Thanks to the miracle of modern antibiotics the Great Bladder Infection has been fixed. Now that I am back up to speed it is time to start the annual sugar-a-thon known as Christmas Cookie baking. My sister is coming into help (a project of this magnitude requires reinforcements!) but several recipes have to be started ahead of time. Plus there is only one oven thus 3 days and nights are needed to accomplish the whole enchilada.
Pray for us.
Pray that my kitchen appliances that are vintage 1960 can handle the strain.
Pray that I didn't forgot crucial ingredients that require a mad dash to Hades, aka, the grocery store.
Pray that I don't get so fat that I have to turn sideways to get through to the table where all the cookies are lying in stately splendor.
Pray that the kids don't spontaneously combust from sugar overdose.
And most of all pray for all the people who live in places where they can't even begin to imagine a country so rich in blessings that the weight of food literally sags the dining room table.
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Tuesday, December 21, 2010
Friday, December 17, 2010
Twisted Christmas Shopping
I am not one to fight crowds. I am more the research the bargains at home and then dispatch Hubs to fight to the death-er-I mean find-the bargains. This year WalMart pulled a fast one and screwed up the Black Friday thing for me and so while I had planned to be completely done with my shopping, in fact I haven't started yet.
It is now 1 week til Christmas.
Is Kwanzaa later, because at this point I would consider changing holidays if it bought me more time. Anybody know when Festivus is?
OK, we are probably committed to Christmas at this point. Which means I had to get off my lazy butt and get it done. Having exhausted my Amazon-ability; everything else on my list requires shopping in an actual store, I headed out. Oh goody.
God blessed me with, as me call it in nursing, a 12 hour bladder. I can usually do an entire outing without having to brave disgusting public restrooms.
So how funny is it that I have to brave insane last minute shoppers, cranky with cold, and jacked up on holiday sugar, when I have a bladder infection? Me, who seldom, if ever, has to pee in public is now doing more toilet testing than a bored toddler.
Good times.
I had to stop at McDonald's before hitting the mall, and still had to dash off between mens' wear and household items. I had to slip into the john before tackling the boutique begged for by my precocious daughter. WalMart was having its usual super-sized crowds and inadequate checkers and I had to break off twice. Ick. Their bathrooms aren't great in the best of times but extra shoppers and slush is not a pleasant combination. In fact, they were so nasty for a -brief!-minute I considered stocking up on Depends.
Due to the constraints of an angry bladder I only accomplished half my list. Which means I get to go back out and brave the Madness again.
Is it better to wait until my Cipro kicks in, even though it will bring me closer to the big day, and thus escalate the pushy crowds/obnoxiousness factor or take my chances with unknown bathrooms?
To pee or not to pee, that is the question.
It is now 1 week til Christmas.
Is Kwanzaa later, because at this point I would consider changing holidays if it bought me more time. Anybody know when Festivus is?
OK, we are probably committed to Christmas at this point. Which means I had to get off my lazy butt and get it done. Having exhausted my Amazon-ability; everything else on my list requires shopping in an actual store, I headed out. Oh goody.
God blessed me with, as me call it in nursing, a 12 hour bladder. I can usually do an entire outing without having to brave disgusting public restrooms.
So how funny is it that I have to brave insane last minute shoppers, cranky with cold, and jacked up on holiday sugar, when I have a bladder infection? Me, who seldom, if ever, has to pee in public is now doing more toilet testing than a bored toddler.
Good times.
I had to stop at McDonald's before hitting the mall, and still had to dash off between mens' wear and household items. I had to slip into the john before tackling the boutique begged for by my precocious daughter. WalMart was having its usual super-sized crowds and inadequate checkers and I had to break off twice. Ick. Their bathrooms aren't great in the best of times but extra shoppers and slush is not a pleasant combination. In fact, they were so nasty for a -brief!-minute I considered stocking up on Depends.
Due to the constraints of an angry bladder I only accomplished half my list. Which means I get to go back out and brave the Madness again.
Is it better to wait until my Cipro kicks in, even though it will bring me closer to the big day, and thus escalate the pushy crowds/obnoxiousness factor or take my chances with unknown bathrooms?
To pee or not to pee, that is the question.
Sunday, December 12, 2010
Cheer Drama
Part of being a team is learning to deal with people and get along even when you have differences, realizing that sometimes self has to be sacrificed for the greater good of the team. This is a very important lesson and one of the reasons we spend a lot of time and money carting kids to various team activities.
Younger daughter has chosen to spend the majority of her time in competitive cheer leading.
This is not a sport that existed as such way back in the dark ages when I grew up. Back then cheerleaders wore skirts and sweaters and cheered for their school team at assorted ball games. And the skill and the popularity of the girls was clearly delineated by the sport they cheered for. The football cheerleaders ruled the school and basketball cheerleaders were not as cool although they were better than the hockey girls. The poor suckers who cheered for the golf team were generally seen as losers only slightly better than the kids sneaking into science club. Of course now the science geeks own Microsoft and Facebook and are bazillionaires and the golf girls knew something the rest of us didn't grasp. Golf is lame but golfers generally aren't losers. Am I wrong? Would you rather own a house over looking a golf course or a football stadium? But that is another post.
The point is that cheerleaders cheered for other people. It wasn't a stand alone activity. Also they did a few tame stunts but mostly shook pom-poms, jumped around, and yelled.
Things have changed a bit.
No pom-poms for one. Now it is more like synchronized tumbling. It requires nerves of steel, quick reaction time, extreme flexibility, and advanced tumbling. Only very small kids do cartwheels and round-offs. Now by the age of 10 they are all doing back handsprings, most do tucks and quite a few do layouts and fulls. Kids as young as 5 lift each other above their heads and perform gravity defying stunts.
No sweaters either. It is all glitter, skimpy outfits, big hair, and goofy faces.
It is also the most dangerous sport. Worse than hockey, football, and rugby. When you toss someone 20 feet in the air and something goes wrong, bones break, and sometimes kids die or they don't walk again.
Which is why I still don't know why on earth I agreed to this activity. I can't even joke about it because it isn't something you can justify. Either you have a kid in it or you are crazy. It's an all or nothing thing.
Think soccer moms are bad? They don't hold a candle to cheer-moms. Think moms with manicures and nothing to lose. These women will take a stiletto to you if you cross the line, and they won't even break a sweat. They swear to drive the miles and pay the fees in order to watch their kids do crazy dangerous things. They agree to plan all other family events around the competition schedule. This includes weddings and funerals. After all the person is dead, why miss a comp for that? It isn't like they are going anywhere.
So imagine that one mom skips town in the middle of the night and takes off for home with her daughter who happens to be in all the stunts and tumbles in the front row. A crowd of liquored up rednecks in the 30's would have been polite to a minority person compared to the vitriol spewed by angry cheer moms. The only thing standing between them and first degree murder charges was the approaching performance time. NOTHING stops the show. You can barf in a bucket back stage, teeth have been pulled and bones have been set. There is nothing those women can't fix with hairspray, duct tape, and glitter. They just grabbed a sibling, ganged up in a huddle and emerged with a girl ready to fake it with the best of them.
It isn't over, and if the mom who left has a drop of sense she has already left the country and headed for a part of the world that speaks a different language and outlawed glitter. I'm not even exaggerating.
Cheer moms don't forget, they don't forgive, and if she ever shows her face at the gym again she will be choked to death with a sequined bow. Of course it will look like an accident and the mortician won't need to fix her hair, but trust me, nobody accidentally dies by ribbon.
Younger daughter has chosen to spend the majority of her time in competitive cheer leading.
This is not a sport that existed as such way back in the dark ages when I grew up. Back then cheerleaders wore skirts and sweaters and cheered for their school team at assorted ball games. And the skill and the popularity of the girls was clearly delineated by the sport they cheered for. The football cheerleaders ruled the school and basketball cheerleaders were not as cool although they were better than the hockey girls. The poor suckers who cheered for the golf team were generally seen as losers only slightly better than the kids sneaking into science club. Of course now the science geeks own Microsoft and Facebook and are bazillionaires and the golf girls knew something the rest of us didn't grasp. Golf is lame but golfers generally aren't losers. Am I wrong? Would you rather own a house over looking a golf course or a football stadium? But that is another post.
The point is that cheerleaders cheered for other people. It wasn't a stand alone activity. Also they did a few tame stunts but mostly shook pom-poms, jumped around, and yelled.
Things have changed a bit.
No pom-poms for one. Now it is more like synchronized tumbling. It requires nerves of steel, quick reaction time, extreme flexibility, and advanced tumbling. Only very small kids do cartwheels and round-offs. Now by the age of 10 they are all doing back handsprings, most do tucks and quite a few do layouts and fulls. Kids as young as 5 lift each other above their heads and perform gravity defying stunts.
No sweaters either. It is all glitter, skimpy outfits, big hair, and goofy faces.
It is also the most dangerous sport. Worse than hockey, football, and rugby. When you toss someone 20 feet in the air and something goes wrong, bones break, and sometimes kids die or they don't walk again.
Which is why I still don't know why on earth I agreed to this activity. I can't even joke about it because it isn't something you can justify. Either you have a kid in it or you are crazy. It's an all or nothing thing.
Think soccer moms are bad? They don't hold a candle to cheer-moms. Think moms with manicures and nothing to lose. These women will take a stiletto to you if you cross the line, and they won't even break a sweat. They swear to drive the miles and pay the fees in order to watch their kids do crazy dangerous things. They agree to plan all other family events around the competition schedule. This includes weddings and funerals. After all the person is dead, why miss a comp for that? It isn't like they are going anywhere.
So imagine that one mom skips town in the middle of the night and takes off for home with her daughter who happens to be in all the stunts and tumbles in the front row. A crowd of liquored up rednecks in the 30's would have been polite to a minority person compared to the vitriol spewed by angry cheer moms. The only thing standing between them and first degree murder charges was the approaching performance time. NOTHING stops the show. You can barf in a bucket back stage, teeth have been pulled and bones have been set. There is nothing those women can't fix with hairspray, duct tape, and glitter. They just grabbed a sibling, ganged up in a huddle and emerged with a girl ready to fake it with the best of them.
It isn't over, and if the mom who left has a drop of sense she has already left the country and headed for a part of the world that speaks a different language and outlawed glitter. I'm not even exaggerating.
Cheer moms don't forget, they don't forgive, and if she ever shows her face at the gym again she will be choked to death with a sequined bow. Of course it will look like an accident and the mortician won't need to fix her hair, but trust me, nobody accidentally dies by ribbon.
Friday, December 10, 2010
So Long Bailey
Last night we had to take Bailey to the vet. As Hubs was getting him into his carrier I knew it was going to be the the last time I saw him. Of course I hoped I was wrong but even though we didn't cover pets in nursing school I know enough to recognizes the signs and I figured it was the last time I would see him.
I was right.
The vet confirmed that his heart was failing and giving him a quick and easy passing was the last thing we could do for him. Hubs said he was cuddling him and when the vet gave him the Valium to relax him first, that was the end, his heart was just worn out.
Even though he was an elderly cat, up until the last few days I didn't see it coming. Barney is the one who has had one serious crisis after another. Bailey hasn't been sick a day in his life. In fact up until the move Bailey always seemed like a much younger cat than Barney. In hindsight there were some subtle signs that things weren't perfect. A part of me thinks that he was really just holding out until Hubs got home from the desert. He was his cat, you see. So I'm sure Bailey was glad that it was hubs who cuddled him last. I'm sure that made him more comfortable.
I had been praying that he would just slip off in his sleep at home, but sometimes things don't work out the way we want.
This morning at breakfast Barney kept looking around and sniffing the house meowing the whole time. He was looking for his brother I think. It's funny how animals can tell when something is not right.
Whenever Barney would see Bailey laying on my lap he would come right over and chase him off. Yesterday, Bailey was sprawled on my lap and breathing heavily and Barney came up and for the first time ever he just licked him a little and then lay down beside him. I guess maybe he was saying goodbye.
I like to think that St. Francis has a special section of Heaven reserved for beloved pets.
Hubs and I were remembering all the cute things he did, like playing fetch with Q-tips and paper balls. How crazy he would get with catnip and how he would beg for attention and then hiss at people. How he used to chase the dog. How he would stand on two legs and do "Mere-Cat." How his too-long and fluffy tail didn't match his body.
I am so glad he is not suffering but the house is too quiet today and we will miss him very much.
I was right.
The vet confirmed that his heart was failing and giving him a quick and easy passing was the last thing we could do for him. Hubs said he was cuddling him and when the vet gave him the Valium to relax him first, that was the end, his heart was just worn out.
Even though he was an elderly cat, up until the last few days I didn't see it coming. Barney is the one who has had one serious crisis after another. Bailey hasn't been sick a day in his life. In fact up until the move Bailey always seemed like a much younger cat than Barney. In hindsight there were some subtle signs that things weren't perfect. A part of me thinks that he was really just holding out until Hubs got home from the desert. He was his cat, you see. So I'm sure Bailey was glad that it was hubs who cuddled him last. I'm sure that made him more comfortable.
I had been praying that he would just slip off in his sleep at home, but sometimes things don't work out the way we want.
This morning at breakfast Barney kept looking around and sniffing the house meowing the whole time. He was looking for his brother I think. It's funny how animals can tell when something is not right.
Whenever Barney would see Bailey laying on my lap he would come right over and chase him off. Yesterday, Bailey was sprawled on my lap and breathing heavily and Barney came up and for the first time ever he just licked him a little and then lay down beside him. I guess maybe he was saying goodbye.
I like to think that St. Francis has a special section of Heaven reserved for beloved pets.
Hubs and I were remembering all the cute things he did, like playing fetch with Q-tips and paper balls. How crazy he would get with catnip and how he would beg for attention and then hiss at people. How he used to chase the dog. How he would stand on two legs and do "Mere-Cat." How his too-long and fluffy tail didn't match his body.
I am so glad he is not suffering but the house is too quiet today and we will miss him very much.
Tuesday, December 7, 2010
Ho Ho Ho
It's beginning to look like Christmas in the house. The Christmas tree is up and mostly decorated. (That is it is excessively decorated down low and not so much up high, but the kids had fun, so, whatever.) Our house is bedecked in lots of lights that flash and dance enough to incite seizures and they do it in time to Alvin and the Chipmunks Christmas music. My decorations have spread out to every available flat surface and any vertical one that would hold a nail.
My sister and I have plotted out the best strategy to accomplish the mountain of cookie baking needed and airline tickets have been bought to bring relatives from afar.
The annual missive is written and awaiting final approval from Scrooge-er-Hubs-who gets censoring privileges.
There is snow on the ground and the lights in the bushes twinkle through the snow at night. YES! Back in the land of White Christmases I am a happy camper.
Of course time is doing its usual disappearing act and minutes are flying by at an alarming rate, but, all in all, peace and goodwill towards man reign supreme.
Now to come up with just ONE surprise for Hubs for Christmas. The man gets crazy this time of year and seems to read minds at will, making it a challenge of epic proportions to actually surprise him on Christmas morning. My best bet is to wait until the last minute and hope he is too busy playing video games with his brother in law to apply his x-ray vision and mind reading abilities. Wish me luck!
My sister and I have plotted out the best strategy to accomplish the mountain of cookie baking needed and airline tickets have been bought to bring relatives from afar.
The annual missive is written and awaiting final approval from Scrooge-er-Hubs-who gets censoring privileges.
There is snow on the ground and the lights in the bushes twinkle through the snow at night. YES! Back in the land of White Christmases I am a happy camper.
Of course time is doing its usual disappearing act and minutes are flying by at an alarming rate, but, all in all, peace and goodwill towards man reign supreme.
Now to come up with just ONE surprise for Hubs for Christmas. The man gets crazy this time of year and seems to read minds at will, making it a challenge of epic proportions to actually surprise him on Christmas morning. My best bet is to wait until the last minute and hope he is too busy playing video games with his brother in law to apply his x-ray vision and mind reading abilities. Wish me luck!
Saturday, November 27, 2010
Hands in the Air and Back Away Slowly!
As you may know I am a devoted fan of Swagbucks. Being a cheap sort of person I am all about free money. Since there is no down side it was made for people like me. In the interest of full disclosure if you sign up through my link and then actually use the search engine they credit me matching swagbucks up to the first 1,000 you earn. It doesn't cost you anything and is a sort of win/win but now you know the dirty secret. I don't really like you; I just want to earn a whopping $10 to Amazon from you.
The really sad truth is that I could not care less about Amazon and I'd probably pay you $10 just to read this blog. Yeah, I am that needy. (And NO that wasn't an actual offer!)
Right, the point. Well one of the gadgets I treated myself to this year with Swagbucks was a Kindle. I wouldn't have spent my money but OPM was perfect for such a luxury item. I ended up loving it. In hindsight I may have preferred the Nook so that I could use in in Barnes and Noble but the sad truth is that I mostly buy "free" books off Amazon because I mostly read cheesy romance novels and lowbrow mysteries. I have a $150 device loaded up with garbage novels. Gotta love the irony.
So imagine my surprise when I turned it on and found the: 2011 US Government fiscal budget, Tomas Payne's Common Sense, Benjamin Franklin's Autobiography, and Memorable Thoughts of Socrates! Say what? Where is my cheesy historical romance? Socrates? REALLY? What kind of sick joke is this?
At which point Hubs confessed that he saw "Harry's Kindle" on Amazon and thus tried to load his own books. The smoke started whisping out through my ears and he said, "I thought it was mine!"
"OK, I can see where you might be confused," I said. "Except, you don't HAVE a Kindle!" Thus followed a long and noisy argement involving apps, iphones, Amazon accounts and which emails had been set up under which names for who only knows what reason ages ago and pretty soon the only thing I was sure of was that my Kindle now had actual literature instead of trashy novels. Blah!
Kudos to Hubs for employing my favorite argument strategy! If you can't convince 'em, confuse 'em enough until they give up and leave you alone. Before you suggest we share the Kindle, the whole truth is that in 4 months he hasn't picked up a book once. I might read trash, but at least I read. He intends to read but never actually gets around to it. Now I just have to figure out how to get that stuff off my Kindle. Cause you can load deep thoughts but you can't make me think 'em! Bring back my lonely cowboys and misunderstood Dukes. Socrates will have to wait, I prefer bulging muscles and smoldering looks. And to be fair, Socrates probably would have preferred Hubs if rumors are true.
The really sad truth is that I could not care less about Amazon and I'd probably pay you $10 just to read this blog. Yeah, I am that needy. (And NO that wasn't an actual offer!)
Right, the point. Well one of the gadgets I treated myself to this year with Swagbucks was a Kindle. I wouldn't have spent my money but OPM was perfect for such a luxury item. I ended up loving it. In hindsight I may have preferred the Nook so that I could use in in Barnes and Noble but the sad truth is that I mostly buy "free" books off Amazon because I mostly read cheesy romance novels and lowbrow mysteries. I have a $150 device loaded up with garbage novels. Gotta love the irony.
So imagine my surprise when I turned it on and found the: 2011 US Government fiscal budget, Tomas Payne's Common Sense, Benjamin Franklin's Autobiography, and Memorable Thoughts of Socrates! Say what? Where is my cheesy historical romance? Socrates? REALLY? What kind of sick joke is this?
At which point Hubs confessed that he saw "Harry's Kindle" on Amazon and thus tried to load his own books. The smoke started whisping out through my ears and he said, "I thought it was mine!"
"OK, I can see where you might be confused," I said. "Except, you don't HAVE a Kindle!" Thus followed a long and noisy argement involving apps, iphones, Amazon accounts and which emails had been set up under which names for who only knows what reason ages ago and pretty soon the only thing I was sure of was that my Kindle now had actual literature instead of trashy novels. Blah!
Kudos to Hubs for employing my favorite argument strategy! If you can't convince 'em, confuse 'em enough until they give up and leave you alone. Before you suggest we share the Kindle, the whole truth is that in 4 months he hasn't picked up a book once. I might read trash, but at least I read. He intends to read but never actually gets around to it. Now I just have to figure out how to get that stuff off my Kindle. Cause you can load deep thoughts but you can't make me think 'em! Bring back my lonely cowboys and misunderstood Dukes. Socrates will have to wait, I prefer bulging muscles and smoldering looks. And to be fair, Socrates probably would have preferred Hubs if rumors are true.
Thursday, November 18, 2010
Time Management 101
The new year is a perfect time to think about how to make the next year better than the last. So what would I do if I walked the walk? How can you survive a deployment or other separation, or just plain old life?
Have a plan-have at least a basic idea of what you want to get done.
Have a back-up plan- because let's face it, how often is life smooth enough for the first plan to work? For example, I want to get the laundry done, all our school subjects and mop the floors before dinner. Back-up plan: wash whites and sweep floor, aim for reading, writing and math. Then later, maybe kids can do history and science while I mop.
Accept help- when people know you are working short handed they always offer to help. But usually it is in a generic "If you need something, call." format. I suggest you do just that. Call. Sometime you just have to be humble enough to know you need help. Maybe you can share car pool duties or have a kid visit the neighbors for an hour so you can concentrate on paying bills. Don't think you have to be Supermom. You don't get more gold stars for surviving alone.
Don't Run on dead batteries. You don't expect your phone to work when the battery is dead, right? How can you be both mom and dad if you are beat? Take the few precious minutes you can scrape up and un-apologetically do something to bolster yourself. Pray, exercise, take a hot bath, whatever helps you find your center again.
Reduce, Reuse, Recycle. No I'm not discussing the garbage here. Reduce all extra commitment and activities possible. While you are down to just one, don't try and do everything you did as a pair. Streamline the social clutter and you won't be stretched so thin that changes bring mayhem. Re-use your resources in creative ways. Mom shouldn't be the only one in the family doing more. Maybe sons can do more household chores like washing cars or weeding. Even young toddlers can be taught to match socks. If they aren't great at it at least they are happy and safe playing the matching game while you fold laundry. Recycle your energy as much as possible. Strive to not waste time or energy unless it something your family really prioritizes. This is not the time to take up new hobbies or start new volunteer time.
Laugh. Learn to see the humor in any situation. It beats crying when things go wrong. Call a friend and have a chuckle about the newest issues and you'll feel better and gain more perspective on how to best tackle the challenges.
Line up your ducks- while it is never possible to anticipate every contingency there is no reason not to take care of the obvious ones. If your finances are straight, your wills are current, powers of attorney are drawn up, house, car, and family maintenance is up to date, you greatly reduce the odds of disaster striking. If it does, at least you will be in the best position to cope.
Finally, remember that this situation is temporary. Every member of the family is experiencing stress and anxiety to different degrees. Extend each other the grace to be patient and hep each other as much as possible. With Him, all things are possible.
Have a plan-have at least a basic idea of what you want to get done.
Have a back-up plan- because let's face it, how often is life smooth enough for the first plan to work? For example, I want to get the laundry done, all our school subjects and mop the floors before dinner. Back-up plan: wash whites and sweep floor, aim for reading, writing and math. Then later, maybe kids can do history and science while I mop.
Accept help- when people know you are working short handed they always offer to help. But usually it is in a generic "If you need something, call." format. I suggest you do just that. Call. Sometime you just have to be humble enough to know you need help. Maybe you can share car pool duties or have a kid visit the neighbors for an hour so you can concentrate on paying bills. Don't think you have to be Supermom. You don't get more gold stars for surviving alone.
Don't Run on dead batteries. You don't expect your phone to work when the battery is dead, right? How can you be both mom and dad if you are beat? Take the few precious minutes you can scrape up and un-apologetically do something to bolster yourself. Pray, exercise, take a hot bath, whatever helps you find your center again.
Reduce, Reuse, Recycle. No I'm not discussing the garbage here. Reduce all extra commitment and activities possible. While you are down to just one, don't try and do everything you did as a pair. Streamline the social clutter and you won't be stretched so thin that changes bring mayhem. Re-use your resources in creative ways. Mom shouldn't be the only one in the family doing more. Maybe sons can do more household chores like washing cars or weeding. Even young toddlers can be taught to match socks. If they aren't great at it at least they are happy and safe playing the matching game while you fold laundry. Recycle your energy as much as possible. Strive to not waste time or energy unless it something your family really prioritizes. This is not the time to take up new hobbies or start new volunteer time.
Laugh. Learn to see the humor in any situation. It beats crying when things go wrong. Call a friend and have a chuckle about the newest issues and you'll feel better and gain more perspective on how to best tackle the challenges.
Line up your ducks- while it is never possible to anticipate every contingency there is no reason not to take care of the obvious ones. If your finances are straight, your wills are current, powers of attorney are drawn up, house, car, and family maintenance is up to date, you greatly reduce the odds of disaster striking. If it does, at least you will be in the best position to cope.
Finally, remember that this situation is temporary. Every member of the family is experiencing stress and anxiety to different degrees. Extend each other the grace to be patient and hep each other as much as possible. With Him, all things are possible.
Sunday, November 14, 2010
Attack of the Killer Turkeys
Tomorrow is the last day of my daughter's tutoring group. As much as both of us love the group I am ready for the break. This is not a typical homeschool co-op group. It is not all touchy-feely do your own thing when you feel like it sort of group. This is a hard core, toe the line, or else sort of group. The kind of group that makes you think you may be the worst parent in the history of the world. They all feed their kids balanced organic food (locally grown of course--but only when their own garden is unable to grow something-say kumquats or low fat buffalo burgers)without any preservatives or red dye #3. They do messy art projects, sew their own clothes (that could be sold in high end department stores) and experiment with lasers, radioactive materials and basic surgery. They speak 3 languages, including Latin and have been doing Calculus since infancy. They read Aristotle in Greek.
Of course I exaggerate. Radioactive materials are restricted.
Seriously, though, these kids (and their VERY dedicated moms!) are amazing. I am not sure how or why they let us join although I suspect it falls under the heading of "charitable works for the less organized."
I mention all this only to illustrate why the house was in an uproar tonight. Tomorrow is our end semester party and thus we must bring in a treat.
No ordinary treat will do. It must be tasty, healthy, and amazingly creative. Not that they expect such, (well, ok, they probably do) but because then I will be able to say, "See! Sure we still have trouble conjugating our verbs and yes! we do occasionally forget that V says W in Latin, but darn it all we are amazing cooks! That is what takes up all our time!"
In order to have time for THE PROJECT we had cold cereal for breakfast and eggs for dinner. I also told the kids if they mentioned that to ANYONE Christmas was canceled this year! Once the day's cooking was over D2 and I went to work.
Rather than waiting for my muse to speak, (my muse being mostly mute) I did what any super-mom does and googled cute party ideas. I found this.
Cute, and easy enough for D2 to assemble.
There were just a few problems.
I forgot to get Whoppers, and peanut-butter cups. Also the frosting was tinted blue.
But no problem I found some Hershey Kisses and figured we could adapt a bit. In the end, there were candy wrappers scattered across the kitchen, streaks of blue frosting on the chairs, table, and the cat. One Oreo had been mushed under foot and then tracked around. I found candy corn in my fake flower centerpiece.
I think the Turkey won this round. The turkeys fought the good fight though.
I plan on telling the other moms that this is no big deal, just the final project on our in depth study of Picasso and abstract art.
Don't judge me.
The best part is that a room full of kids raised on organic carob and quinoa is going to be fed Oreos, candy corn, Kisses and frosting from a can! Oh yes, and blue # 2. It's ok, I am still CPR certified when they go into sugar arrest.
Of course I exaggerate. Radioactive materials are restricted.
Seriously, though, these kids (and their VERY dedicated moms!) are amazing. I am not sure how or why they let us join although I suspect it falls under the heading of "charitable works for the less organized."
I mention all this only to illustrate why the house was in an uproar tonight. Tomorrow is our end semester party and thus we must bring in a treat.
No ordinary treat will do. It must be tasty, healthy, and amazingly creative. Not that they expect such, (well, ok, they probably do) but because then I will be able to say, "See! Sure we still have trouble conjugating our verbs and yes! we do occasionally forget that V says W in Latin, but darn it all we are amazing cooks! That is what takes up all our time!"
In order to have time for THE PROJECT we had cold cereal for breakfast and eggs for dinner. I also told the kids if they mentioned that to ANYONE Christmas was canceled this year! Once the day's cooking was over D2 and I went to work.
Rather than waiting for my muse to speak, (my muse being mostly mute) I did what any super-mom does and googled cute party ideas. I found this.
Cute, and easy enough for D2 to assemble.
There were just a few problems.
I forgot to get Whoppers, and peanut-butter cups. Also the frosting was tinted blue.
But no problem I found some Hershey Kisses and figured we could adapt a bit. In the end, there were candy wrappers scattered across the kitchen, streaks of blue frosting on the chairs, table, and the cat. One Oreo had been mushed under foot and then tracked around. I found candy corn in my fake flower centerpiece.
I think the Turkey won this round. The turkeys fought the good fight though.
I plan on telling the other moms that this is no big deal, just the final project on our in depth study of Picasso and abstract art.
Don't judge me.
The best part is that a room full of kids raised on organic carob and quinoa is going to be fed Oreos, candy corn, Kisses and frosting from a can! Oh yes, and blue # 2. It's ok, I am still CPR certified when they go into sugar arrest.
Tuesday, November 9, 2010
There's One in Every Family
And in mine it's my sister. Oh I know what you are thinking. Surely, Nancy you must be the nut-ball. There can't possibly be TWO in your family! And you would be right on both counts. But that's not what I mean at all.
Just the opposite really.
I can't explain it, but the facts don't lie. Never mind crazy Irish Catholic dis-functionalism, this girl has her ducks in a row. She is actually one of those people who would drive you nuts: perfect family, amazing career, and she is the same single digit size she was in college!
I know! It's not right. I would surely hate her except for one thing: I admire her too much. See she is also caring, forgiving, and tolerant. All areas in which I myself fall infinitely short.
She is the sort of person who can nose dive into a sewer and come out clean with a handful of diamonds. She can be presented with problems that would send any sane person running for chocolate and liquid solace. But her? She just grits her teeth, and digs in. Then she not only conquers, she makes it look easy.
She is also the person who can take any obnoxious person, especially her annoying big sis, and handle them with grace and charm. She seldom gets the credit she deserves inside the family,which is why I am utterly thrilled with her current success. In our defense, you can hardly expect a bunch of mules to appreciate a thoroughbred in their midst. It screws up the curve.
Anyway, I am as always, in awe of her. She makes me wish I was a better person. I guess you can simply say she's my hero.
Just the opposite really.
I can't explain it, but the facts don't lie. Never mind crazy Irish Catholic dis-functionalism, this girl has her ducks in a row. She is actually one of those people who would drive you nuts: perfect family, amazing career, and she is the same single digit size she was in college!
I know! It's not right. I would surely hate her except for one thing: I admire her too much. See she is also caring, forgiving, and tolerant. All areas in which I myself fall infinitely short.
She is the sort of person who can nose dive into a sewer and come out clean with a handful of diamonds. She can be presented with problems that would send any sane person running for chocolate and liquid solace. But her? She just grits her teeth, and digs in. Then she not only conquers, she makes it look easy.
She is also the person who can take any obnoxious person, especially her annoying big sis, and handle them with grace and charm. She seldom gets the credit she deserves inside the family,which is why I am utterly thrilled with her current success. In our defense, you can hardly expect a bunch of mules to appreciate a thoroughbred in their midst. It screws up the curve.
Anyway, I am as always, in awe of her. She makes me wish I was a better person. I guess you can simply say she's my hero.
Tuesday, October 26, 2010
Fall Flavors
Being back in the Midwest for fall has been a charming experience. It has always been my favorite season and this year I have a new appreciation for it. Down south, in Armpit, FL there are many gorgeous things you will see. Well, there is the beach. You may see gorgeous things or you may see hairy, fat people in wife beater T shirts and Speedos. It's hit or miss. What you don't see are leaves exploding with gold and crimson and orange. In the South Summer gets a little dusty and rusty and then you turn the heater on once and it's Spring again. But here in the breadbasket you see a riot of colors. The kids and I read about the burning bush story in the Bible and after this year we think maybe it was a maple tree. If not, a maple tree should have had the honor, in our opinion, because they sure put on a show. We have made leaf collages and raked them into big crackly piles and the kids have jumped into them. I did not jump, because I am too mature and grown-up. I tripped on my shoelace. Honestly.
Speaking of the breadbasket, there are so many flavors to fall it makes my heart happy. Apple cider mulling with cinnamon, chili, caramel apples. Apple EVERYTHING. Pumpkin bread. Pumpkin pie, hot chocolate on the first frosty night. YUM! Don't worry I make all those things sugar free. Ahem. Well, we have to get ready to hibernate, after all. Sure you can make all those things in the South but it just isn't the same. I don't know why. Perhaps it's just the thought of simmering hot soups and cider when it is 90 that loses some of its appeal.
I put on a cuddly new sweater for church this Sunday and after the service I convinced Hubby to drive through Starbucks. (YES! I do NEED a $5 coffee! No! I can't just drink plain stuff at home!) I would say that wearing a fuzzy sweater and sipping a steaming pumpkin latte has to be one of the greatest simple pleasures but Hubs assures me $5 coffee isn't "simple." OK, it's one of the totally extravagant life pleasures. We'll economize on TP, darn it! Keep the lattes coming!
Speaking of the breadbasket, there are so many flavors to fall it makes my heart happy. Apple cider mulling with cinnamon, chili, caramel apples. Apple EVERYTHING. Pumpkin bread. Pumpkin pie, hot chocolate on the first frosty night. YUM! Don't worry I make all those things sugar free. Ahem. Well, we have to get ready to hibernate, after all. Sure you can make all those things in the South but it just isn't the same. I don't know why. Perhaps it's just the thought of simmering hot soups and cider when it is 90 that loses some of its appeal.
I put on a cuddly new sweater for church this Sunday and after the service I convinced Hubby to drive through Starbucks. (YES! I do NEED a $5 coffee! No! I can't just drink plain stuff at home!) I would say that wearing a fuzzy sweater and sipping a steaming pumpkin latte has to be one of the greatest simple pleasures but Hubs assures me $5 coffee isn't "simple." OK, it's one of the totally extravagant life pleasures. We'll economize on TP, darn it! Keep the lattes coming!
Thursday, October 21, 2010
Cogito Ergo Sum
I think, therefore I am. Among the piles of horse punky Humanists have thrown at our collective brains this saying must surely top the charts. Logic would state that if this is true then so is the opposite. Or, I don't think, therefore, I'm not.
HA! I wish this was true! All the times the kids do something stupid the first thing they mumble (well after a half dozen lame excuses) is "I didn't think."
DUH.
If only they ceased to exist temporarily while their brains went on hiatus, how much happier would the world be? Once reason returned they could pop back into place and think, "YEAH! I don't look like a moron with half my hair cut off because I didn't exist long enough, so I didn't cut off my hair with mom's sewing scissors."
But as any quick examination of current politics will tell you, lack of thinking CLEARLY doesn't delete you from Washington, anyway. Hundreds of people exist there with no trouble at all despite not having a collective thought among them.
Rather we are endowed by our Creator with certain inalienable rights: life, liberty, and the ability to act with no thought whatsoever. This is an actual quote from the original document. Luckily, having received an education better than a typical one from a public school, I can correctly identify this as coming straight off the Magna Carta signed by President George Washington and the King of England at the time, John the XXXXXI. (The history lesson is provided at no additional charge. For an investing lesson send $10 to me and I will mail you the complete program.)
In our on going Latin quest I am going to look up how to say, "I think therefore I have all my hair and my mother didn't contemplate murdering me and leaving my bones to compost in the back yard."
Anybody who can help with the translation will receive the investing course free.
You're welcome.
HA! I wish this was true! All the times the kids do something stupid the first thing they mumble (well after a half dozen lame excuses) is "I didn't think."
DUH.
If only they ceased to exist temporarily while their brains went on hiatus, how much happier would the world be? Once reason returned they could pop back into place and think, "YEAH! I don't look like a moron with half my hair cut off because I didn't exist long enough, so I didn't cut off my hair with mom's sewing scissors."
But as any quick examination of current politics will tell you, lack of thinking CLEARLY doesn't delete you from Washington, anyway. Hundreds of people exist there with no trouble at all despite not having a collective thought among them.
Rather we are endowed by our Creator with certain inalienable rights: life, liberty, and the ability to act with no thought whatsoever. This is an actual quote from the original document. Luckily, having received an education better than a typical one from a public school, I can correctly identify this as coming straight off the Magna Carta signed by President George Washington and the King of England at the time, John the XXXXXI. (The history lesson is provided at no additional charge. For an investing lesson send $10 to me and I will mail you the complete program.)
In our on going Latin quest I am going to look up how to say, "I think therefore I have all my hair and my mother didn't contemplate murdering me and leaving my bones to compost in the back yard."
Anybody who can help with the translation will receive the investing course free.
You're welcome.
Wednesday, October 20, 2010
Some Good
When D2 was young we would pick her up from Daycare and ask the question, "Were you good?" One particularly memorable day she hesitated, knowing of the report her teacher was to make involving her applying her fangs to a poor helpless victim, she tilted her head and smiled hugely and replied honestly, "Some good."
Indeed. Even the worst day usually has "some good." Sure the pumpkins stuck to the pan, the meat spoiled and the brand new full to the brim gallon of milk spilled over all the cookbooks and the new iPhone charging on the counter, but still, there was "some good."
Well, no, I can't actually think of any. But surely, there MUST be some good, somewhere. The cat barfed on the tile instead of the carpet, I guess that was good. Only a parent can look on the brighter side of vomit to find good, I guess.
I remember when people said high school would be the best years of your life. Thankfully they were not. I mean who wants acne, insecurity, and all manner of indignity to be the best years of your life? I remember thinking that if that was true I should just jump off the nearest bridge ASAP because high school was not my forte. Sure you have no real responsibility but you also have no real freedom. Give me an ID card and a platinum Visa any day over youthful innocence. (Not that I actually advocate for credit card usage, but you know what I mean.) Wrinkles seem like a small price to pay for escaping Bedlam.
Today I changed my FB picture to one of my grandfather. In it, he is in uniform and looks to be in his early 20's. Which means he was younger than I am now, by quite a margin. We won't discuss how big that margin really is. If he was still alive he would be in his 90's today.
Funny how your old relatives were once young people. My point is that if they survived all that, and mostly did it without modern things like penicillin, then I guess there really isn't much that isn't good after all.
Indeed. Even the worst day usually has "some good." Sure the pumpkins stuck to the pan, the meat spoiled and the brand new full to the brim gallon of milk spilled over all the cookbooks and the new iPhone charging on the counter, but still, there was "some good."
Well, no, I can't actually think of any. But surely, there MUST be some good, somewhere. The cat barfed on the tile instead of the carpet, I guess that was good. Only a parent can look on the brighter side of vomit to find good, I guess.
I remember when people said high school would be the best years of your life. Thankfully they were not. I mean who wants acne, insecurity, and all manner of indignity to be the best years of your life? I remember thinking that if that was true I should just jump off the nearest bridge ASAP because high school was not my forte. Sure you have no real responsibility but you also have no real freedom. Give me an ID card and a platinum Visa any day over youthful innocence. (Not that I actually advocate for credit card usage, but you know what I mean.) Wrinkles seem like a small price to pay for escaping Bedlam.
Today I changed my FB picture to one of my grandfather. In it, he is in uniform and looks to be in his early 20's. Which means he was younger than I am now, by quite a margin. We won't discuss how big that margin really is. If he was still alive he would be in his 90's today.
Funny how your old relatives were once young people. My point is that if they survived all that, and mostly did it without modern things like penicillin, then I guess there really isn't much that isn't good after all.
Tuesday, October 12, 2010
Staring into the Abyss
Ah temptation. If we know what the two oldest occupations are then tempting must be the oldest hobby. I don't know that it pays well, but it does seem to be everywhere. Heck even Jesus had to deal with it. I mean, honestly, the man was just wanting to be left alone in the desert to pray. He wasn't hurting anybody. I doubt the lizards minded his presence much. But could he get some freakin' peace and quiet? Oh NO! The Devil had to show up and start testing him.
Why is it when things are going well, or even when they are not, for that matter, pretty soon the apple is dangled right there in front of you. You might be blessed with a whole orchard of tasty, nutritious apples, but why does the one you shouldn't have look so much more appealing?
After spending 15 years learning every financial lesson the hard way we finally have our ducks in a row. Debt free and saving big time.
But then the forbidden fruit just has to sneak up and bite ya on the butt in a weak moment doesn't it? Oh sure, normally we are strong enough to resist. We can think of our goals and plans and keep to the straight and narrow. Oh sure maybe some dark chocolate sneaks in now and then for medicinal purposes but mostly we can toe the line.
Until in a fit of selfishness our temptations fight out of the cage we keep them in and run screaming through your head HEARTS ON FIRE!!!!!!!
Ok, maybe that is just me. Maybe diamonds aren't your thing. But we all have something that seems irresistible. Big TV's, or cars that are younger than your kids, or cool electronics, or a house you want to be buried in. Something that you would commit murder or mayhem to get. Well, maybe not, but you'd REALLY REALLY consider it.
Maybe even sell a kidney. What the heck, you have an extra, right?
It isn't logical. It isn't smart. It would probably earn you a smack on the head from Dave Ramsey, but that doesn't change the fact that you still want it.
Why is it when things are going well, or even when they are not, for that matter, pretty soon the apple is dangled right there in front of you. You might be blessed with a whole orchard of tasty, nutritious apples, but why does the one you shouldn't have look so much more appealing?
After spending 15 years learning every financial lesson the hard way we finally have our ducks in a row. Debt free and saving big time.
But then the forbidden fruit just has to sneak up and bite ya on the butt in a weak moment doesn't it? Oh sure, normally we are strong enough to resist. We can think of our goals and plans and keep to the straight and narrow. Oh sure maybe some dark chocolate sneaks in now and then for medicinal purposes but mostly we can toe the line.
Until in a fit of selfishness our temptations fight out of the cage we keep them in and run screaming through your head HEARTS ON FIRE!!!!!!!
Ok, maybe that is just me. Maybe diamonds aren't your thing. But we all have something that seems irresistible. Big TV's, or cars that are younger than your kids, or cool electronics, or a house you want to be buried in. Something that you would commit murder or mayhem to get. Well, maybe not, but you'd REALLY REALLY consider it.
Maybe even sell a kidney. What the heck, you have an extra, right?
It isn't logical. It isn't smart. It would probably earn you a smack on the head from Dave Ramsey, but that doesn't change the fact that you still want it.
Friday, October 8, 2010
Thursday, October 7, 2010
Friday, October 1, 2010
TGIF
Along with a sincere shout out to God for once again bringing the school week to a close I wanted to mention another thing I'm grateful for recently and introduce a new regular feature. Of course since it is me, it won't be an EVERY Friday thing, but when I discover something I like I'll pass it along.
Which is a really long winded way to say: YEAH for Eureka Enviro-steam mop! Our lovely 70's era house has 2 floors of wood and tile. I had visions of myself succumbing to severe arthritis from being on my hands and knees scrubbing acres of flooring.
Well, maybe not. I mean it's not like I clean THAT much. But still, I have had many a bad mop. From cheap to "deluxe" they all leave much to be desired. And I'm not just talking about someone else to work them. They fall apart, you can't find replacement, they seem to harbor all sorts of nasty bacteria...I HATE 'em!
So then I tried all manner of new-fangled products that rhyme with Swiffer. Oops. Sorry P & G. It works ok for a quick cleaning but I never felt like they did a "deep clean." Plus they often have a very strong perfume that more often than not makes me sneeze.
Did I mention that my floors get REALLY nasty? Two sloppy kids+two barfy cats+ two klutzy adults=cleaning nightmare. (That's new math, btw.)
So I need a serious cleaner. But I hate scrubbing. Which is why I love the steam mop. It heats a very small amount of water (less than 2 cups cleans several rooms) SUPER hot and basically melts the crud right off. No cleaning products needed. NONE! When you are done you just take the cloth on the bottom and wash it in the washing machine. Floor gets nice and shiny and dries almost instantly.
Pros:
fairly cheap (about $70 from Wal Mart but don't need any cleaning fluids or replacement pads for a long time and can buy inexpensive hand towels when you do)
easy to use
light weight
cleans well (hold in place for 15 seconds and it sanitizes) perfect around toilets etc...
Cons:
Price (initially more than mop/bucket)
cord is too short (solved with an extension cord I got and leave on it)
Can only be used on certain types of floor like sealed wood, tile, linoleum, marble, etc...
Of course it doesn't suck things up; it is just a mop. Still it is my new favorite weapon in the cleaning arsenal.
**Disclosure: no products or goods were received in relation to this review. It's simply my opinion. Take it for what it's worth.
Which is a really long winded way to say: YEAH for Eureka Enviro-steam mop! Our lovely 70's era house has 2 floors of wood and tile. I had visions of myself succumbing to severe arthritis from being on my hands and knees scrubbing acres of flooring.
Well, maybe not. I mean it's not like I clean THAT much. But still, I have had many a bad mop. From cheap to "deluxe" they all leave much to be desired. And I'm not just talking about someone else to work them. They fall apart, you can't find replacement, they seem to harbor all sorts of nasty bacteria...I HATE 'em!
So then I tried all manner of new-fangled products that rhyme with Swiffer. Oops. Sorry P & G. It works ok for a quick cleaning but I never felt like they did a "deep clean." Plus they often have a very strong perfume that more often than not makes me sneeze.
Did I mention that my floors get REALLY nasty? Two sloppy kids+two barfy cats+ two klutzy adults=cleaning nightmare. (That's new math, btw.)
So I need a serious cleaner. But I hate scrubbing. Which is why I love the steam mop. It heats a very small amount of water (less than 2 cups cleans several rooms) SUPER hot and basically melts the crud right off. No cleaning products needed. NONE! When you are done you just take the cloth on the bottom and wash it in the washing machine. Floor gets nice and shiny and dries almost instantly.
Pros:
fairly cheap (about $70 from Wal Mart but don't need any cleaning fluids or replacement pads for a long time and can buy inexpensive hand towels when you do)
easy to use
light weight
cleans well (hold in place for 15 seconds and it sanitizes) perfect around toilets etc...
Cons:
Price (initially more than mop/bucket)
cord is too short (solved with an extension cord I got and leave on it)
Can only be used on certain types of floor like sealed wood, tile, linoleum, marble, etc...
Of course it doesn't suck things up; it is just a mop. Still it is my new favorite weapon in the cleaning arsenal.
**Disclosure: no products or goods were received in relation to this review. It's simply my opinion. Take it for what it's worth.
Sunday, September 26, 2010
NOW it's Home
The junk is stashed, the kitchen is functional (DRAT! no more excuses to eat out!) and we registered for church and religious ed. I guess we're settled. Since it was our nick-knacks and paddy-wacks lying around, the house felt like home pretty quickly. But I knew we were TRULY home yesterday.
We got our very first official bill.
Yeah! Now we live here, and nobody can argue otherwise. Of course since this is a momentous occasion only occurring once, well once per move anyway, I decided not to actually pay the bill but instead frame it. I have no idea why the customer service rep at AT&T had a problem with this plan. I promised to frame it in a place of honor! Honestly, some people just don't get me.
I was complaining to Hubs about the general lack of sensitivity in customer service people these days when he ever so gently suggested that maybe I had been cleaning too long and the fumes had gotten to me.
Normally this would have led to a serious escalation in battle tactics. But for once I thought before I hollered back and sniffed and tried to look miserable. Obviously fearing that I was either rabid, insane, or hormonal--possibly all three, he immediately suggested for going messing up the recently organized kitchen in lieu of a pizza/movie night.
Nah haha. My mom might have raised a nut, but she didn't raise a dumb one. I know when to give in gracefully. So I promised to pay the stupid bill and we all left for a night out.
Be it ever so humble, there's no place like home. But eating out is good too.
We got our very first official bill.
Yeah! Now we live here, and nobody can argue otherwise. Of course since this is a momentous occasion only occurring once, well once per move anyway, I decided not to actually pay the bill but instead frame it. I have no idea why the customer service rep at AT&T had a problem with this plan. I promised to frame it in a place of honor! Honestly, some people just don't get me.
I was complaining to Hubs about the general lack of sensitivity in customer service people these days when he ever so gently suggested that maybe I had been cleaning too long and the fumes had gotten to me.
Normally this would have led to a serious escalation in battle tactics. But for once I thought before I hollered back and sniffed and tried to look miserable. Obviously fearing that I was either rabid, insane, or hormonal--possibly all three, he immediately suggested for going messing up the recently organized kitchen in lieu of a pizza/movie night.
Nah haha. My mom might have raised a nut, but she didn't raise a dumb one. I know when to give in gracefully. So I promised to pay the stupid bill and we all left for a night out.
Be it ever so humble, there's no place like home. But eating out is good too.
Friday, September 24, 2010
Getting Settled
Well, with the Great Box War (mostly) behind us, things are starting to feel like home. Piles of useless junk lurking in corners, the floor needs to be swept, and there is a mountain of laundry threatening to topple over and maim a poor helpless victim. You know, that "homey" feeling that takes most people years of bad habits to create we can synthesize in under a month. Are we good or what?
Now our attention is turning to expanding our empire. We have to find a church, activities for the poor home schooled kids needing "socialization" (or for the home teacher mom needing a break-take your pick!)meet the neighbors (at least the ones who will still talk to us after the garbage fiasco) And of course locate all the best fast food places. Not that we eat such junk...oh who am I kidding, we love the stuff.
This is an area that differs from sunny Florida. Sure we gave up the beach. BUT we gained many dining alternatives. Within a 45 minute drive in FL we had maybe 20 different dining options. Now, well, we are basking in the glory of almost unlimited gluttony.
I do feel bad for the poor people working the drive thru, though. We have become used to the pace of Armpit, FL and now take 20 minutes to order. I'm sure our food is probably being spit on in anger but what can I say? 5 years in the south slowed us down some.
We better start picking up the pace; once the snow flies the last thing we're gonna want is to hang around with the window down for any extra time. Don't worry, we'll be back to speaking midwest soon. Y'all.
Now our attention is turning to expanding our empire. We have to find a church, activities for the poor home schooled kids needing "socialization" (or for the home teacher mom needing a break-take your pick!)meet the neighbors (at least the ones who will still talk to us after the garbage fiasco) And of course locate all the best fast food places. Not that we eat such junk...oh who am I kidding, we love the stuff.
This is an area that differs from sunny Florida. Sure we gave up the beach. BUT we gained many dining alternatives. Within a 45 minute drive in FL we had maybe 20 different dining options. Now, well, we are basking in the glory of almost unlimited gluttony.
I do feel bad for the poor people working the drive thru, though. We have become used to the pace of Armpit, FL and now take 20 minutes to order. I'm sure our food is probably being spit on in anger but what can I say? 5 years in the south slowed us down some.
We better start picking up the pace; once the snow flies the last thing we're gonna want is to hang around with the window down for any extra time. Don't worry, we'll be back to speaking midwest soon. Y'all.
Tuesday, September 21, 2010
The Great Box War of 2010
We are moved. Three simple words to sum up the final stages of our ever so complicated military relocation. It's funny, really. Other military people do it even more often than we do. I don't know why this time was such a complicated ordeal. Of course it might have something to do with the enormous piles of beloved trinkets and knick-knacks we insist on saving despite the fact that they serve no purpose what so ever. Nah, probably not. I'm blaming it on the deployment. That's my story and I'm sticking to it.
The moving company is supposed to take all the old boxes with them so you don't have to get rid of them yourselves. Our movers didn't. Thanks guys! If they had done their jobs properly we wouldn't have had the honor or being awarded the "Most Obnoxious Redneck Neighbors From Hell" medal. Such prestige is nothing to take lightly. We weren't in the new house 48 hours and people on three sides of us were already contacting the rental company to discuss buying out our lease. Think I joke?
27 bags, 3 extra large capacity cans, 4 giant boxes of leaves, and two stacks of broken down boxes each 6 feet tall. This was what we set out at the curb on trash day.
The truck had to run the compactor 3 times just at our driveway. 3 times. Luckily the sound covered up the loud curses of the collectors who might have broken a commandment but definitely took our names in vain.
And we still aren't done. We still have all our objects d'art to stash. I mean arrange.
Oh yeah, and a play-set to assemble.
But for now we are mostly situated in our lovely retro house. My mom managed not to snicker out loud but I know she's enjoying a good chuckle at my expense. OK, I may have teased her a bit about her orange carpet and lovely orange-rust-avocado striped wallpaper and so God has blessed us with a very reasonable but totally 70's house. 3000 sq feet of retro loveliness. I can adjust to wood floors with a pattern and orange finish. (Even though Barney now blends in so well it's only a matter of time before I step on him!) I can handle two bathrooms tiled floor to ceiling in swirly green marble. My Brady Bunch kitchen has character. But I drew the line at a formal living and dining room adorned with gold sheers accented with strands of beads. I'll live in a retro house but I draw the line when retro meets red-light district. At least the basement carpet is chocolate brown. It could be worse. It could be orange shag.
The moving company is supposed to take all the old boxes with them so you don't have to get rid of them yourselves. Our movers didn't. Thanks guys! If they had done their jobs properly we wouldn't have had the honor or being awarded the "Most Obnoxious Redneck Neighbors From Hell" medal. Such prestige is nothing to take lightly. We weren't in the new house 48 hours and people on three sides of us were already contacting the rental company to discuss buying out our lease. Think I joke?
27 bags, 3 extra large capacity cans, 4 giant boxes of leaves, and two stacks of broken down boxes each 6 feet tall. This was what we set out at the curb on trash day.
The truck had to run the compactor 3 times just at our driveway. 3 times. Luckily the sound covered up the loud curses of the collectors who might have broken a commandment but definitely took our names in vain.
And we still aren't done. We still have all our objects d'art to stash. I mean arrange.
Oh yeah, and a play-set to assemble.
But for now we are mostly situated in our lovely retro house. My mom managed not to snicker out loud but I know she's enjoying a good chuckle at my expense. OK, I may have teased her a bit about her orange carpet and lovely orange-rust-avocado striped wallpaper and so God has blessed us with a very reasonable but totally 70's house. 3000 sq feet of retro loveliness. I can adjust to wood floors with a pattern and orange finish. (Even though Barney now blends in so well it's only a matter of time before I step on him!) I can handle two bathrooms tiled floor to ceiling in swirly green marble. My Brady Bunch kitchen has character. But I drew the line at a formal living and dining room adorned with gold sheers accented with strands of beads. I'll live in a retro house but I draw the line when retro meets red-light district. At least the basement carpet is chocolate brown. It could be worse. It could be orange shag.
Monday, August 23, 2010
Resistance is Futile!
Today's title is a quote from a Star Trek movie where an alien race of Borgs are taking over the universe.
Much like the way Hubs is right now. It is with affection that I describe his usual post-deployment behavior. After all this time I know what to expect and it makes me chuckle. He feels the need to rearrange/organize everything in his path.
Those of you who know me know I can use all the help I can get in this department. I am not exactly a paragon of organization. Still it is worth noting that for six months we did just fine (mostly) on our own.
I wondered if this time would be the same. After all I sold the house. I wondered if the total absence of all our stuff would slow this behavior down. Like a scientist setting up particularly unusual conditions for his lab animals I observed him out of his natural habitat. What would happen?
Well first he re-arranged the condo and then he started on the school books. D1 has already had a meltdown this morning because her books are messed up and the pencil sharpener was moved. That one does not handle change well.
Since we only have a week or two left here I find it doesn't bother me much. After all left side of the room vs right side, does it matter? Not to me!
To be fair, if he didn't keep us organized and on track we would be in a state of perpetual mess. I definitely needed somebody like him to get my stuff together. I do like having long range plans. If you don't have some type of plan you will get carried along by somebody else's plan. Not that we stick to things all the time. When he was showing me a spreadsheet of all his leave time for the remainder of his AF career I had to giggle. We don't even know where we are spending Thanksgiving yet!
I guess we balance, him and I. I mess things up and he straightens them back. I saw him start to twitch a bit when I showed him the binder of all the paperwork from the move. It was giving him chest pain to see the mess of stuff sitting there taunting him from the counter.
As he dove in to set the mess to right I had to hide a small grin. Wait until we get to OH and he has to sort out Quicken.
6 months of financial stuff done by me and a new version to boot! I just hope his heart can take the strain.
Much like the way Hubs is right now. It is with affection that I describe his usual post-deployment behavior. After all this time I know what to expect and it makes me chuckle. He feels the need to rearrange/organize everything in his path.
Those of you who know me know I can use all the help I can get in this department. I am not exactly a paragon of organization. Still it is worth noting that for six months we did just fine (mostly) on our own.
I wondered if this time would be the same. After all I sold the house. I wondered if the total absence of all our stuff would slow this behavior down. Like a scientist setting up particularly unusual conditions for his lab animals I observed him out of his natural habitat. What would happen?
Well first he re-arranged the condo and then he started on the school books. D1 has already had a meltdown this morning because her books are messed up and the pencil sharpener was moved. That one does not handle change well.
Since we only have a week or two left here I find it doesn't bother me much. After all left side of the room vs right side, does it matter? Not to me!
To be fair, if he didn't keep us organized and on track we would be in a state of perpetual mess. I definitely needed somebody like him to get my stuff together. I do like having long range plans. If you don't have some type of plan you will get carried along by somebody else's plan. Not that we stick to things all the time. When he was showing me a spreadsheet of all his leave time for the remainder of his AF career I had to giggle. We don't even know where we are spending Thanksgiving yet!
I guess we balance, him and I. I mess things up and he straightens them back. I saw him start to twitch a bit when I showed him the binder of all the paperwork from the move. It was giving him chest pain to see the mess of stuff sitting there taunting him from the counter.
As he dove in to set the mess to right I had to hide a small grin. Wait until we get to OH and he has to sort out Quicken.
6 months of financial stuff done by me and a new version to boot! I just hope his heart can take the strain.
Wednesday, August 18, 2010
Stolen Honor
Our courts have ruled that people have a right to lie as long as nobody gets hurt. This article blew my mind.
It is so wrong I had to be serious for today. Forgive my ranting from atop Mt. Soapbox but this has to stop.
Maybe I am overly sensitive. I actually volunteered to serve in our Military and I am a spouse to a career officer so perhaps I am out of touch with "modern America."
Dear God, I pray not. Please tell me people recognize what an atrocity this is. Our Courts have actually ruled that lying is OK as long as nobody gets hurt. SAY WHAT? Do they truly mean this? How can they not see the absurdity of this? Surely they don't think the First Amendment applies to lies?
Or is this a symptom of a more subtle disease? Is it actually a reflection on how our courts view military service? I suspect, I actually hope this is the truth. Better to have courts that don't value military service than ones that don't value truth.
Perhaps they don't realize the gravity of what they have allowed because they don't understand what the Medal of Honor represents.
"conspicuously by gallantry and intrepidity at the risk of his or her life above and beyond the call of duty while engaged in an action against an enemy of the United States. Due to the nature of its criteria, it is often awarded posthumously." These simple words from Wikepedia tell a lot. But they don't tell it all.
Most recent recipients' next of kin have gotten the Medal because their loved ones literally threw themselves on a grenade to save their fellow soldiers. They lead charges against higher numbers to rescue fellow soldiers. They perform with courage most of us can't even imagine.
For this they receive the thanks of their country. They are entitled to wear the Medal. They are entitled to the few small perks that go along with it. How dare someone claim to belong to that group who doesn't belong? Perhaps true justice would be that anybody falsely claiming to be a recipient should immediately be uniformed and shipped to the current battlefield and given the grenade upon which to throw themselves.
To claim this country's highest military honor without having been awarded it, steals from us all. Anybody who can't see that doesn't deserve to live here let alone serve on our courts. If you don't understand what I'm talking about look up the past recipients and read their stories. I dare you to attempt it without crying.
Listen to the real heroes and then see if you understand the outrage. Maybe I'm over-reacting.
Maybe a whole lot of people are under-reacting.
It is so wrong I had to be serious for today. Forgive my ranting from atop Mt. Soapbox but this has to stop.
Maybe I am overly sensitive. I actually volunteered to serve in our Military and I am a spouse to a career officer so perhaps I am out of touch with "modern America."
Dear God, I pray not. Please tell me people recognize what an atrocity this is. Our Courts have actually ruled that lying is OK as long as nobody gets hurt. SAY WHAT? Do they truly mean this? How can they not see the absurdity of this? Surely they don't think the First Amendment applies to lies?
Or is this a symptom of a more subtle disease? Is it actually a reflection on how our courts view military service? I suspect, I actually hope this is the truth. Better to have courts that don't value military service than ones that don't value truth.
Perhaps they don't realize the gravity of what they have allowed because they don't understand what the Medal of Honor represents.
"conspicuously by gallantry and intrepidity at the risk of his or her life above and beyond the call of duty while engaged in an action against an enemy of the United States. Due to the nature of its criteria, it is often awarded posthumously." These simple words from Wikepedia tell a lot. But they don't tell it all.
Most recent recipients' next of kin have gotten the Medal because their loved ones literally threw themselves on a grenade to save their fellow soldiers. They lead charges against higher numbers to rescue fellow soldiers. They perform with courage most of us can't even imagine.
For this they receive the thanks of their country. They are entitled to wear the Medal. They are entitled to the few small perks that go along with it. How dare someone claim to belong to that group who doesn't belong? Perhaps true justice would be that anybody falsely claiming to be a recipient should immediately be uniformed and shipped to the current battlefield and given the grenade upon which to throw themselves.
To claim this country's highest military honor without having been awarded it, steals from us all. Anybody who can't see that doesn't deserve to live here let alone serve on our courts. If you don't understand what I'm talking about look up the past recipients and read their stories. I dare you to attempt it without crying.
Listen to the real heroes and then see if you understand the outrage. Maybe I'm over-reacting.
Maybe a whole lot of people are under-reacting.
Tuesday, August 17, 2010
Yikes!
Since the move I have taken a break from coupons and budget shopping and I have to say...wow! That stuff is expensive!
A small box of cereal for over $4? Are they joking???
I suspect that couponing is much like home schooling. If you want to try it, fine. But you should NEVER get really into it unless you mean to stick to it, because it really gets under your skin and IT WILL DRIVE YOU BATTY!
Not in a pleasantly confused, but still smilin' way either. What I mean is that if you do the research and get into homeschooling and spend the time picking books and designing a curriculum and finding a group, you could only go back to public school in dire circumstances. You know too much. Once you look at the man behind the curtain you're just never gonna see the Wizard of Oz again.
Same thing with stretching a buck. Once you get used to bargain prices, it is mega-painful to pay retail. I have learned that there are reasonable prices to expect with sales and coupons. For example, I never pay more than $1 per box of cereal. A 12pk of soda is not worth more than $2.50. Shampoo, razors, toothpaste, and almost all toiletries should be free at worst and usually should make money. So walking into a store and just plunking stuff into the cart and watching the dollars evaporate is nothing short of panic inducing.
I can't wait to get settled at the other end of this journey north and get back into the usual routines. I don't think the budget can take this much longer. Well, not if he wants to surprise me with 1 1/2 carat three prong platinum set Hearts on Fire solitaire earrings that is.
What? Surprises are always best when you are surprised with the right thing, no? He's only a man...gotta be specific.
A small box of cereal for over $4? Are they joking???
I suspect that couponing is much like home schooling. If you want to try it, fine. But you should NEVER get really into it unless you mean to stick to it, because it really gets under your skin and IT WILL DRIVE YOU BATTY!
Not in a pleasantly confused, but still smilin' way either. What I mean is that if you do the research and get into homeschooling and spend the time picking books and designing a curriculum and finding a group, you could only go back to public school in dire circumstances. You know too much. Once you look at the man behind the curtain you're just never gonna see the Wizard of Oz again.
Same thing with stretching a buck. Once you get used to bargain prices, it is mega-painful to pay retail. I have learned that there are reasonable prices to expect with sales and coupons. For example, I never pay more than $1 per box of cereal. A 12pk of soda is not worth more than $2.50. Shampoo, razors, toothpaste, and almost all toiletries should be free at worst and usually should make money. So walking into a store and just plunking stuff into the cart and watching the dollars evaporate is nothing short of panic inducing.
I can't wait to get settled at the other end of this journey north and get back into the usual routines. I don't think the budget can take this much longer. Well, not if he wants to surprise me with 1 1/2 carat three prong platinum set Hearts on Fire solitaire earrings that is.
What? Surprises are always best when you are surprised with the right thing, no? He's only a man...gotta be specific.
Sunday, August 15, 2010
Oh yeah, just what we were missing!
With the drama of the sale of MoneyPitt1 fading slowing from my dreams at night I was starting to relax. The calming force of the aqua waters and sun seemed able to pull me into vacation land where all is sunny and happy.
That lasted a good five minutes until life struck again.
This week D1 started complaining about an upset stomach and how much she missed her Daddy. Since she gets an upset stomach whenever she is upset I chalked this up to Daddy Blues and offered sympathy and extra hugs...the standard mom cure.
Not quite the right diagnosis it seems. We went to Pensacola to check out the museums before we have to leave FL. No time like leaving to cram in all the things you didn't manage to do in five years. We learned a lot about Chinese folklore and a bit about the history of the FL panhandle. Seems that Spanish Conquistadors were some of the first European people to settle this area.
Which makes it truly humorous that Montezuma's Revenge would strike D1 on our museum tour. Gotta love the irony, right?
So for the last two days we have been stuck inside the condo trying to...well let's just all hope she gets better soon. I'll spare you tales from the Crypt.
De Nada.
I just hope we all get through this -er- crud before it is time to trek across country. If I have to drive across the United States battling my bowels, well, you might as well check me into the Funny Farm now. Preferably one with rooms that can be hosed down.
That lasted a good five minutes until life struck again.
This week D1 started complaining about an upset stomach and how much she missed her Daddy. Since she gets an upset stomach whenever she is upset I chalked this up to Daddy Blues and offered sympathy and extra hugs...the standard mom cure.
Not quite the right diagnosis it seems. We went to Pensacola to check out the museums before we have to leave FL. No time like leaving to cram in all the things you didn't manage to do in five years. We learned a lot about Chinese folklore and a bit about the history of the FL panhandle. Seems that Spanish Conquistadors were some of the first European people to settle this area.
Which makes it truly humorous that Montezuma's Revenge would strike D1 on our museum tour. Gotta love the irony, right?
So for the last two days we have been stuck inside the condo trying to...well let's just all hope she gets better soon. I'll spare you tales from the Crypt.
De Nada.
I just hope we all get through this -er- crud before it is time to trek across country. If I have to drive across the United States battling my bowels, well, you might as well check me into the Funny Farm now. Preferably one with rooms that can be hosed down.
Friday, August 13, 2010
The Most Crazy, Backwards, Mixed-Up Closing Ever
When I went to sign the paperwork finally ridding us of the Grey Fox Money Pit I had to find just the perfect outfit to wear. This was a puzzling etiquette issue. What would Ms. Manners say is the proper outfit for an auto de fe?
I wanted to wear all black including a nice 50's black pillbox hat and veil just to set the right mood..but the only hat I could find at the thrift store was bright lime green. Not exactly the look I was trying for. Another great idea smashed too soon.
I finally decided on just plain jeans. I might as well be comfortable when losing a large sum of money.
I was ushered back into the inner sanctum of the title agent and there I met the Army Corp of Engineers rep. She introduced herself by saying
"Hi I'm Jodi. I can't wait for guys to explain this to me because I'm brand new. Today is my first day!"
We all had a hearty laugh. Until we realized that she was absolutely serious. Our "expert" was more clueless than we were. Oh good. Well at least this fiasco was consistent from start to finish.
I signed all the paperwork in the way they wanted me to. Hubs name, then my name then the POA thing. Then my name again. I signed a statement that the POA was valid. This gave me a small giggle. Talk about a Liar's paradox. I had to sign that I wasn't cheating, that the POA was valid. But if I was the type of person to fake a POA would lying about it suddenly make me fall to my knees and confess?
I noticed that the buyer had already signed all the paperwork. How does that work? How can he "buy" something I haven't officially sold? Talk about a chicken and egg thing. Anyway I then endorsed a large check and promised not to fly to Tahiti thus leaving my kids abandoned and motherless. Not that they would miss me much. There is plenty of food in the condo and with the pool and cable they are set. The check wasn't large enough to actually be tempting. I figure I'd only have a good week before I got booted from the resort.
Anyway.
When it was all said and done I signed over the house and left with...zippo. Nothing but a promise that my part of the check would be wired the next day. Ironic. The buyer was already in the house, the bank got their payoff but I left empty handed. Talk about requiring trust. Suuuuuure the money will be there in the morning.
On my way out I left singing my "auto-de-fe" song under my breath and the realtor asked what I was saying. I just smiled and told her it was a great day for an auto de fe and she looked blankly back.
Sorry Voltaire. I guess some people down here missed Candide.
I wanted to wear all black including a nice 50's black pillbox hat and veil just to set the right mood..but the only hat I could find at the thrift store was bright lime green. Not exactly the look I was trying for. Another great idea smashed too soon.
I finally decided on just plain jeans. I might as well be comfortable when losing a large sum of money.
I was ushered back into the inner sanctum of the title agent and there I met the Army Corp of Engineers rep. She introduced herself by saying
"Hi I'm Jodi. I can't wait for guys to explain this to me because I'm brand new. Today is my first day!"
We all had a hearty laugh. Until we realized that she was absolutely serious. Our "expert" was more clueless than we were. Oh good. Well at least this fiasco was consistent from start to finish.
I signed all the paperwork in the way they wanted me to. Hubs name, then my name then the POA thing. Then my name again. I signed a statement that the POA was valid. This gave me a small giggle. Talk about a Liar's paradox. I had to sign that I wasn't cheating, that the POA was valid. But if I was the type of person to fake a POA would lying about it suddenly make me fall to my knees and confess?
I noticed that the buyer had already signed all the paperwork. How does that work? How can he "buy" something I haven't officially sold? Talk about a chicken and egg thing. Anyway I then endorsed a large check and promised not to fly to Tahiti thus leaving my kids abandoned and motherless. Not that they would miss me much. There is plenty of food in the condo and with the pool and cable they are set. The check wasn't large enough to actually be tempting. I figure I'd only have a good week before I got booted from the resort.
Anyway.
When it was all said and done I signed over the house and left with...zippo. Nothing but a promise that my part of the check would be wired the next day. Ironic. The buyer was already in the house, the bank got their payoff but I left empty handed. Talk about requiring trust. Suuuuuure the money will be there in the morning.
On my way out I left singing my "auto-de-fe" song under my breath and the realtor asked what I was saying. I just smiled and told her it was a great day for an auto de fe and she looked blankly back.
Sorry Voltaire. I guess some people down here missed Candide.
Wednesday, August 11, 2010
The Lights are on But Nobody Should be Home
I drove by the house yesterday to check if I had any mail in the box that hadn't been forwarded. The lights were on and a truck was in the driveway.
Curious.
We haven't closed yet and the buyer tried to throw a curve ball with last minute renegotiation.
Oh, did I have to calm myself for a minute. Clearly this bugger has no idea who he is dealing with. Sure I have been accommodating and more than helpful. We left the house in pristine condition and I have met every stupid request of the buyer. We sold it for 1/3 of what we paid. We are very motivated.
But. We aren't stupid, all appearances to the contrary. Nothing makes me see red like somebody attempting to take advantage of my misfortune. The guy is getting the deal of a lifetime and the SOB thinks I should sweeten the pot even more.
Sort of reminds me of a story I used to read to my kids... "If you give a mouse a cookie..."
If I had written that story it would have had a different ending.
I mean enough already. At some point you call an exterminator and squash that sucker like the vermin he his.
Hard to imagine I haven't gotten the Caldecott Medal for children's lit isn't it?
This guy has rocks in his head. He's gonna tick off the seller at the last minute? Pride goeth before the fall. And revenge is a dish best served with a side of frozen shrimp hidden in an air vent.
I jest. I'd never do such a thing. Probably. But when I saw that sucker's truck sitting in the driveway of a house he doesn't yet own I would certainly call the police and report suspicious activity. That's what neighborhood watch is all about.
If I just happen to know a policeman because our kids are in cheer leading together and he promised to make the response as scary as possible...well serves the sucker right.
Good times.
Curious.
We haven't closed yet and the buyer tried to throw a curve ball with last minute renegotiation.
Oh, did I have to calm myself for a minute. Clearly this bugger has no idea who he is dealing with. Sure I have been accommodating and more than helpful. We left the house in pristine condition and I have met every stupid request of the buyer. We sold it for 1/3 of what we paid. We are very motivated.
But. We aren't stupid, all appearances to the contrary. Nothing makes me see red like somebody attempting to take advantage of my misfortune. The guy is getting the deal of a lifetime and the SOB thinks I should sweeten the pot even more.
Sort of reminds me of a story I used to read to my kids... "If you give a mouse a cookie..."
If I had written that story it would have had a different ending.
I mean enough already. At some point you call an exterminator and squash that sucker like the vermin he his.
Hard to imagine I haven't gotten the Caldecott Medal for children's lit isn't it?
This guy has rocks in his head. He's gonna tick off the seller at the last minute? Pride goeth before the fall. And revenge is a dish best served with a side of frozen shrimp hidden in an air vent.
I jest. I'd never do such a thing. Probably. But when I saw that sucker's truck sitting in the driveway of a house he doesn't yet own I would certainly call the police and report suspicious activity. That's what neighborhood watch is all about.
If I just happen to know a policeman because our kids are in cheer leading together and he promised to make the response as scary as possible...well serves the sucker right.
Good times.
Tuesday, August 10, 2010
The Evils of Diet Coke
First let me say I am a huge fan of Diet Coke. It is my "pick-me-up" of choice. Sure I have read all the stuff proclaiming that artificial sweeteners are causing everything bad in my life from high taxes to the annoying boil on my butt.
But the FDA says the stuff is safe.
No government agency would ever make a mistake right?
OK, that may have been just a tad more bitter sounding than I was aiming for.
Diet Coke. That's today's topic. While Hubs is gone I have been super careful to limit myself to no more than 1/2 a can no later than noon. I never sleep very well when he's gone (I must be a masochist because I SHOULD sleep better with all the room, covers, and no midnight sneak attacks where I am the poor helpless victim he wrestles while dreaming about being a superhero. BTW that wasn't a reference to some rated R thing. He is just a restless sleeper.)
But as most military spouses will tell you, you just don't sleep that well during a deployment. So I have skipped my soda (UGH! We drink POP where I come from! How did the Florida soda thing sneak in?) while he is away hoping to sleep a bit better.
Sometimes it even works.
Last night after hearing that our closing is delayed, and might be for some time, I was so bummed I had a Diet Coke by the pool. I should have laced it with a splash of something medicinal but the only stuff I have here at the condo is an unopened bottle of Champagne and my dad's Christmas scotch. The scotch is my contemporary. It was a tad pricey which is sick and wrong since it tastes like, well pretty close to rubbing alcohol. Dad, being a connoisseur, disagrees with that assessment but as I prefer my alcohol flavorless or preferably completely obscured by frozen fruity goodness, I didn't put any in my coke. (Alcohol that tastes like tropical fruit doesn't count, right? Not when it comes completes with a full serving of fruits! Are there still antioxidants in Pina Colada mix? Of course there are, right?)
So I had one can. Big deal. I still went to sleep on time so take that!
Until I woke up at midnight. But it was a really refreshing one hour nap. So refreshing in fact that I couldn't go back to sleep. Ever.
I checked my emails.
I did a load of dishes.
I checked the kids' math assignments.
I got a great work-out in. I call it the amazing contortionist flop like a fish dying on shore T-91 plan. Watch for it on infomercials! It involves rearranging pillows in time to music while maintaining a steady left-right-middle rotation. Every few seconds you strain around and check the alarm clock to verify that you are still awake. Feel the burn!
Finally I got up at 5:30 and did the cat's shot.
You can see it coming right?
Afterwards I was so tired I immediately went back to sleep where I had insanely vivid dreams involving meat packing plants gone horrible wrong and being chased by masked bandits through the old west. The second time I sat straight up, breathing heavy, gasping for breath, and praying it was only a dream I decided to skip any more rest, thank you very much.
I'm pretty sure the intense burning pain setting my chest ablaze and radiating through my arm was heartburn as a second gift from the Coke. If it was actually a heart attack I want to go on record as being staunchly a DNR. If I drop dead soon and somebody brings me back, especially before the house closes, well let's just say the curse of Seamus O'Higgins and his giant pox will be upon you.
Bottom line? No more Diet Coke until Hubs gets home. Strictly diet chocolate for my future mood modification needs. If only diet Valium was available without a prescription...
But the FDA says the stuff is safe.
No government agency would ever make a mistake right?
OK, that may have been just a tad more bitter sounding than I was aiming for.
Diet Coke. That's today's topic. While Hubs is gone I have been super careful to limit myself to no more than 1/2 a can no later than noon. I never sleep very well when he's gone (I must be a masochist because I SHOULD sleep better with all the room, covers, and no midnight sneak attacks where I am the poor helpless victim he wrestles while dreaming about being a superhero. BTW that wasn't a reference to some rated R thing. He is just a restless sleeper.)
But as most military spouses will tell you, you just don't sleep that well during a deployment. So I have skipped my soda (UGH! We drink POP where I come from! How did the Florida soda thing sneak in?) while he is away hoping to sleep a bit better.
Sometimes it even works.
Last night after hearing that our closing is delayed, and might be for some time, I was so bummed I had a Diet Coke by the pool. I should have laced it with a splash of something medicinal but the only stuff I have here at the condo is an unopened bottle of Champagne and my dad's Christmas scotch. The scotch is my contemporary. It was a tad pricey which is sick and wrong since it tastes like, well pretty close to rubbing alcohol. Dad, being a connoisseur, disagrees with that assessment but as I prefer my alcohol flavorless or preferably completely obscured by frozen fruity goodness, I didn't put any in my coke. (Alcohol that tastes like tropical fruit doesn't count, right? Not when it comes completes with a full serving of fruits! Are there still antioxidants in Pina Colada mix? Of course there are, right?)
So I had one can. Big deal. I still went to sleep on time so take that!
Until I woke up at midnight. But it was a really refreshing one hour nap. So refreshing in fact that I couldn't go back to sleep. Ever.
I checked my emails.
I did a load of dishes.
I checked the kids' math assignments.
I got a great work-out in. I call it the amazing contortionist flop like a fish dying on shore T-91 plan. Watch for it on infomercials! It involves rearranging pillows in time to music while maintaining a steady left-right-middle rotation. Every few seconds you strain around and check the alarm clock to verify that you are still awake. Feel the burn!
Finally I got up at 5:30 and did the cat's shot.
You can see it coming right?
Afterwards I was so tired I immediately went back to sleep where I had insanely vivid dreams involving meat packing plants gone horrible wrong and being chased by masked bandits through the old west. The second time I sat straight up, breathing heavy, gasping for breath, and praying it was only a dream I decided to skip any more rest, thank you very much.
I'm pretty sure the intense burning pain setting my chest ablaze and radiating through my arm was heartburn as a second gift from the Coke. If it was actually a heart attack I want to go on record as being staunchly a DNR. If I drop dead soon and somebody brings me back, especially before the house closes, well let's just say the curse of Seamus O'Higgins and his giant pox will be upon you.
Bottom line? No more Diet Coke until Hubs gets home. Strictly diet chocolate for my future mood modification needs. If only diet Valium was available without a prescription...
Monday, August 9, 2010
Moving-Military Style
Talk about a whirlwind. Moving with the military is something you have to experience to believe.
The first step is for the packers to show up. This time based on the weight of our junk they sent 4 people. They come into a room and literally wrap everything in paper and then put it in a box. When I say EVERYTHING, that's just what I mean. If your kid snuck a candy bar at some point and stuffed the wrapper into a nook, then that wrapper will be wrapped in packing paper and put in the box. I jest not. I'm pretty sure my bucket of recycle bottles got packed. I tried to circulate around intercepting the stranger items and tossing them as needed but there was only one of me and four of them. Oh well, we'll sort it out at the other end I suppose. I have to just pray that nobody sees us unpack or we will get the strangest reputation in the neighborhood.
Did you see the new people who moved in? They saved old candy wrappers and empty plastic bottles! They must have some strange hoarding disease!
Then after a few days of packing comes the inventory stage. Every box gets a sticker with a number and every number goes on the master list. At the other end you then check off number by number.
So, for example, we have box 0215: empty CD cases. Yep. We really do.
We had 6 legal size pages of boxes.
Next come the loaders. We had a crew of 5. One guy did the dissemble and paperwork and four poor schmucks loaded the semi. Did I mention it was 110 with 100% humidity? Good times. As they load the boss makes notes on the inventory like "dining table:scratches on surface." This is so that you can't claim pre-existing damage at the other end. In our case, this is the 6th military move. It took more space for recording the damage than it did to record the stuff. Whatever. Of course stuff isn't just loaded. Oh no. First it gets wrapped in plastic, blankets, or both. After carefully wrapping every article great care is then taken as it is shoved, crammed, smashed, and generally squeezed into tight spaces. The "care" is more to insure that the entire truck gets filled, not so much that everything comes out whole on the other end.
We filled a semi.
Including the space underneath where the spare tire goes.
Then another few hours are spent filling out several forms in 6 copies. You then sign that you have personally watched and agree with all notations, inventories, and numbers. Right. As if you could be in 6 places at once and personally count everything. Not that losing some of the junk would be bad. For instance if they managed to drop the TV we got in college, well it had a long and happy life. But they won't. Oh no. It's NEVER the stuff you don't care about that gets lost/damaged/stolen by aliens. Oh no. It will be the one item you actually care about.
Curses to you Murphy and your stinkin' laws.
It is always best to watch them load the truck and then beat them to the other destination. Then they load the stuff off and usually you get most of your stuff in the same condition.
Unlike us, who are getting there a month later. Thus our stuff will be unloaded at some storage facility and then delivered when we cal for it. This means several different people will touch it several times. Each step astronomically increases the risk that stuff will be broken/stolen/lost/eaten by dinosaurs.
But again, it won't be the stuff you want lost. Never that stuff. Every old candy wrapper and empty plastic bottle will make the journey just fine.
The first step is for the packers to show up. This time based on the weight of our junk they sent 4 people. They come into a room and literally wrap everything in paper and then put it in a box. When I say EVERYTHING, that's just what I mean. If your kid snuck a candy bar at some point and stuffed the wrapper into a nook, then that wrapper will be wrapped in packing paper and put in the box. I jest not. I'm pretty sure my bucket of recycle bottles got packed. I tried to circulate around intercepting the stranger items and tossing them as needed but there was only one of me and four of them. Oh well, we'll sort it out at the other end I suppose. I have to just pray that nobody sees us unpack or we will get the strangest reputation in the neighborhood.
Did you see the new people who moved in? They saved old candy wrappers and empty plastic bottles! They must have some strange hoarding disease!
Then after a few days of packing comes the inventory stage. Every box gets a sticker with a number and every number goes on the master list. At the other end you then check off number by number.
So, for example, we have box 0215: empty CD cases. Yep. We really do.
We had 6 legal size pages of boxes.
Next come the loaders. We had a crew of 5. One guy did the dissemble and paperwork and four poor schmucks loaded the semi. Did I mention it was 110 with 100% humidity? Good times. As they load the boss makes notes on the inventory like "dining table:scratches on surface." This is so that you can't claim pre-existing damage at the other end. In our case, this is the 6th military move. It took more space for recording the damage than it did to record the stuff. Whatever. Of course stuff isn't just loaded. Oh no. First it gets wrapped in plastic, blankets, or both. After carefully wrapping every article great care is then taken as it is shoved, crammed, smashed, and generally squeezed into tight spaces. The "care" is more to insure that the entire truck gets filled, not so much that everything comes out whole on the other end.
We filled a semi.
Including the space underneath where the spare tire goes.
Then another few hours are spent filling out several forms in 6 copies. You then sign that you have personally watched and agree with all notations, inventories, and numbers. Right. As if you could be in 6 places at once and personally count everything. Not that losing some of the junk would be bad. For instance if they managed to drop the TV we got in college, well it had a long and happy life. But they won't. Oh no. It's NEVER the stuff you don't care about that gets lost/damaged/stolen by aliens. Oh no. It will be the one item you actually care about.
Curses to you Murphy and your stinkin' laws.
It is always best to watch them load the truck and then beat them to the other destination. Then they load the stuff off and usually you get most of your stuff in the same condition.
Unlike us, who are getting there a month later. Thus our stuff will be unloaded at some storage facility and then delivered when we cal for it. This means several different people will touch it several times. Each step astronomically increases the risk that stuff will be broken/stolen/lost/eaten by dinosaurs.
But again, it won't be the stuff you want lost. Never that stuff. Every old candy wrapper and empty plastic bottle will make the journey just fine.
Friday, July 30, 2010
Dickens Would Understand
This week has been such an emotional roller coaster. Charles Dickens really nailed it with that whole "Best of times, worst of times" quote. From trying to nurse a beloved cat back from going towards the light to a daughter landing a flip she's been working on for a year there hasn't been time for "usual" is all the tips or the pits.
And still time moves forward.
The movers come in 2 days. Gulp! I am so behind. I haven't packaged all the stuff in zip-locks, I haven't rewashed everything, and I haven't emptied the water bed or sorted the books.
I did however get the cat to perk up enough to want to eat a few bites and I did get the car in for a battery and oil change. So at least I can pull the car out of the garage for the packers.
Funny story about the oil.
When I got to WalMart I had to sign a waiver before they would change it. Apparently it was so low it didn't register on the dipstick.
Where did the oil go?
The car has been parked in the garage for 5 months. I'll admit one time I backed it out unto the drive way for 30 minutes. I swear that was the only time it left the garage.
No oil on the drive way, none in the garage. Did the oil gremlin come and suck it out? How the heck do you lose 4 quarts of oil? I am got VERY thankful I made it to WalMart and the car is still (HOPEFULLY!) OK.
Cat-alive.
Car-running.
House-disaster.
Well two out of three ain't bad. And who knows, maybe I'll get very motivated over the next two days.
Quit laughing, it could happen. Probably not, but if I guzzle enough Frappacino's you never know what could happen. And if the house doesn't get organized, well at least I'll have a nice buzz and won't care so much.
And still time moves forward.
The movers come in 2 days. Gulp! I am so behind. I haven't packaged all the stuff in zip-locks, I haven't rewashed everything, and I haven't emptied the water bed or sorted the books.
I did however get the cat to perk up enough to want to eat a few bites and I did get the car in for a battery and oil change. So at least I can pull the car out of the garage for the packers.
Funny story about the oil.
When I got to WalMart I had to sign a waiver before they would change it. Apparently it was so low it didn't register on the dipstick.
Where did the oil go?
The car has been parked in the garage for 5 months. I'll admit one time I backed it out unto the drive way for 30 minutes. I swear that was the only time it left the garage.
No oil on the drive way, none in the garage. Did the oil gremlin come and suck it out? How the heck do you lose 4 quarts of oil? I am got VERY thankful I made it to WalMart and the car is still (HOPEFULLY!) OK.
Cat-alive.
Car-running.
House-disaster.
Well two out of three ain't bad. And who knows, maybe I'll get very motivated over the next two days.
Quit laughing, it could happen. Probably not, but if I guzzle enough Frappacino's you never know what could happen. And if the house doesn't get organized, well at least I'll have a nice buzz and won't care so much.
Tuesday, July 27, 2010
Saying Goodbye
I have been very blessed to have possibly the world's sweetest cat for 14 years. Barney is just about the perfect pet. He is unfailing mellow, tolerant, and always friendly. His nickname is "the big gold rug." True to this name, all he wants to do is lie in your lap;petting is good but optional. He just wants to be close to you.
I have always said that I would never subject pets to extraordinary measures. I feed them premium food and make sure they get all their check-ups but that is it. When their time is up, I always felt that a humane death was the last great gift you give a beloved pet.
Until now.
Now I face Barney having a serious but somewhat treatable disease. He is diabetic. Turns out that all those years feeding him premium kibble may not have been in his best interest. More and more vets now say that wet food is best. High protein and low carb. Now they tell me.
Doesn't help much.
I'm not sure if keeping him alive now is in his best interest or mine. How do you draw the line? I had to put one cat to sleep because he had a fatal heart birth defect. Even though it tore my heart to tiny shreds that choice was clear cut. Science had nothing to offer. I had to just cuddle him as he licked my hand and died.
Barney isn't so clear cut. I mean he's an elderly cat but he's basically healthy. Mostly. He doesn't have some giant heart problem or tumor that I could say, "ok, pal, it's the end of the line."
All this because there isn't enough going on in our life right now.
I guess it's a good thing I have that expensive nursing education. I understand the disease process and the basic treatment. I know how to check blood sugars and give insulin shots. Sure, I've never checked a blood sugar on a cat's ear, but if I can do a squirmy kid I ought to be able to manage a 10 pound cat. Maybe.
The truly hard part is knowing wether treating him is really for his benefit or mine. I don't know if it's the right thing to do. Would it be better to just let him slip off to sleep? Is wanting to keep him the ultimate selfish act? Maybe if Hubs was home I would have some more perspective and balance. But for the last 6 months I have fallen asleep stroking Barney's soft fur. For some reason I never worried about noises so much as long as Barney was lying next to me.
Not that the Rug was at all a "watch cat." He is helpful only because if there is really a noise he will run and I will have warning. But aside from the fact that he is a chicken, there is just something comforting about not being alone.
So please pray for Barney and pray that I find the wisdom to do what's really best for him. He's been a very good friend, he deserves that at least.
I have always said that I would never subject pets to extraordinary measures. I feed them premium food and make sure they get all their check-ups but that is it. When their time is up, I always felt that a humane death was the last great gift you give a beloved pet.
Until now.
Now I face Barney having a serious but somewhat treatable disease. He is diabetic. Turns out that all those years feeding him premium kibble may not have been in his best interest. More and more vets now say that wet food is best. High protein and low carb. Now they tell me.
Doesn't help much.
I'm not sure if keeping him alive now is in his best interest or mine. How do you draw the line? I had to put one cat to sleep because he had a fatal heart birth defect. Even though it tore my heart to tiny shreds that choice was clear cut. Science had nothing to offer. I had to just cuddle him as he licked my hand and died.
Barney isn't so clear cut. I mean he's an elderly cat but he's basically healthy. Mostly. He doesn't have some giant heart problem or tumor that I could say, "ok, pal, it's the end of the line."
All this because there isn't enough going on in our life right now.
I guess it's a good thing I have that expensive nursing education. I understand the disease process and the basic treatment. I know how to check blood sugars and give insulin shots. Sure, I've never checked a blood sugar on a cat's ear, but if I can do a squirmy kid I ought to be able to manage a 10 pound cat. Maybe.
The truly hard part is knowing wether treating him is really for his benefit or mine. I don't know if it's the right thing to do. Would it be better to just let him slip off to sleep? Is wanting to keep him the ultimate selfish act? Maybe if Hubs was home I would have some more perspective and balance. But for the last 6 months I have fallen asleep stroking Barney's soft fur. For some reason I never worried about noises so much as long as Barney was lying next to me.
Not that the Rug was at all a "watch cat." He is helpful only because if there is really a noise he will run and I will have warning. But aside from the fact that he is a chicken, there is just something comforting about not being alone.
So please pray for Barney and pray that I find the wisdom to do what's really best for him. He's been a very good friend, he deserves that at least.
Wednesday, July 21, 2010
Great Deal...or Expensive Lesson
Because this upcoming move is happening in three parts it requires some complex logistical planning. Planning that is sure to give a relaxed, laid back, fly by the seat of your pants type gal, such as moi, severe acid reflux.
I have started munching on Tums so much that I am frequently spotting a chalky mustache. Yum, yum.
Here is the basic plan: packers move everything we own to OH. We stay in FL. We sell house. We stay in FL for another 4 weeks. Then we go to a family reunion en route to OH where we then stay on base until we can find a house. Simple, right?
This is the point where my eyes bug out and I start to drool. It requires no less then 5 different temporary lodging reservations. No potential for disaster there, right? Oh yeah, and we are traveling with cats so it's not like we can just check into any old hotel in case of disaster.
35 nights adds up to quite the hotel bill. Ever on the look out for a thrifty deal, I decided there had to be some option a little cheaper than paying for a Motel 8 for over a month. Not to mention living in a hotel room with 2 kids and 2 cats leaves something to be desired given Hubby's anticipated reunion.
This led me to my first mistake: Craigslist.
Let us all sigh in unison about my stupidity.
I should preface this by saying: yes, I have heard all the horror stories. I know people who have gotten burned big time. So, YES, I should know better. But really, when has that ever slowed me down?
So I found a killer deal. We can rent a condo on the beach with 2 bedrooms, pets approved, for less than the cost of staying in the cruddy TLF on base.
If it sounds too good to be true...
I promise I won't say I wasn't warned. Still, I did everything I could think of to make sure it is a legit deal. I saw the place. I got a contract in writing. I verified the owner's existence with the building maintenance association, and I checked him out with the BBB.
BUT.
There is always a but, isn't there? He demanded payment in full ahead of check in via money order. So, full of hope that I have found an honest person, I mailed the money today. I'll let you know if I just paid a huge stupid tax.
Please try not to start the wager in my hearing...I'm fragile enough as it is.
I have started munching on Tums so much that I am frequently spotting a chalky mustache. Yum, yum.
Here is the basic plan: packers move everything we own to OH. We stay in FL. We sell house. We stay in FL for another 4 weeks. Then we go to a family reunion en route to OH where we then stay on base until we can find a house. Simple, right?
This is the point where my eyes bug out and I start to drool. It requires no less then 5 different temporary lodging reservations. No potential for disaster there, right? Oh yeah, and we are traveling with cats so it's not like we can just check into any old hotel in case of disaster.
35 nights adds up to quite the hotel bill. Ever on the look out for a thrifty deal, I decided there had to be some option a little cheaper than paying for a Motel 8 for over a month. Not to mention living in a hotel room with 2 kids and 2 cats leaves something to be desired given Hubby's anticipated reunion.
This led me to my first mistake: Craigslist.
Let us all sigh in unison about my stupidity.
I should preface this by saying: yes, I have heard all the horror stories. I know people who have gotten burned big time. So, YES, I should know better. But really, when has that ever slowed me down?
So I found a killer deal. We can rent a condo on the beach with 2 bedrooms, pets approved, for less than the cost of staying in the cruddy TLF on base.
If it sounds too good to be true...
I promise I won't say I wasn't warned. Still, I did everything I could think of to make sure it is a legit deal. I saw the place. I got a contract in writing. I verified the owner's existence with the building maintenance association, and I checked him out with the BBB.
BUT.
There is always a but, isn't there? He demanded payment in full ahead of check in via money order. So, full of hope that I have found an honest person, I mailed the money today. I'll let you know if I just paid a huge stupid tax.
Please try not to start the wager in my hearing...I'm fragile enough as it is.
Monday, July 19, 2010
Oh NO!
It is hitting me that in less than 2 weeks total strangers are going to be privy to really every aspect of my life.
Wow. I feel sick.
If you have never moved, or at least never done a military move, you may not appreciate what it entails.
Imagine a swarm of locusts falling from the sky and covering your entire house at once. That pretty much sums it up. A large group of total strangers arrives and takes everything you own and wraps it up for you. It is inventoried and carted away.
My inventory will look something like this:
Dust Dragons (we are waaaaaay past the bunny stage) 219
boxes of useless junk 698
Cartons of books 20
Boxes of clothes 8
Boxes of brand new (but dusty) kitchen gadgets 5
Dishes/pots/pans 2
Rusty work out gear 4
Stuff for creative projects/mostly untouched 2
Stuff I need to do but haven't 95
Stuff I don't need but have 43
Stuff the Goodwill rejected 3
Does the thought of a stranger packing your "unmentionables" give you the heebie-jeebies? It might bother me except I have so much more embarrassing stuff that in comparison my underwear is pretty boring. They will probably find a growing Mt Nancy of dust under the bed.
I should pass out gloves and dust masks when they walk in the door. Some of this stuff has sat unmoved for 5 years. I just pray dust is the worst they find. But it probably won't be.
I have friends who wash everything, sort, separate, organize and pre-pack. Ironic, because they are not the sort of people who would have dust-dragons hiding in the corners, anyway. Bloody overachievers screwing up the curve, is more like it.
I will just bite my tongue and hope for the best. Well that and pray like all get out that we never move back here and I never have to see these people again. Just add another state to the growing list of "places I don't want to be seen again."
Maybe I'll clean before they come. Better yet, maybe a hurricane will strike my house and just blow the dust away. It could happen--God works in mysterious ways!
Wow. I feel sick.
If you have never moved, or at least never done a military move, you may not appreciate what it entails.
Imagine a swarm of locusts falling from the sky and covering your entire house at once. That pretty much sums it up. A large group of total strangers arrives and takes everything you own and wraps it up for you. It is inventoried and carted away.
My inventory will look something like this:
Dust Dragons (we are waaaaaay past the bunny stage) 219
boxes of useless junk 698
Cartons of books 20
Boxes of clothes 8
Boxes of brand new (but dusty) kitchen gadgets 5
Dishes/pots/pans 2
Rusty work out gear 4
Stuff for creative projects/mostly untouched 2
Stuff I need to do but haven't 95
Stuff I don't need but have 43
Stuff the Goodwill rejected 3
Does the thought of a stranger packing your "unmentionables" give you the heebie-jeebies? It might bother me except I have so much more embarrassing stuff that in comparison my underwear is pretty boring. They will probably find a growing Mt Nancy of dust under the bed.
I should pass out gloves and dust masks when they walk in the door. Some of this stuff has sat unmoved for 5 years. I just pray dust is the worst they find. But it probably won't be.
I have friends who wash everything, sort, separate, organize and pre-pack. Ironic, because they are not the sort of people who would have dust-dragons hiding in the corners, anyway. Bloody overachievers screwing up the curve, is more like it.
I will just bite my tongue and hope for the best. Well that and pray like all get out that we never move back here and I never have to see these people again. Just add another state to the growing list of "places I don't want to be seen again."
Maybe I'll clean before they come. Better yet, maybe a hurricane will strike my house and just blow the dust away. It could happen--God works in mysterious ways!
Sunday, July 18, 2010
Have you ever?
Paid for a kid's monthly activities using nothing bigger than a $1 bill? I'm pretty sure her coach wondered if I was taking a second job that involves skimpy clothes and pole dancing. Ha! Bet that gave him nightmares for a while!
Repossessed your own kid's iPod? I had to lock myself in the bathroom for an hour afterward so they wouldn't see me cry, but better they learn the lesson now than when their car gets towed away. Real banks require collateral, interest, and enforce consequences. Now If I can just figure out how to use the dumb thing!
Served ice cream for dinner? After two weeks of meals that were designed to empty out the fridge and freezer the kids were very nervous about the menu. (In hindsight, topping very old fish with nacho cheese and blueberries might not have been my best culinary idea ever.) They only come to the table grudgingly. So imagine their faces when I told them they had to empty out the cartoons. No putting "left-overs" back. What's the point being a mom if you can't toss out the rules every now and then? Maybe that will be one moving memory they look back on and smile about.
Considered burning down the house just to avoid cleaning out the garage? Trust me, it's not as extreme as it sounds.
Looked through an old cedar chest and started to cry when you found tiny little baby booties?
Made a promise that you would never collect ANYTHING ever again?
Suspected you might be under secret surveillance to determine if you qualify for the "Buried Alive" hoarding show?
Realized how many memories can accrue in 15 years of marriage? Looking over pictures, scrap books, baby clothes, and assorted sports stuff makes me see all over again how blessed we are and how fortunate I am that I married Prince Charming. I always thought in the stories that the princess had to kiss the Frog. Turns out it is the other way around. Good thing he's near-sighted...I still can't believe he picked me, warts and all. I love ya Babe.
Repossessed your own kid's iPod? I had to lock myself in the bathroom for an hour afterward so they wouldn't see me cry, but better they learn the lesson now than when their car gets towed away. Real banks require collateral, interest, and enforce consequences. Now If I can just figure out how to use the dumb thing!
Served ice cream for dinner? After two weeks of meals that were designed to empty out the fridge and freezer the kids were very nervous about the menu. (In hindsight, topping very old fish with nacho cheese and blueberries might not have been my best culinary idea ever.) They only come to the table grudgingly. So imagine their faces when I told them they had to empty out the cartoons. No putting "left-overs" back. What's the point being a mom if you can't toss out the rules every now and then? Maybe that will be one moving memory they look back on and smile about.
Considered burning down the house just to avoid cleaning out the garage? Trust me, it's not as extreme as it sounds.
Looked through an old cedar chest and started to cry when you found tiny little baby booties?
Made a promise that you would never collect ANYTHING ever again?
Suspected you might be under secret surveillance to determine if you qualify for the "Buried Alive" hoarding show?
Realized how many memories can accrue in 15 years of marriage? Looking over pictures, scrap books, baby clothes, and assorted sports stuff makes me see all over again how blessed we are and how fortunate I am that I married Prince Charming. I always thought in the stories that the princess had to kiss the Frog. Turns out it is the other way around. Good thing he's near-sighted...I still can't believe he picked me, warts and all. I love ya Babe.
Friday, July 16, 2010
Fired UP!
Wow! I need to start the day with a jolt of caffeine more often! No wonder people drink this stuff. I got a ton of junk done...and I'm feeling pretty dang good.
Yahooooooo!
The moving blues are history. I took a note from a blog I like and decided to "Eat the frog" first. I don't know that the person who coined this phrase is southern but I have my suspicions.
Yum, yum, tasty little buggers.
I decided that the jobs that were really stressing me out were:
1. take down the play set
2. renew RN license
3. Get the DOD to TALK TO ME, PLEASE PLEASE PRETTY PLEASE WITH EXTRA CHERRIES ON TOP.
4. Organize books for next year
These are the biggest things that have been worrying me and causing general loss of sleep. So when I got up today I was determined to get them done. NO MATTER WHAT! I was ruthless.
I started by finding a handyman to take apart the monster play set in the back yard. I had planned to do that with my sister (thanks Sis!)but further considering the current heat, my general lack of tools or even the basic knowledge of how to use said tools, and I realized this was not a good place to save a buck. Better to shell out some money and then watch a poor guy give himself heat stroke while I sipped a cool beverage from my air conditioned house. Money well spent.
Next up I started calling everybody and their cousin at the DOD who in any way was related to the poor person handling the sale of our house. After 3 weeks of begging my rep to pretty please return my messages I got mean. I called the boss's boss and started there. I even threatened to pull rank. Totally hilarious because I have none and Hubs has some but probably not enough to scare anybody there. Still, I had two things in my favor: the obnoxious persistent squeaky whiner gets the oil and the law of the jungle. I roared the loudest and they figured it was easier to answer than ignore me. For now.
Of course they tried the usual blocking technique of calling just before the deadline and then throwing it back in my court with a crazy suspense. I had to have 5 obscure documents back to them by close of business (about 2pm) today or the whole deal would get postponed. They figured they were safe. Nobody could possibly get all that junk in time. They figured WRONG. Thanks to a super Realtor (I Love ya Toni!) it was there muy pronto. Take that suckers!
Next up-- time to renew my license. This meant facing 24 hours worth of boring continuing education. Ugh. There is just no way to get the contact hours without either spending money or suffering terminal boredom or both. I scoured the internet for the best deal that met the requirements and locked myself in the den. It was every bit as bad as I thought but I just chomped away on that frog (is it just me or is this metaphor so beyond disgusting???) and knocked it out. It helped that the bathroom (and chocolate!) were on the other side of the door. I had to study fast to get some relief.
Last project today was to take all the books we will need for school next year and put them in a box so I can make sure the movers DO NOT pack them. They aren't particularly neat but they are done.
Watch out frogs...ready or not here I come! Mama had a big diet coke; you better run for your disgusting slimy lives!
Yahooooooo!
The moving blues are history. I took a note from a blog I like and decided to "Eat the frog" first. I don't know that the person who coined this phrase is southern but I have my suspicions.
Yum, yum, tasty little buggers.
I decided that the jobs that were really stressing me out were:
1. take down the play set
2. renew RN license
3. Get the DOD to TALK TO ME, PLEASE PLEASE PRETTY PLEASE WITH EXTRA CHERRIES ON TOP.
4. Organize books for next year
These are the biggest things that have been worrying me and causing general loss of sleep. So when I got up today I was determined to get them done. NO MATTER WHAT! I was ruthless.
I started by finding a handyman to take apart the monster play set in the back yard. I had planned to do that with my sister (thanks Sis!)but further considering the current heat, my general lack of tools or even the basic knowledge of how to use said tools, and I realized this was not a good place to save a buck. Better to shell out some money and then watch a poor guy give himself heat stroke while I sipped a cool beverage from my air conditioned house. Money well spent.
Next up I started calling everybody and their cousin at the DOD who in any way was related to the poor person handling the sale of our house. After 3 weeks of begging my rep to pretty please return my messages I got mean. I called the boss's boss and started there. I even threatened to pull rank. Totally hilarious because I have none and Hubs has some but probably not enough to scare anybody there. Still, I had two things in my favor: the obnoxious persistent squeaky whiner gets the oil and the law of the jungle. I roared the loudest and they figured it was easier to answer than ignore me. For now.
Of course they tried the usual blocking technique of calling just before the deadline and then throwing it back in my court with a crazy suspense. I had to have 5 obscure documents back to them by close of business (about 2pm) today or the whole deal would get postponed. They figured they were safe. Nobody could possibly get all that junk in time. They figured WRONG. Thanks to a super Realtor (I Love ya Toni!) it was there muy pronto. Take that suckers!
Next up-- time to renew my license. This meant facing 24 hours worth of boring continuing education. Ugh. There is just no way to get the contact hours without either spending money or suffering terminal boredom or both. I scoured the internet for the best deal that met the requirements and locked myself in the den. It was every bit as bad as I thought but I just chomped away on that frog (is it just me or is this metaphor so beyond disgusting???) and knocked it out. It helped that the bathroom (and chocolate!) were on the other side of the door. I had to study fast to get some relief.
Last project today was to take all the books we will need for school next year and put them in a box so I can make sure the movers DO NOT pack them. They aren't particularly neat but they are done.
Watch out frogs...ready or not here I come! Mama had a big diet coke; you better run for your disgusting slimy lives!
Wednesday, July 14, 2010
Basic Apathy
Do you ever get the blahs? You know the feeling-- that you even though you have a gazillion things to do you'd rather just curl up with a good book and maybe fall asleep?
Or eat a giant pile of alcohol soaked chocolate.
I have so many things I need to be working on but for some reason I have absolutely ZERO motivation.
Maybe it's starting to hit me.
You see we have lived her too long. Five years is just too long to stay in a place and then not stay. Wow, that was amazingly not coherent. But it is also true. I have friends here. I have awesome neighbors. I have a support network. People actually put up with me here! I know where all the stores are.
Oh no. It's happened. No matter how hard I fought it, I put down roots. Even though I knew when we moved here that it probably wasn't "forever" I let this place get under my skin. The people here are so friendly and we have managed to worm our way into people's lives and now I REALLY am scared to move. How will I home school when I can't call my mentor every time I hit a snag? What person will be willing to watch my cats? Who will call me just to say hi and tell me a joke when I'm bored, or stressed, or lonely?
I painted the walls! I picked a color and for the first time I actually started to make the house home.
Once again we have to pack up and walk away from everybody we have come to care so much about. We were strangers in a strange land and we fell in love with Southern hospitality. Maybe not the humidity or the fast food drive through windows so much, but the charm, grace, compassion, strength, and sincerity are hard to resist. So in honor of all my southern friends here are the
Or eat a giant pile of alcohol soaked chocolate.
I have so many things I need to be working on but for some reason I have absolutely ZERO motivation.
Maybe it's starting to hit me.
You see we have lived her too long. Five years is just too long to stay in a place and then not stay. Wow, that was amazingly not coherent. But it is also true. I have friends here. I have awesome neighbors. I have a support network. People actually put up with me here! I know where all the stores are.
Oh no. It's happened. No matter how hard I fought it, I put down roots. Even though I knew when we moved here that it probably wasn't "forever" I let this place get under my skin. The people here are so friendly and we have managed to worm our way into people's lives and now I REALLY am scared to move. How will I home school when I can't call my mentor every time I hit a snag? What person will be willing to watch my cats? Who will call me just to say hi and tell me a joke when I'm bored, or stressed, or lonely?
I painted the walls! I picked a color and for the first time I actually started to make the house home.
Once again we have to pack up and walk away from everybody we have come to care so much about. We were strangers in a strange land and we fell in love with Southern hospitality. Maybe not the humidity or the fast food drive through windows so much, but the charm, grace, compassion, strength, and sincerity are hard to resist. So in honor of all my southern friends here are the
Top ten Southern things I'll miss up north:
10. Red Dirt
9. Interesting Road kill. You just don't see things like possums and armadillos and vultures up there except in the zoo!
8. The powder sugar beaches. But I guess we'll all be missing that.
7. Knowing that every neighbor is armed. If a revolution comes, y'all are prepared!
6. How everybody is so friendly--people smile and wave when they cut you off
5. Wearing shorts in November
4. My neighbors
3. Southern Courtesy
2. Southern Hospitality
1. All y'all who have touched my heart. I'll be bawling the whole way north, I expect.
10. Red Dirt
9. Interesting Road kill. You just don't see things like possums and armadillos and vultures up there except in the zoo!
8. The powder sugar beaches. But I guess we'll all be missing that.
7. Knowing that every neighbor is armed. If a revolution comes, y'all are prepared!
6. How everybody is so friendly--people smile and wave when they cut you off
5. Wearing shorts in November
4. My neighbors
3. Southern Courtesy
2. Southern Hospitality
1. All y'all who have touched my heart. I'll be bawling the whole way north, I expect.
Tuesday, July 13, 2010
To Camp or Not to Camp
While I was waiting for D2 to finish her tumbling class last night I had no choice but to listen to two people discuss their weekend plans. They seemed to revolve around two things:
1. beer.
2. camping.
They were my kind of people. Or at least, I thought so at first. Turns out we have very different ideas about what "camping" means.
Theirs involved towing an RV to a state park. Inside their air conditioned camper they would watch satellite TV. Later that night they planned to sit around in lawn chairs and drink with all the other people close by.
OKAY. A party that involves drinking with a large group of strangers is not camping...it's a frat party. Been there, done that, had to pay the black mail to get the pictures back.
Camping, in my view, is a different endeavor. It starts with months of planning and negotiations. All interested parties must find a person willing to go with them and then everybody has to agree on a date. These talks are just a little less complicated than say, the talks between Kennedy and Khrushchev.
The final camping party must be an EVEN number. No this isn't camping voodoo, it's simple logistics. See, when I say camping, I mean camping in the Boundary Waters Canoe Area. The BWCA is not for the weak. Probably not for the sane either, but clearly I'm eligible. The basic idea is that you start at the edge of a lake. You get in a canoe and paddle to the other side. Then you pick up the canoe, and all your other junk, and then hike to the next lake. Repeat this process until you find a lake you like, or you are just too tired to care anymore.
You might see moose, bear, beavers, and other wild life, but you most likely won't see another human any closer than across the lake. This is good for two reasons: you have no showers or mirrors and deodorant attracts mosquitoes. Less contact is better, see?
Several trips have involved us slogging through waist deep muck, picking our way down rapids, trying to stay warm during constant rain showers and even snow flurries and a myriad of other discomforts all wrapped up with sleeping on the rocky ground. So why in the name of all that is right in the world would anyone want to attempt such a trip?
Well, it's sort of like climbing Mt Everest. It's just there.
Plus you get to see things not many people have seen since Lewis and Clark tagged along with Sacajawea.
Imagine a night sky so filled with stars that finding any one constellation is almost impossible. Satellites buzz around the sky and shooting stars leave blazing trails of light. The northern lights undulate across the horizon in stunning pink, purple, red, green, and yellow. They can look like the whole sky is a lava lamp on speed. Imagine laying on a rocky cliff listening to the gentle sounds of the lake below and starring up into that sky and knowing that, other than your group, there aren't any people for miles. Once, while we were sitting around the crackling fire we heard wolves howling in the distance.
You might paddle around a corner and come within 20 feet of a Moose standing in the water with her baby.
Imagine a place where everything is so crystal clean that you can take a cup, dip it in the lake, and drink it.
No cell phones, no TV, no bills, no modern clutter.
Of course camping isn't just about getting away. It's also about getting close. Close to people in a way you'd never really do under other circumstances. You find out things. I have laughed so hard up there I honestly thought I might be having a heart attack. You learn a lot. Like to never take a pair of clean underwear for granted. That warm clothes on a cold night are worth carrying. That you really can't have too much Vodka along. That fishing lures should never, under NO circumstances be carried in a vest pocket.
That Trivial Pursuit games up there count double the regular value (Yes, they do!).
You learn that all juice has pulp. (Even cherry Kool Aid.)
You learn that when filtered through a couple cups of vodka lemonade or brandy that people say funny things. You may even be elected to exalted leadership positions of new political parties. GFers of America unite!
Think you know someone? Race a thunderstorm, make land and then sit in the middle of a deserted lake while lightning and thunder explode around you. Sit through THAT with someone and you'll know them better.
Why do you climb Mt Everest? For fame, fortune, and serious bragging rights. But still a BWCA trip involves all that too, on a smaller scale. You will be infamous in your group, (one way or another!) you will gain a priceless fortune in memories, and to the brilliant team that wins the Trivia game...well you get the idea. And you don't have to risk losing most of your toes to frost bite. Well not usually.
1. beer.
2. camping.
They were my kind of people. Or at least, I thought so at first. Turns out we have very different ideas about what "camping" means.
Theirs involved towing an RV to a state park. Inside their air conditioned camper they would watch satellite TV. Later that night they planned to sit around in lawn chairs and drink with all the other people close by.
OKAY. A party that involves drinking with a large group of strangers is not camping...it's a frat party. Been there, done that, had to pay the black mail to get the pictures back.
Camping, in my view, is a different endeavor. It starts with months of planning and negotiations. All interested parties must find a person willing to go with them and then everybody has to agree on a date. These talks are just a little less complicated than say, the talks between Kennedy and Khrushchev.
The final camping party must be an EVEN number. No this isn't camping voodoo, it's simple logistics. See, when I say camping, I mean camping in the Boundary Waters Canoe Area. The BWCA is not for the weak. Probably not for the sane either, but clearly I'm eligible. The basic idea is that you start at the edge of a lake. You get in a canoe and paddle to the other side. Then you pick up the canoe, and all your other junk, and then hike to the next lake. Repeat this process until you find a lake you like, or you are just too tired to care anymore.
You might see moose, bear, beavers, and other wild life, but you most likely won't see another human any closer than across the lake. This is good for two reasons: you have no showers or mirrors and deodorant attracts mosquitoes. Less contact is better, see?
Several trips have involved us slogging through waist deep muck, picking our way down rapids, trying to stay warm during constant rain showers and even snow flurries and a myriad of other discomforts all wrapped up with sleeping on the rocky ground. So why in the name of all that is right in the world would anyone want to attempt such a trip?
Well, it's sort of like climbing Mt Everest. It's just there.
Plus you get to see things not many people have seen since Lewis and Clark tagged along with Sacajawea.
Imagine a night sky so filled with stars that finding any one constellation is almost impossible. Satellites buzz around the sky and shooting stars leave blazing trails of light. The northern lights undulate across the horizon in stunning pink, purple, red, green, and yellow. They can look like the whole sky is a lava lamp on speed. Imagine laying on a rocky cliff listening to the gentle sounds of the lake below and starring up into that sky and knowing that, other than your group, there aren't any people for miles. Once, while we were sitting around the crackling fire we heard wolves howling in the distance.
You might paddle around a corner and come within 20 feet of a Moose standing in the water with her baby.
Imagine a place where everything is so crystal clean that you can take a cup, dip it in the lake, and drink it.
No cell phones, no TV, no bills, no modern clutter.
Of course camping isn't just about getting away. It's also about getting close. Close to people in a way you'd never really do under other circumstances. You find out things. I have laughed so hard up there I honestly thought I might be having a heart attack. You learn a lot. Like to never take a pair of clean underwear for granted. That warm clothes on a cold night are worth carrying. That you really can't have too much Vodka along. That fishing lures should never, under NO circumstances be carried in a vest pocket.
That Trivial Pursuit games up there count double the regular value (Yes, they do!).
You learn that all juice has pulp. (Even cherry Kool Aid.)
You learn that when filtered through a couple cups of vodka lemonade or brandy that people say funny things. You may even be elected to exalted leadership positions of new political parties. GFers of America unite!
Think you know someone? Race a thunderstorm, make land and then sit in the middle of a deserted lake while lightning and thunder explode around you. Sit through THAT with someone and you'll know them better.
Why do you climb Mt Everest? For fame, fortune, and serious bragging rights. But still a BWCA trip involves all that too, on a smaller scale. You will be infamous in your group, (one way or another!) you will gain a priceless fortune in memories, and to the brilliant team that wins the Trivia game...well you get the idea. And you don't have to risk losing most of your toes to frost bite. Well not usually.
Sunday, July 11, 2010
Finding God at 10,000 feet
Our flight to MN was best described as "boring", but the return fight was a whole 'nother kettle of fish. First, we had no date set. I was to wait for a call from Captain Chad and he would tell me what day we were going. Three days after I thought we were going...still no word. I couldn't stand the pressure so I called him. He said we would go Wed, Thurs, or Friday, which ever day looked best.
This should have set off alarm bells in my head. Should have, but it didn't.
No word Tuesday night. Nothing most of Wed. Again this should have been causing some concern for me. Should have, but it didn't.
Finally Wed. night he called and said he thought maybe we could go the next day. He told me to plan to be there at 7:30 am but the time might change. Again this should have been causing some concern for me. Should have, but it didn't.
Then, when we were on our way to the airport his mom ever so casually mentioned that she hoped we made it, because he was a little concerned about the weather in IL. She then sort of chuckled. This should have been causing some MAJOR concern for me. Should have, but it didn't.
No sooner were we air born then he flipped on the radar screen and I saw the problem. The problem was a line of clouds covering most of central IL.
Oh boy.
He hastened to explain that scattered, broken clouds showing as green on the screen wouldn't be any big deal. Also we could most likely go above, around, or under any small scattered clouds.
I looked at the screen again.
"Small scattered green clouds exactly NOT like the solid line of yellow with big splotches of red clouds showing on the screen." Said I,
"Well, yeah, that's what I'm worried about," he said. I looked down. The clear landscape below was starting to be dotted with puffy white clouds. Within a few minutes the puffy clouds had lined up in unbroken rows and a few minutes after that I was looking down at a puffy solid layer of white.
I noticed he was looking down as well. Also looking ahead a lot. Also checking the radar screen about every 3 seconds. I come from a long line of Irish Catholics and I have been carefully raised to be able to ignore almost any unpleasantness, but this was pushing the limits of my deny-ability.
"OK. I'm getting that we may have to alter our plans." I said casually.
"Well, yes. We may have to just call it a game and land somewhere until the storms pass." Then he looked at me as if to gauge my panic potential, and then added, "The thing is, Friday, Sat, and Sun look worse."
Then, since I hadn't spontaneously combusted at that news he added, "better tighten your belt and make sure the kids' belts are tight. It's going to get bumpy."
I looked ahead and saw a solid tower of gray clouds looking uncomfortably like I imagine the Pearly Gates might, directly in front of us. I swallowed.
He pulled his belt a bit and I swallowed harder. I was already belted in as tight as I could pull the tabs. I pulled 'em tighter.
"Hold on! We're going to punch it!"
Oh Dear sweet Jesus, what have I done????
It was just like being on a roller coaster at Six Flags. Well, if they were 2 miles above the earth, in total dark and designed by the devil, that is.
Pretty soon the rain in the clouds started hitting the plane. This sounded just like machine gun fire. We were under attack, in the dark, 2 miles above the earth. It was a very scary ride for the next 45 minutes. Let's just leave it at that.
Thankfully nobody could hear me screaming, sobbing, and begging for Divine Intervention over the engine noise and I'm pretty sure that a Last Will and Testament made under those conditions is not valid.
A mere 4 hours of terror later and we landed for gas. I will neither confirm nor deny that I had to change my outfit. If I had the slightest idea of exactly what state that cornfield airstrip was in, I would have begged, borrowed, or committed grand theft auto to avoid getting back into the plane. Heck even jail sounded better right then. Even my daredevil younger daughter was begging for more Benedryl. That says a LOT. But since we could have been in Tennessee, Missouri, Mississippi, or Kentucky we really had no choice but to get back on. I of course said a few quick Novenas first.
The second part was a tiny bit better. Oh there were sudden plunges and a lot of bumps but this time we were flying under the clouds and we could see the ground at all times. I don't know why this was comforting, I mean falling from 3,000 feet would probably be just as fatal as 10,000 but somehow just being able to see something was comforting. We managed to land safely back in Armpit, FL and we were all pretty darn glad to be home. I know I wasn't the only one singing a couple verses of the Hallelujah Chorus.
This should have set off alarm bells in my head. Should have, but it didn't.
No word Tuesday night. Nothing most of Wed. Again this should have been causing some concern for me. Should have, but it didn't.
Finally Wed. night he called and said he thought maybe we could go the next day. He told me to plan to be there at 7:30 am but the time might change. Again this should have been causing some concern for me. Should have, but it didn't.
Then, when we were on our way to the airport his mom ever so casually mentioned that she hoped we made it, because he was a little concerned about the weather in IL. She then sort of chuckled. This should have been causing some MAJOR concern for me. Should have, but it didn't.
No sooner were we air born then he flipped on the radar screen and I saw the problem. The problem was a line of clouds covering most of central IL.
Oh boy.
He hastened to explain that scattered, broken clouds showing as green on the screen wouldn't be any big deal. Also we could most likely go above, around, or under any small scattered clouds.
I looked at the screen again.
"Small scattered green clouds exactly NOT like the solid line of yellow with big splotches of red clouds showing on the screen." Said I,
"Well, yeah, that's what I'm worried about," he said. I looked down. The clear landscape below was starting to be dotted with puffy white clouds. Within a few minutes the puffy clouds had lined up in unbroken rows and a few minutes after that I was looking down at a puffy solid layer of white.
I noticed he was looking down as well. Also looking ahead a lot. Also checking the radar screen about every 3 seconds. I come from a long line of Irish Catholics and I have been carefully raised to be able to ignore almost any unpleasantness, but this was pushing the limits of my deny-ability.
"OK. I'm getting that we may have to alter our plans." I said casually.
"Well, yes. We may have to just call it a game and land somewhere until the storms pass." Then he looked at me as if to gauge my panic potential, and then added, "The thing is, Friday, Sat, and Sun look worse."
Then, since I hadn't spontaneously combusted at that news he added, "better tighten your belt and make sure the kids' belts are tight. It's going to get bumpy."
I looked ahead and saw a solid tower of gray clouds looking uncomfortably like I imagine the Pearly Gates might, directly in front of us. I swallowed.
He pulled his belt a bit and I swallowed harder. I was already belted in as tight as I could pull the tabs. I pulled 'em tighter.
"Hold on! We're going to punch it!"
Oh Dear sweet Jesus, what have I done????
It was just like being on a roller coaster at Six Flags. Well, if they were 2 miles above the earth, in total dark and designed by the devil, that is.
Pretty soon the rain in the clouds started hitting the plane. This sounded just like machine gun fire. We were under attack, in the dark, 2 miles above the earth. It was a very scary ride for the next 45 minutes. Let's just leave it at that.
Thankfully nobody could hear me screaming, sobbing, and begging for Divine Intervention over the engine noise and I'm pretty sure that a Last Will and Testament made under those conditions is not valid.
A mere 4 hours of terror later and we landed for gas. I will neither confirm nor deny that I had to change my outfit. If I had the slightest idea of exactly what state that cornfield airstrip was in, I would have begged, borrowed, or committed grand theft auto to avoid getting back into the plane. Heck even jail sounded better right then. Even my daredevil younger daughter was begging for more Benedryl. That says a LOT. But since we could have been in Tennessee, Missouri, Mississippi, or Kentucky we really had no choice but to get back on. I of course said a few quick Novenas first.
The second part was a tiny bit better. Oh there were sudden plunges and a lot of bumps but this time we were flying under the clouds and we could see the ground at all times. I don't know why this was comforting, I mean falling from 3,000 feet would probably be just as fatal as 10,000 but somehow just being able to see something was comforting. We managed to land safely back in Armpit, FL and we were all pretty darn glad to be home. I know I wasn't the only one singing a couple verses of the Hallelujah Chorus.
Saturday, July 10, 2010
The Cabin
I just realized that the last post didn't really feature kids, pets, OR relatives. Talk about a trifecta. Sheesh. Guess I better keep the titles random enough to fit my -er-randomness.
While there were many high points to this trip (like dodging storm clouds at 10,000 feet in a single engine Cessna-stay tuned for the return flight!!!) there was one really low point. Among my many quirks I will confess to an absolute fetish for the stars. There are few things in life better than laying under a sparkling blanket of shimmery magnificence and just holding hands with someone you love. I don't know if this is because I grew up in MN where on a good night you can see satellites, so many constellations you go cross eyed, fiery northern lights, and even a planet or two.
I don't know why, I just know I have a thing for tiny lights. This may explain my sincere desire to be buried in a coffin draped with white twinkle lights. Call me a crazy redneck, but I think having Christmas lights up all year round is nothing short of genius. So you might imagine that the Fourth of July is one of my favorite holidays. Patriotism, classic tunes, and light shows...what more do you need?
Well, actually it turns out that the stars are not the most important part. Neither are the fireworks, actually. It turns out I'd rather be holding hands in the dark with not even a single twinkle light than have the entire sky ablaze in glory. Turns out it isn't the stars I really miss at all. Funny how sometimes you can get it all wrong. I guess you could say that until Hubs comes home the stars are just not that bright.
While there were many high points to this trip (like dodging storm clouds at 10,000 feet in a single engine Cessna-stay tuned for the return flight!!!) there was one really low point. Among my many quirks I will confess to an absolute fetish for the stars. There are few things in life better than laying under a sparkling blanket of shimmery magnificence and just holding hands with someone you love. I don't know if this is because I grew up in MN where on a good night you can see satellites, so many constellations you go cross eyed, fiery northern lights, and even a planet or two.
I don't know why, I just know I have a thing for tiny lights. This may explain my sincere desire to be buried in a coffin draped with white twinkle lights. Call me a crazy redneck, but I think having Christmas lights up all year round is nothing short of genius. So you might imagine that the Fourth of July is one of my favorite holidays. Patriotism, classic tunes, and light shows...what more do you need?
Well, actually it turns out that the stars are not the most important part. Neither are the fireworks, actually. It turns out I'd rather be holding hands in the dark with not even a single twinkle light than have the entire sky ablaze in glory. Turns out it isn't the stars I really miss at all. Funny how sometimes you can get it all wrong. I guess you could say that until Hubs comes home the stars are just not that bright.
Kids, Dogs, and Relatives...oh MY!
While we were in MN we had the great fortune to spend most of the time at the Cabin. It has changed a bit over the years but to us it will always be known as "Lund's" or "the Palace". This is to distinguish it from its closest neighbor, "the green cabin" or "the hovel." Both names are a bit quirky. Big surprise, right? See, first of all both cabins are actually now brown. True the smaller one was green for about a gazillion years, but it's brown now. Also while "hovel" is pretty accurate "palace" is fair only in comparison to "the hovel." True it now has running water that doesn't require human legs to actually "run" and when the toilet flushes, well, I'll spare you the gory details, but it now drains into an approved unit! The cabin is now an outhouse free zone! True, the kids occasionally miss the excitement of actually being encouraged by adults to pee outside, but most sane people adore the modern benefits of not getting mosquito bites on your...well, on your nether regions.
I know what you're thinking, and you're probably like me and really, really, love the place for it's rustic charm. I mean, really, how many places is making dinner interrupted only for the SNAP of a mouse trap? OK, that may not have been what you were actually thinking.
But it does have several unique features. Like the fact that one screen is peppered with holes where Pop has aimed at, and (occasionally) hit squirrels trying to cop an easy meal at his bird feeder. Speaking of birds, Nana and Pop are just a bit obsessed with our feathery friends. They have hummingbird feeders, oriole feeders, woodpecker ones, and ones for small birds, large birds, and the occasional lucky rodent. The have a dock lined with structures that resemble a birdy ghetto complete with bars on the windows and approaches limited by friendly fire. Pop has even built the world's most expensive aviary. His boat lifts used to protect his boats. Now they protect several colonies of barn swallows. The unwitting stranger may be asked to lend a hand scrubbing seagull/heron/Clydesdale poo from the end of the dock when Pop forgets to string fishing line in a pattern just slightly less dangerous than the security system in a high tech spy movie.
Aside from being the actual site where "The Birds" was filmed, the cabin also boasts boats. One is a fishing/ski boat that is Pop's pride and joy. It, of course, rarely gets used. In fact you will know your status as visitor by whether you get a ride in it or not. Mere mortals are ferried about in the other boat.
It is a pontoon, or as I like to call it, "the mini-van of the lake." It has plenty of room for people, and beer. It is comfortable, spacious, and perfect for "cruising the lake." Lest you be fooled, this involves several hours of sloooooooooowly puttering around the lake looking for one of three things: Joe Mauer, the legendary Lake Sturgeon, or "houses we wished we owned." (Listed in inverted order of importance of course.) The first is somewhat self explanatory. Now that the Twin's catcher is a reported neighbor, Mauer sightings are encouraged at all times. Interested parties may pay a nominal fee to get the full guided tour. Email me privately for details. (www.gettakenforabogusride.com)
The fish dates back to when a poor schmuck caught a trophy sturgeon but was stupid enough to catch it out of season in the witness of a DNR official. The fish went back into the lake and ever since any unusual interference on the "fish finder" sonar screen is immediately chalked up to being a "Sammy" sighting.
The last category is self evident and although the occasional brawl is started over hill vs flat, wood vs brick, and big vs digustingly huge (size does matter, go figure!) differences of opinion are mostly tolerated. However the thing about the pontoon is that it is the anti-fountain of youth. If a boat full of super-model bikini clad beauties were to board it they would instantly transform into old fogies. It just demands that people kick back, drink beer, and drive sloooooooowly. Pretty soon you are discussing the weather and asking about the best place to buy cheap laxatives. It just sucks the youth right out of you.
Of course the best part of being at the lake is indulging in slightly dangerous, reckless, adrenaline producing, screaming, deliriously good...water sports. What?! Get your mind out of the gutter! Water skiing, tubing, and now (thanks Phil!) a desire to skim the water. If you can't swim, or ski, or tube, you can always try and catch the elusive Walleye. You will probably be lucky enough to catch a huge drum and then be the butt of that day's jokes. If you can brave the bugs and critters, then you just might be lucky enough to catch a glimpse of possibly the best place on Earth. Especially if it is a night when I beat a certain someone at Trivial Pursuit. Then you see Heaven for sure.
I know what you're thinking, and you're probably like me and really, really, love the place for it's rustic charm. I mean, really, how many places is making dinner interrupted only for the SNAP of a mouse trap? OK, that may not have been what you were actually thinking.
But it does have several unique features. Like the fact that one screen is peppered with holes where Pop has aimed at, and (occasionally) hit squirrels trying to cop an easy meal at his bird feeder. Speaking of birds, Nana and Pop are just a bit obsessed with our feathery friends. They have hummingbird feeders, oriole feeders, woodpecker ones, and ones for small birds, large birds, and the occasional lucky rodent. The have a dock lined with structures that resemble a birdy ghetto complete with bars on the windows and approaches limited by friendly fire. Pop has even built the world's most expensive aviary. His boat lifts used to protect his boats. Now they protect several colonies of barn swallows. The unwitting stranger may be asked to lend a hand scrubbing seagull/heron/Clydesdale poo from the end of the dock when Pop forgets to string fishing line in a pattern just slightly less dangerous than the security system in a high tech spy movie.
Aside from being the actual site where "The Birds" was filmed, the cabin also boasts boats. One is a fishing/ski boat that is Pop's pride and joy. It, of course, rarely gets used. In fact you will know your status as visitor by whether you get a ride in it or not. Mere mortals are ferried about in the other boat.
It is a pontoon, or as I like to call it, "the mini-van of the lake." It has plenty of room for people, and beer. It is comfortable, spacious, and perfect for "cruising the lake." Lest you be fooled, this involves several hours of sloooooooooowly puttering around the lake looking for one of three things: Joe Mauer, the legendary Lake Sturgeon, or "houses we wished we owned." (Listed in inverted order of importance of course.) The first is somewhat self explanatory. Now that the Twin's catcher is a reported neighbor, Mauer sightings are encouraged at all times. Interested parties may pay a nominal fee to get the full guided tour. Email me privately for details. (www.gettakenforabogusride.com)
The fish dates back to when a poor schmuck caught a trophy sturgeon but was stupid enough to catch it out of season in the witness of a DNR official. The fish went back into the lake and ever since any unusual interference on the "fish finder" sonar screen is immediately chalked up to being a "Sammy" sighting.
The last category is self evident and although the occasional brawl is started over hill vs flat, wood vs brick, and big vs digustingly huge (size does matter, go figure!) differences of opinion are mostly tolerated. However the thing about the pontoon is that it is the anti-fountain of youth. If a boat full of super-model bikini clad beauties were to board it they would instantly transform into old fogies. It just demands that people kick back, drink beer, and drive sloooooooowly. Pretty soon you are discussing the weather and asking about the best place to buy cheap laxatives. It just sucks the youth right out of you.
Of course the best part of being at the lake is indulging in slightly dangerous, reckless, adrenaline producing, screaming, deliriously good...water sports. What?! Get your mind out of the gutter! Water skiing, tubing, and now (thanks Phil!) a desire to skim the water. If you can't swim, or ski, or tube, you can always try and catch the elusive Walleye. You will probably be lucky enough to catch a huge drum and then be the butt of that day's jokes. If you can brave the bugs and critters, then you just might be lucky enough to catch a glimpse of possibly the best place on Earth. Especially if it is a night when I beat a certain someone at Trivial Pursuit. Then you see Heaven for sure.
MN Invasion
No matter how many places we live there are a few things I will always like best in MN. One of course is family. Seeing family makes every trip worthwhile. Not sure they would say the same about us, but hey, that's the way the cookie crumbles. You know how they say "there's one in every family?" I couldn't think who was it in my family. Which is of course when I realized I was it. Please don't judge the rest of my family by me. They aren't all hopeless nut-balls, I must be some strange spontaneous mutation. OR, maybe, it is just as I've always suspected! I am actually a field agent from the future, a brave Star Fleet Officer sent back to gather intel about this misguided time. Maybe not. Right, I'm clearly just strange. Maybe I chewed too much lead paint as a child, who knows? The point is that I loved seeing family again, even though we may make each other crazy, it's like somebody once said, "we put the fun in dysfunctional."
The other thing that MN does better than any other place is it's food stores. I have lived in several and visited most states and I can say with total conviction that no place has better grocery stores than MN. The "average" ones are better than most "upscale" ones other places. But the primo MN stores, like my beloved Byerly's are a whole 'nother level. The window dressings are nice: the bank, the coffee bar, the carpeting, chandeliers, and the spotless way that it is always cleaner than a surgical suite. But the actual offerings are truly hard to believe: the fresh sushi counter, the incredible deli with every strange cheese, lunch meat or other oddity. The pickle and olive bar, the bakery! Oh the bakery. Huge free samples of cookies. Pastries I haven't seen outside of a cruise ship or specialty French bakery. Giant bagels, gourmet chocolates, cakes and pies, tarts, and brownies. Every flavor, every tempting morsel fresh and perfect. Sugar Paradise. Perhaps sugar isn't your thing. Hungry? Maybe you want the restaurant sized food counter. Fresh turkey dinner and all the fixings freshly made. Salads of every description. Meats, poultry, veggies you can't even name. Pick your fancy and head over to sip your coffee creation at one of the tables inside or out near fresh flowers. Or maybe you would rather have a fresh salad and homemade soup and roll from the humongous salad bar? No? Ok, maybe pick your own perfect slice of meat from the meat counter. From organic to wild to the highest rated beef, it's all there. Not into meat? How about fish? A tempting array including King Crab flown in that day. All with ZERO fishy smell! I have no idea how they do it, but if you weren't looking at it, you'd never know there was fish in the store. Minnesotans might take this for granted but walk into a Publix down here and you smell an obnoxious fishy smell from the front door. Vegan? Stroll over to the the fresh produce section and just take in the endless displays of every possible fruit and veggie; perfect, huge, and juicy. I dare you to name something they don't have. Star fruit to pomegranates, kumquats to Brussel sprouts, every cabbage, lettuce in twenty different varieties, bananas, plantains, jicama, whatever. If you really want a treat get a jug of their fresh squeezed OJ. Actually better not, you'll never be able to drink regular stuff again. I haven't even touched on the gourmet sauces, fancy flavors, and interesting spices you can find. A giant fresh floral department adds a splash of color. It is crack for foodies. Just when you think it couldn't get better, you check out. You don't have to unload your stuff. The smiling checker does it for you. You don't bag. You just take your numbers and pull up and the guy loads it into your car. You don't even tip. The guy evens smiles and says hi! I know, it's very strange. It's as if Disney did groceries! Many things change over time but Byerly's is always as good as I remember.
The other thing that MN does better than any other place is it's food stores. I have lived in several and visited most states and I can say with total conviction that no place has better grocery stores than MN. The "average" ones are better than most "upscale" ones other places. But the primo MN stores, like my beloved Byerly's are a whole 'nother level. The window dressings are nice: the bank, the coffee bar, the carpeting, chandeliers, and the spotless way that it is always cleaner than a surgical suite. But the actual offerings are truly hard to believe: the fresh sushi counter, the incredible deli with every strange cheese, lunch meat or other oddity. The pickle and olive bar, the bakery! Oh the bakery. Huge free samples of cookies. Pastries I haven't seen outside of a cruise ship or specialty French bakery. Giant bagels, gourmet chocolates, cakes and pies, tarts, and brownies. Every flavor, every tempting morsel fresh and perfect. Sugar Paradise. Perhaps sugar isn't your thing. Hungry? Maybe you want the restaurant sized food counter. Fresh turkey dinner and all the fixings freshly made. Salads of every description. Meats, poultry, veggies you can't even name. Pick your fancy and head over to sip your coffee creation at one of the tables inside or out near fresh flowers. Or maybe you would rather have a fresh salad and homemade soup and roll from the humongous salad bar? No? Ok, maybe pick your own perfect slice of meat from the meat counter. From organic to wild to the highest rated beef, it's all there. Not into meat? How about fish? A tempting array including King Crab flown in that day. All with ZERO fishy smell! I have no idea how they do it, but if you weren't looking at it, you'd never know there was fish in the store. Minnesotans might take this for granted but walk into a Publix down here and you smell an obnoxious fishy smell from the front door. Vegan? Stroll over to the the fresh produce section and just take in the endless displays of every possible fruit and veggie; perfect, huge, and juicy. I dare you to name something they don't have. Star fruit to pomegranates, kumquats to Brussel sprouts, every cabbage, lettuce in twenty different varieties, bananas, plantains, jicama, whatever. If you really want a treat get a jug of their fresh squeezed OJ. Actually better not, you'll never be able to drink regular stuff again. I haven't even touched on the gourmet sauces, fancy flavors, and interesting spices you can find. A giant fresh floral department adds a splash of color. It is crack for foodies. Just when you think it couldn't get better, you check out. You don't have to unload your stuff. The smiling checker does it for you. You don't bag. You just take your numbers and pull up and the guy loads it into your car. You don't even tip. The guy evens smiles and says hi! I know, it's very strange. It's as if Disney did groceries! Many things change over time but Byerly's is always as good as I remember.
Friday, July 9, 2010
Carrier Pigeon Express, part 2
Now that I have everybody, well both of you, waiting with baited breath, here is the exciting conclusion to what it's like to fly cross country via Cessna. Drum roll please.... snooze.
Oh what? Where was I? I must have drifted off. No wonder, because the only thing I can say about the flight was that it was incredibly, almost unbearably, BORING. It was smoother than a car ride, a constant 62 degrees, and the nice drone of the (single!) engine and possibly a prophylactic dose of Benedryl that I will neither confirm nor deny, and it adds up to perfect sleeping conditions. Plus at 10,000 feet in an unpressurized cabin you get just a little light headed. I have never fought so hard to stay awake in my life. Don't get me wrong, if I am going to plunge 2 miles straight down to a fiery death, I'd just as soon be asleep. However, I would also rather NOT plunge to my death because the PILOT fell asleep. So I felt the need to stay awake and keep him company. (and awake!)
So I tried valiantly NOT to sleep while the kids snored in the back seat. We landed, refueled, and repeated. 6 hours of nothing but fighting not to sleep. No bumps, no sudden free fall, leave your gut on the ceiling and lunch on the window, drops. No moments of praying to live just a bit longer. No last minute negotiations about being a better person. Nada. Zip. Ziltcho. And that was how we flew across country in a single engine Cessna.
Cheap, convenient, close parking, no airport security buffoons, and no waiting. Just sit back and voila! Thank you for flying AirChad. Honey, when you read this, I REALLY think you need to get your pilot license. Just think, no more dodging traffic (They actually PAY people to make sure everybody stays out of your way!) and you can go 120 mph (well it might actually be knots, but still pretty darn fast!) and I won't be gripping the hand rest thinking happy thoughts with my teeth clenched and eyes scrunched shut. Well, I might still be in that position--- it's hard to break a 10 year old habit!
BTW if you want to write a defense you're gonna have to get your own blog. Here in Nancyland, all the readers (both of you!) will just have to trust me that your driving is, ahem, scary. Not that I don't appreciate it, 'cause even scary driving is better than driving myself, but that doesn't make it any less scary!
Where was I? Oh right, so we flew to MN, landed in Cambridge and thus began our two week Nana and Pop invasion.
Oh what? Where was I? I must have drifted off. No wonder, because the only thing I can say about the flight was that it was incredibly, almost unbearably, BORING. It was smoother than a car ride, a constant 62 degrees, and the nice drone of the (single!) engine and possibly a prophylactic dose of Benedryl that I will neither confirm nor deny, and it adds up to perfect sleeping conditions. Plus at 10,000 feet in an unpressurized cabin you get just a little light headed. I have never fought so hard to stay awake in my life. Don't get me wrong, if I am going to plunge 2 miles straight down to a fiery death, I'd just as soon be asleep. However, I would also rather NOT plunge to my death because the PILOT fell asleep. So I felt the need to stay awake and keep him company. (and awake!)
So I tried valiantly NOT to sleep while the kids snored in the back seat. We landed, refueled, and repeated. 6 hours of nothing but fighting not to sleep. No bumps, no sudden free fall, leave your gut on the ceiling and lunch on the window, drops. No moments of praying to live just a bit longer. No last minute negotiations about being a better person. Nada. Zip. Ziltcho. And that was how we flew across country in a single engine Cessna.
Cheap, convenient, close parking, no airport security buffoons, and no waiting. Just sit back and voila! Thank you for flying AirChad. Honey, when you read this, I REALLY think you need to get your pilot license. Just think, no more dodging traffic (They actually PAY people to make sure everybody stays out of your way!) and you can go 120 mph (well it might actually be knots, but still pretty darn fast!) and I won't be gripping the hand rest thinking happy thoughts with my teeth clenched and eyes scrunched shut. Well, I might still be in that position--- it's hard to break a 10 year old habit!
BTW if you want to write a defense you're gonna have to get your own blog. Here in Nancyland, all the readers (both of you!) will just have to trust me that your driving is, ahem, scary. Not that I don't appreciate it, 'cause even scary driving is better than driving myself, but that doesn't make it any less scary!
Where was I? Oh right, so we flew to MN, landed in Cambridge and thus began our two week Nana and Pop invasion.
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