminy crickets. Meanwhile, sister in law, who has cooked corned beef, mashed potatoes, turnip greens, a ham, a turkey, carrot salad, broccoli slaw, and rolls, and FED these two ungrateful heathens, sits patiently waiting for them to zip up so that she may continue. . . . to unblock. It's like the writer's form of Milk of Magnesia or something.

And sooooo the reading begins. She gets out three sentences and BIL - this is SIL the writer's huuuuusband I'm speaking of this time walks in, "Huneeeeeee, where's the club soda???? I can't find it and - oh gaaad - we need another round of vaadka racks- oy, I can't find nuttin."
So perhaps you've guessed he's not from around heah.

So Donna begins her story about a southern woman (shocker) who is from a long line of women that die before their 65th birthday. This woman is 64 and 10 months. She's planning her funeral. In this particular chapter she's at the beauty parlor having her hair and makeup done exactly like it will be done when she's dead so she can make sure it's gonna be done exactly right. When that's finished she's gonna march over to the funeral home and choose her casket. Just as she's choosing her casket, brother David jumps in-

"So so so how are you gonna market this book, anyhow... it's definately not a romance like that LAST one, whut IS it?"

Clearly it was an attempt to deflect, to redirect, to MAKE HER STOP READING. Didn't work.

SIL is a talented and entertaining southern writer and storyteller. The reading of the chapter ends, containers of tapanade and dip have been polished off, bottles clink into the garbage can, BIL has found his club soda and refreshed the vaadka drinkers. Everyone is still chuckling except brother David who has long since left the scene with a brew in each hand, mumbling some nonsense about audible reading being for kids at bedtime.

By the time we ate dinner it was after 8:00pm. No one noticed. The kids were covered in grass and sweat and I took one look at them and smiled because I knew when we left they'd be asleep before we ever got onto the main road. My sweet, lovin', stinky, sweaty babies.

So SIL and I are the clean-up matriarchs by now it's 10:30pm and I'm loading the dishwasher and SIL hands her son (who is 28) a pot with the turkey and ham grease and says, "Here. Go throw this out at the back corner of the yard. But not in our yard. In the neighbor's yard. But not the nice one. The one we don't like." Van Morrison's singing to us in the background and I can see my SIL's shoulders shaking as she sends her son on his chore. Hehe, I hear.

Minutes go by, we're singing and doing the bump even as we clean up. Mustang SALLY!!

"MOM!!!"

"WHAT!! What's wrong????? Son? WHAT??????"

"I had to run . . . *gasp* back *wheez* ! That big muscle Harley dude came out from that house and hollered Who's there? Who's there - what're you dumpin' in my damn yard??? Then he came after me with a frickin' SHOVEL!!! I had to throw the pot at him - I think it hit him in the head cuz he fell and hollered and now he's not movin - oh what do I DO, WHAT SHOULD WE DO???????"

"Oh my oh my oh my oh GAWD I was jesssss, I mean, ohhhh Caren lawww whadda I .....I.....I.... I should never have I can't believe I just yooooouuuuu nasty little puke you had better run fast cuz if I catch up to you on these arthritic feet yoooooouuuuu I can not beLIEVE I gave birth to such an ungrateful heathern you come back here like a good son and let me beat you senseless you just WAIT until I get my sore ol' hands on you oh if I laugh any harder I'm gonna need a damn Depends YOU - oh where did that boy go? Wah shit.

That twenty eight year old in hiding is my nephew, has a nine year old that's my #1's best bud and his first cousin once removed.

Twenty eight year old nephew's son's Mom's fiance is helping clean up the kitchen. Drops turnip greens on his shoe. MAN DOWN!!! he says. Har. "Wha, who, who's down!!" Brother in law is turning sixty five. Donna's husband. Couldn't be farther from Southern. Jewish. . . from Detroit. What a pair.

Neice turned fourteen. Sister in law (David's wife) turned eighteen with twenty two years of experience.

It was a wild ride, a peaceful slide, and a good time was had by all.

THREE FOR THEM ONE FOR ME

Got to go birthday gift shopping tomorrow. BIL is easy, a great single malt scotch will be welcomed with open arms. SIL and neice are easy too I'll just head over to TJ Maxx and get candles and deliciously fab-o toiletries for SIL and cutesy handbags and teen jewelry for neice OOPS! TJ Maxx did I say???? Well well well well, while I'm there guess what. They're having their dress sale.....hmmmmmm. What a coinkidinkie. $19.99 I blieve I kin handle it. Bought a pair of shoes last week just because. . . well just because. No more. Anyshoesies, have not one stitch in my closet to wear with them. Now I ask you does that make the sense God gave a goat?

I think not.

But then I ent a goat. And thank goodness to because I'd hate to have to store the shoes.

Well, the birthday party IS tomorrow night. Gotta look great, that's the main thing. Oh oops I mean the second main thing. Hope I don't forget the gifts.


TTFN

WELL WELCOME SOUTH BRUTHA

WSB's the Atlanta ABC affiliate, or just channel 3 I call it affectionately cawz I quit using Welcome South Brother when Lewis Grizzard (the President of the South, to you) passed away. This morning Monica Kaufman Pearson announced that they would not be showing video of the ramblings of the shooter that was aired over and OVER yesterday. I suspect it was due in great part to Dr. Michael Wellner's lil visit to Good Morning America yesterday, and his statement and ensuing explanation that the airing and re-airing of the shooter's video was a "social catastrophe".

Check him out

Dr. Michael Wellner's my new best friend. I'm so happy to watch and listen to someone who feels the strength of his convictions and speaks strongly and without reservation and even though he has the unpopular opinion, he states it. He explains it. He's passionate regarding it, he knows what he's talkin' about folks. He's got a fire in his belly 'bout it . He comes back on the following day and defends it. People listened, as they should've.

Thanks, Dr. Wellner. We needed you this week.

CAN'T TALK ABOUT IT SO LET'S TALK ABOUT SUNTHIN ELSE

You know what I mean. It's all anyone's thought about since yesterday morning. It's all any parent or grandparent or sister or brother, aunt, uncle, friend, teen, pre teen, college student and particularly - just - survivor - has been able to fit in the thinking feeling parts of their body so we'll move on until another day that's farther away, and we'll talk about it then.

Now then. Howzabout a $400 haircut, whatcha think about that??? Sort of pales, doesn't it. Not really a big deal now. In fact, when #1 is Va. Tech and #1 is the fact that his wife has cancer, who cares.

Alright, . . . let's see. Imus . . . oh I'm so sick of that I could YAK. The last time I was this sick of publicity was Rosie and Donald and look how THAT turned out good grief what a publicity stunt and now the hip hop dudes are excusing themsel...... oh crud I just don't care. Taken away the purity of the win GIVE me breakage. When #1 is Va. Tech, #2 is that Elizabeth Edwards has cancer and people focus on her husband's haircut, who cares.

Hmmm. Welll ell ell ell, we could talk about umm the fact that there appears to be no OTHER news today. Ever noticed how the news stations forget that other things happen in this world when there's a crisis of such proportions that they can milk it for their ENTIRE broadcast because if they don't the OTHER newscasts will grind them into the dirt in the ratings? The news anchors run out of legitimate questions to ask, so they start asking redundant questions, filabustering, lowering their voices and quietly asking fluff. Almost as if they're embarrased. Well. I would be. It all reminds me of Connie Chung's famous interview before her fall. Come on. You can tell me. It's just you and me. The camera crew runs out of new and interesting images so they rerun the same same images over and over and OVER again. ENOUGH! Run it once on the morning news. Run it once on the noon news. Run it as the lead story on the evening news. THEN DONE! Stream it on the website for anyone who wants to watch it over and over and over and over, good grief. But we can't do that, can we, noooooooo. So go ahead, Robin Roberts, ask the Professor if she feels responsible in any way for the shooter. Responsible? COME ONNNNNNNN. Gimme some REAL NEWS. Then let's make sure someone asks YOU if YOU and your network feels responsible as well. I've lost interest. When #1 is Va. Tech, #2 is that Elizabeth Edwards has cancer and people are focusing on her husband's haircut, and #3 is the prostitution of our newscasts, who cares.

By the way, friends. Here's some real news. #1. My friend Gail's daughter Susan is safe and sound. My God is good. #2. My #1 son is doing GREAT on his CRCTs this week. For a child who becomes apprehensive at the first sign of tests, parTICularly timed tests, he has been calm and peaceful. We're breathing great sighs of relief. #3. My handsome husband got up in front of a huge roomful of people yesterday at work and did NOT panic. This. People. IS. NEWS.

TTFN.

BYE BYE KURT, WE ENJOYED YOU

It can do a number on you. When a frequently read author from your past passes away, it's a surreal experience. Brings back floods of memories about things like paperbacks stuck in bookbags and dirty denim hobo bags that smell like weed and incense. This is an author, I guess you've surmised, from my waaaaaaaaay past. I haven't read any Vonnegut in years. I bet I will now. Right now I'm reading riveting stuff like The Red Tent (which I just can NOT get through, ugh) and Extraordinary Knowing which I talked about and drooled over and that's what I got for Easter. I was thrilled with it, and thrilled that my sweet handsome hubby remembered that I wanted it. It's a killer concept and very exciting, (truly) but Kurt . . . . ohhhh, Kurt. You gotta love an author that looks just like Mark Twain. That's just warm and fuzzy and a sign from above that you MUST read him right there. Then he goes and runs a close second in pessimism with Twain as well, or at least it always seemed so. That's just weird. Maybe he was our Twain for this lifetime. Whoa.

What an imagination this man allowed himself to grow - the Tralfamadorians twarnt no Aunt Polly. But I digress. Anyone who writes about a place - no - a utopia of sorts where everything in the universe fits neatly together. Mm. Mm, mmm, mmmmm. Truthfully that's not a utopia at all, is it, cause where's the fun in that if everything fits just right? But it's soothing to think on it. Peaceful even, especially when nothing has fit together in your day, or your week. And the name of his utopia alludes to what a utopia it's just NOT.... the chrono-synclastic infundibula. INFUNDIBULA? Sounds like one of those things a horse gets when they can't walk anymore, or something you have to go to the podiatrist about, or something the financial analyst needs to fix, or ---zzzzzowie, I dunno, but it's summpin I dun want fer sher.

Anyway prayers for Kurt Vonnegut's family and circle of loved ones. Boy I hope they know how many people he reached with his talent and his skill, what an impact he made on thousands and thousands of people, prolly millions.

Next time you're at Barnes, pick up something by Kurt Vonnegut and read a few pages. He wrote at least a dozen books, maybe more; you have a fairly wide choice, and between the dozen of them the scope is wide. You may learn a new word. May not be a real one, but it'll be a GREAT one. It'll zhuzh up your day.

TTFN

WINTER SPRING WINTER SPRING

Pick one.

Doesn't much matter spring lasts about a flickie around here. A flickie is a little longer than a nano-second but shorter than a 'lil bit'.

BUT. You know there's always a big but. Once spring gets here it'd be nice if IT WOULD STAY.

Who cares life's good. Not that big-a-deal ah reckon. Is jes weather. Round here weather puts dinner on our tahbleh so the more there is of it I guess the better off we is'ns.

So. Spring break's over. Mmmmm. What's next?

IMUS! Nappy headed WHUTS? Wow, Imus. Look atcher own head, pal.

THE SPRINGBOARD OF SPRING BREAK

When I was in college we called it AEA. Sometimes it still slips out..... "Where ya goin' for AEA?" Sort of like "Have you taken your ACTs yet?" May as well wear a sandwich sign that says YES I'M FROM ALABAMA.

My kids will be under my feet for a whole week. Seven days. Twenty four hours a day. YEEEEEEEHAAAA!!! Let the games b-e-g-i-n. Doesn't get any better than this. Well maybe summertime.

The board games are ready. The fridge and the freezer are stocked. Books, DVDs, card games, bicycles, scooters, toys, paints, easels, crayons, water guns, nerf guns, sidewalk chalk, and skates are all on the ready.

That'll take care of Monday. ;- )

The gas tank is on full in the Magic Bus. I have our suitcases packed, my laptop, my Outlook synced to my Q, reservation confirmations for the cottage on the lake, a housesitter situated for the house, and two tubs and three coolers full of food and that'll take care of Tuesday through Friday. I ain't no dummy.

I'm taking my male humans to the water. I'm packing the golf clubs, the fishing poles, and the bicycles, and whatever you can do from a rocking chair on a screened porch, and that's IT.

I think what you're supposed to do with spring break is repair any springs you might have that are broken. My repair kit is easy to pack. My Bible goes with me, my family will (naturally) be with me, and of COURSE I'll have toe polish - GOSH. The cottage setting is just extra dressing. Natural valium. Eye candy. Second best thing to . . . to . . . to . . . hmmm, well, OH! a shoe store. Yeah, that's it. :- >

TTFN.

THIS ONE'S FOR ME

When I joined a message board several years ago it was for ideas - it was an interior decorating board on a wildly popular decorating site. I developed some friendly relationships with a few of the posters such that as we posted about decorating threads we also inquired of each others' health, family, etc. The site administrators didn't care for that. It's called "off-topic", in message board terminology. The group of us that had a hard time staying completely 100% on-topic with people we had come to care about left that message board and went to another one where we have the ability to discuss anything we please, within reason.

This new message board is still an interior decorating board. Well I say new. I guess it's been over two years since we moved to this one which by the way is phenomenal, and the best kept secret on the net (and guess whut I'm keepin' it thataway neener neener) but anyhootiepoo here's the reason for this whole backstory.

Recently we had a death in the family - on my handsome husband's side of the fambly. When you've been married twenty five almost twenty six years, in some means or manners it begins to not matter anymore which side of the fambly the death is on, it's just about all the same, but someways not. This one was hard on handsome husband because he grew up with this cousin and because the cousin was the same age as handsome husband.

It was hard on my precious mother in law because it was her brother's oldest son, and one of her first nephews. The memories from forty four years ago when that baby came grieved her and just about broke her heart. I could see it in her face when I watched her at the cemetary.

My Mother and Daddy went to the visitation. My Mama, bless her heart, has so much going on I don't know how she keeps going. Her own Mother will be 100 years old in two months, her best friend of 20 years has stage 3 breast cancer, her brother has stage four esophageal cancer that has spread to his liver and he can't handle any more chemo or radiation.

Barry's death hurt my heart deeply. He has a child the same age as my oldest. He left a loving wife that will now go on without him, be lonely and miss him deeply, miss his company, miss sitting beside him, talking with him, holding his hand, cuddling with his feet and legs in the night, winking at him, eating off of his plate, sitting beside him in church, and dreaming about growing old with him. But of course my sweet, handsome husband would never think to ask me how I was doing, over the death of someone in his family. It would never occur. And why would it? But then. Men don't comprehend that women work through death in such a very, very deeply intensely personal way.

My Mother is very caring, very nurturing. Hovering even. But with her closest loved ones in such crisis, she can't possibly remember to tie her shoelaces, much less ask me how I might "feel" about the death of a cousin in law.

My sister has her shoulder in a sling, bound to her body for six more weeks, and two young girls she can't even feed or bathe. She can't even warm fishsticks for dinner or wash her own hair. Guess who's helping HER. MY MOTHER. Think she can ask me, at this moment, Ohhhhh, hunee, how do you feel about your husband's first cousin's death??????

My friends, galpals, buds ask but we generally have kids in tow, forty things going, etc., and get interrupted twice during any given conversation by a cell phone or Blackberry. Or the guy at Starbucks yelling "Tiedye's short skinny double latte!"

So. All that to say this. The interior decorating stuff is fringe anymore, for what I have found is that this message board import has shifted, and the critical impact of it now is that there is always concern for me there. These folks are mine, they ask after me, they pay attention to me, they know and remember things about me and projects I have done and paint colors I have used and pieces of furniture I have and headboards I have inherited and what pieces of furniture of THEIRS I love and lust after.

You have the ability to concentrate more when you converse on a computer, it's true, but there are still (most, I'd say) message boards that are lacking the compassion and human signature that ours has.


TTFN

HEAD SCRATCHERS

Had some time and space the past week or so. Used it to ponder. The things I ponder - oh there's such a wide berth up there in the pea brain. That's where the 'space' is, I guess. Har.

Anyhoo, if you're not a Gray's Anatomy fan, skip on to the next ponderance. It occurs to me, appropo of (perhaps) nothing but I (seriously) doubt it, that of all the characters in that show, all of them are sexually what I would call promiscuous and just nearly without the most terrific of morals of the sexual kind - to some varying degree...... with the exception of FOUR. Here they are:


Burke
Bailey
Christina Yang
and the Chief (currently). Yes, I do remember that he has a past history with a long term affair. Since the show began however, there's been no bed hopping going on.

Anybody notice any unifying element about these four, and the absence of that similarity in the remaining others?

Powerful statement, Shonda. Deeeeeeeep. Meaningful. THAT's what I think. She's tired of normal roles TV and movies portray. That's what I think.


Alright. Ponderance number twaaaahhh. I got the teensiest tinesiest glimmer last night of a compliment from my nine year old son, well not a compliment at all really, an admittance really, a nod. . . just part of a discussion that came so naturally that I almost drove off the road when it found its way off of his lips and into my ears. And if it had been a compliment it wouldn'tve been to me but to my handsome husband AND me, btw. . . . just a weetle clarification thar. OK here it is.
My oldest son and I took a trip to Tarjay, the two of us. We only had four things on our list but the four things all were him. All about him. It was a number one son trip. Not only that but purposefully the trip was arranged to extend ever so slightly past his bedtime. Now get this. Here were the four things: underwear, socks, a wall calendar, and (looking at) a bookcase. Not even like we were buying toys and electronics and CDs and software, right? Regardless. Between those two slight, insignificant facts; 1) just him, and 2) Mom kept him out a little late on a school night, he felt so 'given to', that he wanted to 'give back'. The kid started talking.

"Mom?"

"Hmmm?"

"Nick wanted to know why I was grounded this week."

"Ju tell him?"

"Oh sure."

"Well?"

"He thinks it's weird that I have chores. So does Rachel."

Here it comes, I thought. Wait for it.......wait for it........brace yourself......

"In fact Mom, the other day Rachel's Mom cleaned up the toy room before we could even start cleaning it up ourselves."

BOOM! There it was. "Really? What do you think about that?"

"Welllll, I think we should've cleaned it up."

Wait. This was not what I expected. Be cool. "Mmmmm, that's a good thought. Does Rachel's Mom always clean up after her?"

"Yep. Nick's too. But then, they don't get a payday" (that's what they call their allowance) "like Jared and I do either. They think it's pretty awesome I get money every Friday no matter whether I'm great or whether I mess up big time, in an envelope that says Love Mom and Dad." And then. The awesome finale~~~~~~~ "I like our family's way better."

Wow. And yes. He was grounded for NOT doing his chores. Ironic?

Funny, I said to handsome hubby, that it's so hard for us to realize that our children are so darn easy to please. If you give, you get. It's not brain surgery.

TTFN

V-DAY

When it's 4:30 in the afternoon the day before Valentines Day and all you can think about is the fact that you've forgotten to get your neighbor's Grandbaby a Valentines gift and you have to run back out and get that baby something (she's a precious baby she really is and they're the best neighbors you could ever have and you can just bet they'll have Valentines gifts for my boys they ALLLLLLLLways do) I did manage to procure alllll teachers' gifts, get them wrapped, DH and children are taken care of, but just anyhooteepo it's just almost the same feeling I get a few days before Christmas, but cept the feeling I get a few days before Christmas is deeper because Christmas is a spiritual holiday and when this happens at Christmas well then the point I'm missing is a big fat important one no THE big fat important one well maybe not missing just misplaced or displaced but here at Valentines now I'm missing or dissing. . . . . . well.... the meaning of the holiday, which whatever it is, is never gifts, in my book. There. Whew. I been trying to get that out for days and there, I did it ~ all in one sentence, too. Heh. Sorry but there are more gifts to get yet. Aaaacckkk! The neighbor grandbebby.

So. The meaning of Valentines day. Your Valentines! Whoever they are, I guess you're supposed to really let them know how much you cherish them on this special day. Diamond companies make you think the way to do that is by giving a big sparklie. Chocolate manufacturers want you to think it's by giving lots of choc-o-latt-aye. DSW was kind enough to send my handsome hubby a reminder that a gift card would be a great idea. Key word in all those sentences is GIFT.

Hurts me. Cuz a gift is the last thing that tells me that someone loves me. It just tells me they ran by the store. Clicked a mouse button. Handed a sales clerk the Visa. That it's a day they're supposed to give me a gift. What tells me I'm loved is the way they treat me all the time, with the gifts God gave them.

TTFN