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.