Shortly after writing my blog early this morning about the fat, furry, naked tailed little bastard I went to the laundry room to admire my handiwork. I had been standing there for about a minute or so when I heard it. The faint, scratching and chewing sounds. I giggled to myself sure that my skill with the putty knife was absolutely a force to be reckoned with. The hole was still covered and that Little Rat Bastard was nowhere to be seen. I turned, satisfied with myself and returned to the kitchen where I swept and cleaned to ensure there were no available morsels, just in case.
The kitchen took about twenty minutes. As soon as that was done I went back to the laundry room to check the hole again. I couldn't believe my eyes. There, in the fresh, still wet spackle was a hole. Not just any hole. This hole was exactly the same size as the one originally chewed in the drywall by Little Rat Bastard.
Tomorrow, I am heading to Home Depot, where everybody knows my name and they're always glad I came. I am buying the expanding foam stuff in a can. I am coming home and I am putting on rubber gloves and I am stuffing that hole full of as many rat pellets as I am able, then I am inserting the shooty tube into LRB's hole and pushing the dealie to fill the holes in the wall, wherever they may be. Hopefully he will eat to fill and head out on a water run. If not, I hope he eats the foam and dies anyway.
The score:
LRB 1
Vilhelmina 0
Thursday, November 22, 2007
Wednesday, November 21, 2007
Not Afriggingain
Current mood: creeped out
It is the eve (morn) of the greatest holiday ever morphed into a glutonous celebration of stuff we still don't totally understand two-hundred some-odd years later. I've been cooking since 8 this morning. It began with the green beans and the corn puddin' and just ended with the first phase of the butternut squash. That's cooling right now, thanks.
In between, I've been doing a load or two of laundry, just to get a dent in it because it is NEVER, never-ever done. By this point of the morning, the laundry room/dog room/parakeet room/storage room/treadmill room/utility room is usually pretty quiet so I can understand why the little bastard thought he would get away with it.
Travis and my mother were asleep in front of the TV, the house was nearly quiet (except for Craig Furgeson's show on the TV), I had just finished putting the fourth load of darks (yup, today's fourth load of darks) in the dryer with a Bounce sheet and was putting a load of medium colored clothes in the washer as it filled. I was minding my own business. I had just put my newest mail order catalog on the deep freeze so I could work and then go sit down in the breakfast nook and scour the pages for stuff I don't need.
Something caught my eye and my God-awful mini-wail (so as not to wake the husband and the mom) sent us both scurrying. Me in a circle and him up the wall into a freshly chewed hole in the drywall. Little bastard.
His cousins had been here when we moved in, unbeknownst to us until we had been here for about six months. Travis had mistakenly seen one run under the utility carpet in the room one Saturday. His quest became to find them all. He pulled up the nasty, sick, gross, icky carpet from the floor along with the padding and found trails chewed into the padding, nests, carcasses of all ages and stages of decay (nope, couldn't smell 'em), a bunch of live little bastards and a crap-load of their poop. Can you say Hantavirus?
It took us the better part of a month to get rid of them. We baited, we trapped, we sealed walls and repaired mortar. We rigged a cage around the dryer vent. We were vigialant with dog food and birdseed. It was exhausting, but we did it! They were gone and didn't come back.
That was about two years ago.
Tonight brought news that we could expect a few flurries this weekend, which is a little crazy for this time of year and it when considering it was 76 degrees today. This, I suspect, was the reason for his debut tonight. He seemed to be pretty furry (do they get a winter coat?) and actually kind of looked fat too. He just barely fit through his little hole in the wall. But the worst part of his presence was that nasty naked tail. I take serious umbrage with any creature which sports a naked tail. I am just not good with naked tails. Fat, hairy, naked tailed little bastard.
I woke Travis and took him out there. He replied that he would, "... get on it in the morning." Heh? just to be a little technical and persnickity, it was morning. And this was a time of freakage for me. I hate naked tailed animals. Oh, I really hate them. I just looked at him, said nothing and then he turned and stumbled back to the couch to assume the position.
I grabbed the mini-broom and the mini-dustpan and cleaned the bird table, behind the bird table, I secured the bird food, I moved the dog kennels under the bird table and swept on hand and knee, I moved the big dog kennel and swept around and under it, I secured the dog food and then I searched desperately for something to help me prevent a repeat performance.
I went to our shelving unit out there and started looking for our poison, which, much to my chagrin was not the kind in little traps. It was the loose stuff to put in the little bait boxes (which we don't have). Then, I saw it. It was the last little bucket of spackle from our recent projects.
I went outside and found a putty knife thingy and grabbed my step ladder. Carefully balancing, I stood with my feet on either edge of the washing machine with my putty thingy in one hand and the little putty bucket in the other. I used the entire bucket and it may have taken me the better part of a half an hour, but by golly, I spackled that stupid hole shut.
Yes, it looks like crap, but it is closed.
And I hope that fat, hairy, naked tailed little bastard is cold all night. Oh, and hungry on Thanksgiving.
It is the eve (morn) of the greatest holiday ever morphed into a glutonous celebration of stuff we still don't totally understand two-hundred some-odd years later. I've been cooking since 8 this morning. It began with the green beans and the corn puddin' and just ended with the first phase of the butternut squash. That's cooling right now, thanks.
In between, I've been doing a load or two of laundry, just to get a dent in it because it is NEVER, never-ever done. By this point of the morning, the laundry room/dog room/parakeet room/storage room/treadmill room/utility room is usually pretty quiet so I can understand why the little bastard thought he would get away with it.
Travis and my mother were asleep in front of the TV, the house was nearly quiet (except for Craig Furgeson's show on the TV), I had just finished putting the fourth load of darks (yup, today's fourth load of darks) in the dryer with a Bounce sheet and was putting a load of medium colored clothes in the washer as it filled. I was minding my own business. I had just put my newest mail order catalog on the deep freeze so I could work and then go sit down in the breakfast nook and scour the pages for stuff I don't need.
Something caught my eye and my God-awful mini-wail (so as not to wake the husband and the mom) sent us both scurrying. Me in a circle and him up the wall into a freshly chewed hole in the drywall. Little bastard.
His cousins had been here when we moved in, unbeknownst to us until we had been here for about six months. Travis had mistakenly seen one run under the utility carpet in the room one Saturday. His quest became to find them all. He pulled up the nasty, sick, gross, icky carpet from the floor along with the padding and found trails chewed into the padding, nests, carcasses of all ages and stages of decay (nope, couldn't smell 'em), a bunch of live little bastards and a crap-load of their poop. Can you say Hantavirus?
It took us the better part of a month to get rid of them. We baited, we trapped, we sealed walls and repaired mortar. We rigged a cage around the dryer vent. We were vigialant with dog food and birdseed. It was exhausting, but we did it! They were gone and didn't come back.
That was about two years ago.
Tonight brought news that we could expect a few flurries this weekend, which is a little crazy for this time of year and it when considering it was 76 degrees today. This, I suspect, was the reason for his debut tonight. He seemed to be pretty furry (do they get a winter coat?) and actually kind of looked fat too. He just barely fit through his little hole in the wall. But the worst part of his presence was that nasty naked tail. I take serious umbrage with any creature which sports a naked tail. I am just not good with naked tails. Fat, hairy, naked tailed little bastard.
I woke Travis and took him out there. He replied that he would, "... get on it in the morning." Heh? just to be a little technical and persnickity, it was morning. And this was a time of freakage for me. I hate naked tailed animals. Oh, I really hate them. I just looked at him, said nothing and then he turned and stumbled back to the couch to assume the position.
I grabbed the mini-broom and the mini-dustpan and cleaned the bird table, behind the bird table, I secured the bird food, I moved the dog kennels under the bird table and swept on hand and knee, I moved the big dog kennel and swept around and under it, I secured the dog food and then I searched desperately for something to help me prevent a repeat performance.
I went to our shelving unit out there and started looking for our poison, which, much to my chagrin was not the kind in little traps. It was the loose stuff to put in the little bait boxes (which we don't have). Then, I saw it. It was the last little bucket of spackle from our recent projects.
I went outside and found a putty knife thingy and grabbed my step ladder. Carefully balancing, I stood with my feet on either edge of the washing machine with my putty thingy in one hand and the little putty bucket in the other. I used the entire bucket and it may have taken me the better part of a half an hour, but by golly, I spackled that stupid hole shut.
Yes, it looks like crap, but it is closed.
And I hope that fat, hairy, naked tailed little bastard is cold all night. Oh, and hungry on Thanksgiving.
Tuesday, November 20, 2007
Simply Stated
Current mood: irritated
These are a few things I would really like to say out loud and this is the first step to my doing so...
Don't pick on the chubby white kid because someday you might just have hell to pay for it.
Don't mistake my manners for submission.
Don't think that me giving you your way means you have won.
Try not to hate people for things they have that you wish you did because at some point, you just might miss your chance to have what it is that you said you wanted while you were too busy being spiteful.
Do not use tan in a can for the first time the afternoon of an important event at which you will be showing your newly pigmented (and streaky and orange) skin.
Knowing what you want from life isn't always enough. Sometimes you have to put some effort into doing what it takes to get where you want to be.
Do not misrepresent yourself in any way at any time, especially if you are trying to draw the spotlight to yourself.
Stealing isn't nice and karma is a bitch.
Get it right the first time and you wont have to dig yourself out of a hole.
Shut up every once in a while.
Generosity is something which should not be kept to one's self, nor should it be taken without grace.
If you don't stay focused no one else will either.
No, I do not drink coffee. Get over it.
You, at 30, are not nearly as cute as you think you are.
Simply having an opinion does not mean you are right and being right does not indicate intelligence.
Expect me to freak out on you if you act like a jackass.
Don't act like a jackass.
It is OK to listen to people who know what they are talking about, especially if you know they know what they are talking about.
Sometimes you don't know everything.
Chocolate is a Godsend.
Quiet respect is just as it seems.
Not everyone is out to get you.
Know that sometimes there are people out to get you.
Your schizophrenia just gets on my nerves.
Some people just are nucking futs and there is nothing anyone can do about it.
There is no limit on the amount of love which can exist in one's life.
Expect that people you care about will have others they can care about too, even if you don't like it or the other people.
I have no need to justify my life to anyone.
Bacon goes well with green beans and most other foods.
Just because you are an expert on something doesn't mean you are interesting when you talk about it.
Someday, I will say it all.
These are a few things I would really like to say out loud and this is the first step to my doing so...
Don't pick on the chubby white kid because someday you might just have hell to pay for it.
Don't mistake my manners for submission.
Don't think that me giving you your way means you have won.
Try not to hate people for things they have that you wish you did because at some point, you just might miss your chance to have what it is that you said you wanted while you were too busy being spiteful.
Do not use tan in a can for the first time the afternoon of an important event at which you will be showing your newly pigmented (and streaky and orange) skin.
Knowing what you want from life isn't always enough. Sometimes you have to put some effort into doing what it takes to get where you want to be.
Do not misrepresent yourself in any way at any time, especially if you are trying to draw the spotlight to yourself.
Stealing isn't nice and karma is a bitch.
Get it right the first time and you wont have to dig yourself out of a hole.
Shut up every once in a while.
Generosity is something which should not be kept to one's self, nor should it be taken without grace.
If you don't stay focused no one else will either.
No, I do not drink coffee. Get over it.
You, at 30, are not nearly as cute as you think you are.
Simply having an opinion does not mean you are right and being right does not indicate intelligence.
Expect me to freak out on you if you act like a jackass.
Don't act like a jackass.
It is OK to listen to people who know what they are talking about, especially if you know they know what they are talking about.
Sometimes you don't know everything.
Chocolate is a Godsend.
Quiet respect is just as it seems.
Not everyone is out to get you.
Know that sometimes there are people out to get you.
Your schizophrenia just gets on my nerves.
Some people just are nucking futs and there is nothing anyone can do about it.
There is no limit on the amount of love which can exist in one's life.
Expect that people you care about will have others they can care about too, even if you don't like it or the other people.
I have no need to justify my life to anyone.
Bacon goes well with green beans and most other foods.
Just because you are an expert on something doesn't mean you are interesting when you talk about it.
Someday, I will say it all.
Friday, November 16, 2007
I'm Just Not That Aggressive in Bed
Current mood: cold
A cold front blew in yesterday, finally, after 27 months of summer. I can actually say I was cold. I still am. And, although cold is not necessarily the most comfortable thing to be, I am glad that today I am cold.
As has been previously discussed in "Serious Wood," we do not have our heaters on yet. Part of this is because there has been no real need. The other part is that I am one cheap chick and don't want to shell out the $180 to have the heater people come out. I know it is a simple thing to do, but our heaters are older than Darin and Travis always wants them turned on by the pros so they can see if there are any real problems or leaks in the systems. Plus, not having the heaters on yet is saving me of a higher gas bill. I am trying to be a conservationalist here.
So, this morning, it is actually a little uncomfortable in the house from the cold. We might even get a little rain today, so I am going to have to bundle up in a few minutes and go get the cabinet doors, still not completed (see "Owie"), and bring them in to avoid any water damage to their finish. Sheesh.
The kids both complained as to the cold nature of the house and both asked, independently of one another, when the heaters are being turned on. What wusses. One day. One flipping day. Weaklings. But, perhaps the bigger complaint in our house at this point should be that I spent the whole night cold.
Why? Well, I co-habitate with Travis the Cover-Hog. He is also Travis the Sheet-Hog, Travis the Pillow-Hog, and Travis the Incredible Fart Machine. Lucky me. Try not to be jealous. I don't complain much about these "issues" because in 99% of everything else, he really is a good guy. Just don't get him in bed.
When we were first married and while I was pregnant with 1 he was big on stealing my pillow. It was a super old nasty feather pillow that I'd had since I was a kid. It was stinky and icky and mine. Our bed, at that time, was a king sized waterbed, so there was plenty of room. The only pillow I wanted was my "Squooshy" but he would go through every pillow in search of Squooshy. In the mornings I would find a waist-high pile of pillows and him cuddled up with my Squooshy, sleeping like a baby. What an ass.
Right now, we have a sheet, two quilts my mothe rmade and a HUGE comforter on the bed. When I went to sleep, the covers were evenly distributed between the two of us on our respective sides of the bed. Acutally, we both share the middle because we are big time spooners when we sleep. But, the covers were good. Just an hour later I awakened to my shoulders being cold. There were no covers on them. I am a freak when it comes to sleeping. My feet and my shoulders, regardless of ambient room temperature, must be covered by at least a sheet. So, I was cold and pissed off.
Once I had finally wrangled my sheet back for my shoulders I was exhausted and fell right back asleep. Less than an hour later I was up again. This time all the covers were off me, except for my shoulders, which were happily sheeted. I went through this process several times including the falling asleep and waking up before I finally gave up. I just burrowed as deeply as I could under Travis' side to steal body heat from him and hoped I would eventually pass out from being so tired. I was right.
Travis' alarm went off this morning and I heard him getting things together for work. I ignored him. It was easy to do. I also reclaimed all the covers. Actually, he covered me when he got out of bed. I think he thinks I don't know how he steals my covers and makes me cold and that he thinks if he covers me when he gets up that I will never know that he did indeed steal the covers all night resulting in frostbite on my ass.
A cold front blew in yesterday, finally, after 27 months of summer. I can actually say I was cold. I still am. And, although cold is not necessarily the most comfortable thing to be, I am glad that today I am cold.
As has been previously discussed in "Serious Wood," we do not have our heaters on yet. Part of this is because there has been no real need. The other part is that I am one cheap chick and don't want to shell out the $180 to have the heater people come out. I know it is a simple thing to do, but our heaters are older than Darin and Travis always wants them turned on by the pros so they can see if there are any real problems or leaks in the systems. Plus, not having the heaters on yet is saving me of a higher gas bill. I am trying to be a conservationalist here.
So, this morning, it is actually a little uncomfortable in the house from the cold. We might even get a little rain today, so I am going to have to bundle up in a few minutes and go get the cabinet doors, still not completed (see "Owie"), and bring them in to avoid any water damage to their finish. Sheesh.
The kids both complained as to the cold nature of the house and both asked, independently of one another, when the heaters are being turned on. What wusses. One day. One flipping day. Weaklings. But, perhaps the bigger complaint in our house at this point should be that I spent the whole night cold.
Why? Well, I co-habitate with Travis the Cover-Hog. He is also Travis the Sheet-Hog, Travis the Pillow-Hog, and Travis the Incredible Fart Machine. Lucky me. Try not to be jealous. I don't complain much about these "issues" because in 99% of everything else, he really is a good guy. Just don't get him in bed.
When we were first married and while I was pregnant with 1 he was big on stealing my pillow. It was a super old nasty feather pillow that I'd had since I was a kid. It was stinky and icky and mine. Our bed, at that time, was a king sized waterbed, so there was plenty of room. The only pillow I wanted was my "Squooshy" but he would go through every pillow in search of Squooshy. In the mornings I would find a waist-high pile of pillows and him cuddled up with my Squooshy, sleeping like a baby. What an ass.
Right now, we have a sheet, two quilts my mothe rmade and a HUGE comforter on the bed. When I went to sleep, the covers were evenly distributed between the two of us on our respective sides of the bed. Acutally, we both share the middle because we are big time spooners when we sleep. But, the covers were good. Just an hour later I awakened to my shoulders being cold. There were no covers on them. I am a freak when it comes to sleeping. My feet and my shoulders, regardless of ambient room temperature, must be covered by at least a sheet. So, I was cold and pissed off.
Once I had finally wrangled my sheet back for my shoulders I was exhausted and fell right back asleep. Less than an hour later I was up again. This time all the covers were off me, except for my shoulders, which were happily sheeted. I went through this process several times including the falling asleep and waking up before I finally gave up. I just burrowed as deeply as I could under Travis' side to steal body heat from him and hoped I would eventually pass out from being so tired. I was right.
Travis' alarm went off this morning and I heard him getting things together for work. I ignored him. It was easy to do. I also reclaimed all the covers. Actually, he covered me when he got out of bed. I think he thinks I don't know how he steals my covers and makes me cold and that he thinks if he covers me when he gets up that I will never know that he did indeed steal the covers all night resulting in frostbite on my ass.
Tuesday, November 13, 2007
Serious Wood
Current mood: hot
I know what you're thinking but you're wrong.
We have a fireplace in our family room. When we were looking at houses I remember saying to both Travis and our Realtor, quite specifically, "I don't want a fireplace." I mean seriously, poeple, we live in the desert. For what under the heavens do we need a fireplace?
Let me add to that the fact that I am an idiot.
We looked at every piece of crap in and over our price range. Let me tell you, I think there was some underground movement to keep us from looking at any homes which did not have stinky carpet or a rot spot in either the kitchen or bathroom. After about what I would safely estimate as about 75 houses, we reluctantly agreed to look at the one we eventually bought.
Art, the Realtor, told us he had found something which was newly listed and he was sure it was the right house for us. When we saw the address we immediately declined without even seeing the picture. We didn't want to move into that area. No real reason, just didn't want to. He eventually prodded us to look after another we were liking a lot took a contract.
When we got here we walked from the entry hallway to the family room and we knew. We hadn't gone six feet in and we both knew. And, there, quietly looming in the corner- a fireplace. My mother oohed and aahed over it and was driving me nuts, but the longer I stood there, the more I liked it. It wasn't so much about the fact that it was a fireplace, but rather the structural and archetectual appeal of it. It looked very interesting.
It was spring by the time we moved in; too late for a fire. The following fall we had a few small fires, more to say we had lit the thing up than anything. Usually we would get a fake log to light for the evening while we watched TV, but occasionally we would buy a small bundle of wood. Travis deployed in early December of that year (and when he left, I stopped lighting the fires because the ashes were just something else I would have to clean up) and although we don't usually put up a tree when he was/is gone, we did that year.
When the tree was up and lit and I had all my candles going, it seemed unfair somehow to the fireplace to not light it up. The room seemed to need the fire. So, one night in the third week of December, I built a fire and lit it. I laid on the couch with no TV and no kids, with my candles lit and the tree lit and the fireplace lit and there, under my fuzzy blanket was the moment my love affair with the fireplace began.
It was so relaxing to just be in this room with the fire going and nothing else going on. I am not sure, but I think the appeal is in the quiet distruction of the fire. It is very theraputic to deconstruct something, especially when there is benefit or reconstruction to follow. I think that is why I enjoy chopping food so much. I am completely removing something from its previous form in order to build something wonderful. Fireplaces offer a similar benefit. The wood deconstructs through burning and the warmth heats my home. This is a win/win.
Last year, Travis came home from Iraq at the very end of November. It was fireplace season. My mother was here for his homecoming and she and I went to WalMart to pick out oodles of wood for our burning pleasure upon his arrival. She commented as to what a royal pain that was. See, when I grew up, my father worked construction and had access to all the downed trees. He would take his chainsaw to work, zap through what he wanted and bring it home in the bed of his truck so we would have wood to burn at the house. She had little to do with it other than to help unload the truck. So, she began to look through the paper and call around to find some wood.
Eventually she found a landscaping company who offered a cord of wood for a price she found acceptable. She gave that to us as an early Christmas gift. We LOVED it! We burned and burned to our hearts' content, always trying to obey ozone action days and no-burn days.
Once the season was over, we re-stacked what was left and for some reason it looked like we hadn't burned any of what she gave us. We still have a ton of it left, stacked up behind the shed in the back yard. It is November again. Mid-November. I've been buying fake logs to burn. There have been three used thus far. Why am I buying these logs to burn when I have 3/4 a cord in my back yard? Well, that's an easy one. We don't even have our heaters on yet. There's no need to have your heaters on or to burn real wood for warmth when your house is still 73 degrees when you wake up in the morning. The fake logs don't give off any heat, they only add ambiance.
So, until we chill out and cool down, I am stuck. I can't fully enjoy my family room right now. I know it seems like I am whining, I am. I know the warmth of the Southwest can be in some way attributed to global warming or global climate change or whatever, or it could just be a warm year. All I want is a couple of good cold nights so I can burn a real fire in my lovely fireplace.
Is that too much to ask?
I know what you're thinking but you're wrong.
We have a fireplace in our family room. When we were looking at houses I remember saying to both Travis and our Realtor, quite specifically, "I don't want a fireplace." I mean seriously, poeple, we live in the desert. For what under the heavens do we need a fireplace?
Let me add to that the fact that I am an idiot.
We looked at every piece of crap in and over our price range. Let me tell you, I think there was some underground movement to keep us from looking at any homes which did not have stinky carpet or a rot spot in either the kitchen or bathroom. After about what I would safely estimate as about 75 houses, we reluctantly agreed to look at the one we eventually bought.
Art, the Realtor, told us he had found something which was newly listed and he was sure it was the right house for us. When we saw the address we immediately declined without even seeing the picture. We didn't want to move into that area. No real reason, just didn't want to. He eventually prodded us to look after another we were liking a lot took a contract.
When we got here we walked from the entry hallway to the family room and we knew. We hadn't gone six feet in and we both knew. And, there, quietly looming in the corner- a fireplace. My mother oohed and aahed over it and was driving me nuts, but the longer I stood there, the more I liked it. It wasn't so much about the fact that it was a fireplace, but rather the structural and archetectual appeal of it. It looked very interesting.
It was spring by the time we moved in; too late for a fire. The following fall we had a few small fires, more to say we had lit the thing up than anything. Usually we would get a fake log to light for the evening while we watched TV, but occasionally we would buy a small bundle of wood. Travis deployed in early December of that year (and when he left, I stopped lighting the fires because the ashes were just something else I would have to clean up) and although we don't usually put up a tree when he was/is gone, we did that year.
When the tree was up and lit and I had all my candles going, it seemed unfair somehow to the fireplace to not light it up. The room seemed to need the fire. So, one night in the third week of December, I built a fire and lit it. I laid on the couch with no TV and no kids, with my candles lit and the tree lit and the fireplace lit and there, under my fuzzy blanket was the moment my love affair with the fireplace began.
It was so relaxing to just be in this room with the fire going and nothing else going on. I am not sure, but I think the appeal is in the quiet distruction of the fire. It is very theraputic to deconstruct something, especially when there is benefit or reconstruction to follow. I think that is why I enjoy chopping food so much. I am completely removing something from its previous form in order to build something wonderful. Fireplaces offer a similar benefit. The wood deconstructs through burning and the warmth heats my home. This is a win/win.
Last year, Travis came home from Iraq at the very end of November. It was fireplace season. My mother was here for his homecoming and she and I went to WalMart to pick out oodles of wood for our burning pleasure upon his arrival. She commented as to what a royal pain that was. See, when I grew up, my father worked construction and had access to all the downed trees. He would take his chainsaw to work, zap through what he wanted and bring it home in the bed of his truck so we would have wood to burn at the house. She had little to do with it other than to help unload the truck. So, she began to look through the paper and call around to find some wood.
Eventually she found a landscaping company who offered a cord of wood for a price she found acceptable. She gave that to us as an early Christmas gift. We LOVED it! We burned and burned to our hearts' content, always trying to obey ozone action days and no-burn days.
Once the season was over, we re-stacked what was left and for some reason it looked like we hadn't burned any of what she gave us. We still have a ton of it left, stacked up behind the shed in the back yard. It is November again. Mid-November. I've been buying fake logs to burn. There have been three used thus far. Why am I buying these logs to burn when I have 3/4 a cord in my back yard? Well, that's an easy one. We don't even have our heaters on yet. There's no need to have your heaters on or to burn real wood for warmth when your house is still 73 degrees when you wake up in the morning. The fake logs don't give off any heat, they only add ambiance.
So, until we chill out and cool down, I am stuck. I can't fully enjoy my family room right now. I know it seems like I am whining, I am. I know the warmth of the Southwest can be in some way attributed to global warming or global climate change or whatever, or it could just be a warm year. All I want is a couple of good cold nights so I can burn a real fire in my lovely fireplace.
Is that too much to ask?
Friday, November 9, 2007
Happy Hallofreakinween
Current mood: uncomfortable
No big shock to any of you who know me well, but I flipping hate Halloween. Nope, not the faith thing. I have just hated it since I was a kid. We can all blame it on the jackass family who lived down the street from my house growing up.
I grew up in the Sunburst Farms area of Glendale. It was a nice place to grow up. Most of the people around of us had some blend of barnyardery, there were wide streets great for learning to ride your bike without using handlebars and there were horse trails and wide alleyways for all kinds of fun. It could also be a little dark at times- especially at Halloween.
On the next block down, between 51st and 53rd and on the opposite side of the street there was a grey brick house with blue-ish grey trim. They had a courtyard near the front door and plenty of thick green vines growing up to the eaves of the house. In the daylight it was a lovely home with a perfectly manicured lawn and shrubery thanks to the regular irrigation schedule. On Halloween night it took on a different look alltogether. I wont go into it because I forgot to pick up Depends at the store yesterday.
Every year my mom or my brother would prod me to go up to the door of that house. Every year. And every year I would walk up to the double door with no porch light on and ring the door bell. Now, I shoulda knowed there was something up because I was NEVER allowed to ring a darkened door on Halloween, but every year they told me to do it and like a dummy I would go up and push the bell and then, I would wait.
I first would notice the lightning striking in the enormous picture window adjacent to the door. Maybe ten seconds later, the music would start. I don't so much remember the music itself, but the way it made me feel really wigged me out. And every year I would stand there and wait through it all. Every year, thinking that would be the year it wouldn't happen.
So every year it took about thirty seconds for the double doors to open at the same time with a thud. For some stupid reason those doors always creaked as they opened, which didn't serve to calm my nerves at all. And I stood there, in the darkness, looking into more darkness with creaky doors open and howly music with lightning happening inside the house waiting for what I knew was coming, every year.
Out of the darkness, every time, came the biggest hairiest gorilla holding a bowl of some of the finest candy handed out in all of Sunburst Farms. Stupid ape didn't ever try the bag toss approach to handing candy out. Nope. Jackassed monkey would stand there holding the bowl heaping and sometimes spilling over with awesome candy just waiting.
I was no fool. I knew if I reached out for that loot he would jerk me inside and eat me whole, costume and all. And it was always the same. I never reached. Every year I would see the bowl at my eye level and glance slowly upward at the tallest mammal I'd ever seen expecting all the while that my candy bag was his vegetarian appetizer to a very meaty me entree. So I would freeze. And he would look at me while I was lookin' at him. And I waited for him to throw the crap in my bag while he waited for me to take the crap from the bowl and neither of us would move.
Well, neither of us would move until I freaked out, every year. Something inside me would spring and the wail would begin and I would about face like nothing you've ever seen before and I would run. It must have been pretty funny to see a fat little girl in some adorable costume with long brown piggy tails waddle-running out of their courtyard destined for the safety of the sidewalk where her mother was (in hysterics, by the friggin' way), when halfway across the yard, every year, my graceful self would fall, spilling all my candy without even caring. And when I would get to my mother who was undoubtedly doing a really crappy job of trying to compose herself for my sake, she would tell me to go back because that damned gorilla would be standing there, at the gate of his courtyard with his head in one hand and a ginormous handfull of their bounty in the other.
I ain't no fool, Skippy. The only thing that creeped me out worse than the gorilla was the gorilla with no head.
So, every year (did I mention that this happened every year?) I would sob the rest of the way home, stopping at every other house with big tears in my eyes and boogers running from my nose with half my candy in my bag and my mother looking away to hide her stupid grin (sorry, Mom), while that stupid gorilla was standing at the edge of his courtyard with the rest of my candy in his yard.
And that, is why I hate Halloween.
No big shock to any of you who know me well, but I flipping hate Halloween. Nope, not the faith thing. I have just hated it since I was a kid. We can all blame it on the jackass family who lived down the street from my house growing up.
I grew up in the Sunburst Farms area of Glendale. It was a nice place to grow up. Most of the people around of us had some blend of barnyardery, there were wide streets great for learning to ride your bike without using handlebars and there were horse trails and wide alleyways for all kinds of fun. It could also be a little dark at times- especially at Halloween.
On the next block down, between 51st and 53rd and on the opposite side of the street there was a grey brick house with blue-ish grey trim. They had a courtyard near the front door and plenty of thick green vines growing up to the eaves of the house. In the daylight it was a lovely home with a perfectly manicured lawn and shrubery thanks to the regular irrigation schedule. On Halloween night it took on a different look alltogether. I wont go into it because I forgot to pick up Depends at the store yesterday.
Every year my mom or my brother would prod me to go up to the door of that house. Every year. And every year I would walk up to the double door with no porch light on and ring the door bell. Now, I shoulda knowed there was something up because I was NEVER allowed to ring a darkened door on Halloween, but every year they told me to do it and like a dummy I would go up and push the bell and then, I would wait.
I first would notice the lightning striking in the enormous picture window adjacent to the door. Maybe ten seconds later, the music would start. I don't so much remember the music itself, but the way it made me feel really wigged me out. And every year I would stand there and wait through it all. Every year, thinking that would be the year it wouldn't happen.
So every year it took about thirty seconds for the double doors to open at the same time with a thud. For some stupid reason those doors always creaked as they opened, which didn't serve to calm my nerves at all. And I stood there, in the darkness, looking into more darkness with creaky doors open and howly music with lightning happening inside the house waiting for what I knew was coming, every year.
Out of the darkness, every time, came the biggest hairiest gorilla holding a bowl of some of the finest candy handed out in all of Sunburst Farms. Stupid ape didn't ever try the bag toss approach to handing candy out. Nope. Jackassed monkey would stand there holding the bowl heaping and sometimes spilling over with awesome candy just waiting.
I was no fool. I knew if I reached out for that loot he would jerk me inside and eat me whole, costume and all. And it was always the same. I never reached. Every year I would see the bowl at my eye level and glance slowly upward at the tallest mammal I'd ever seen expecting all the while that my candy bag was his vegetarian appetizer to a very meaty me entree. So I would freeze. And he would look at me while I was lookin' at him. And I waited for him to throw the crap in my bag while he waited for me to take the crap from the bowl and neither of us would move.
Well, neither of us would move until I freaked out, every year. Something inside me would spring and the wail would begin and I would about face like nothing you've ever seen before and I would run. It must have been pretty funny to see a fat little girl in some adorable costume with long brown piggy tails waddle-running out of their courtyard destined for the safety of the sidewalk where her mother was (in hysterics, by the friggin' way), when halfway across the yard, every year, my graceful self would fall, spilling all my candy without even caring. And when I would get to my mother who was undoubtedly doing a really crappy job of trying to compose herself for my sake, she would tell me to go back because that damned gorilla would be standing there, at the gate of his courtyard with his head in one hand and a ginormous handfull of their bounty in the other.
I ain't no fool, Skippy. The only thing that creeped me out worse than the gorilla was the gorilla with no head.
So, every year (did I mention that this happened every year?) I would sob the rest of the way home, stopping at every other house with big tears in my eyes and boogers running from my nose with half my candy in my bag and my mother looking away to hide her stupid grin (sorry, Mom), while that stupid gorilla was standing at the edge of his courtyard with the rest of my candy in his yard.
And that, is why I hate Halloween.
Something from a Friend
Current mood: mellow
OK, typical of all mommies, I've been feeling a little neglected lately. We're still in moving limbo, not knowing where we'll be in six months or so. Amanda's got a boyfriend, Nolan's got football and wrestling and I've got an empty gas tank. My friend, Tiana, who is herself about to pop with her first (who should have made her debut a few days ago) sent this to a few of us. I must say, this is exactly what I needed on a day when I and primed the woodwork in the bathroom and taken forgotten homework ot school and still haven't had a shower and I've just started on dinner and there's laundry on the line, in the dryer and in the washer, the kitchen's been cleaned twice and the dog needs to be brushed. I get it. I hope it means as much to those of you who read it as it does to me today.
I'm Invisible
It all began to make sense, the blank stares, the lack of response, the way one of the kids will walk into the room while I'm on the phone and ask to be taken to the store. Inside I'm thinking,'Can't you see I'm on the phone?' Obviously not; no one can see if I'm on the phone, or cooking, or sweeping the floor, or even standing on my head in the corner, because no
one can see me at all. I'm invisible. The invisible Mom.
Some days I am only a pair of hands, nothing more: Can you fix this? Can you tie this? Can you open this? Some days I'm not a pair of hands; I'm not even a human being. I'm a clock to ask, 'What time is it?' I'm a satellite guide to answer, 'What number is the Disney Channel?' I'm a car to order, 'Right around 5:30, please.' I was certain that these were the hands that once held books and the eyes that studied history and the mind that graduated summa cum laude - but now they had disappeared into the peanut butter, never to be seen again. She's going, she's going, she's gone!
One night, a group of us were having dinner, celebrating the return of a friend from England. Janice had just gotten back from a fabulous trip, and she was going on and on about the hotel she stayed in. I was sitting there,looking around at the others all put together so well. It was hard not to compare and feel sorry for myself as I looked down at my out-of-style dress; it was the only thing I could find that was clean. My unwashed hair was pulled up in a hair clip and I was afraid I could actually smell peanut butter in it. I was feeling pretty pathetic, when Janice turned to me with a beautifully wrapped package, and said, 'I brought you this.' It was a book on the great cathedrals ofEurope. I wasn't exactly sure why she'd given it to me until I read her inscription: 'ToCharlotte, with admiration for the greatness of what you are building when no one sees.'
In the days ahead I would read - no, devour - the book. And I would discover what would become for me, four life-changing truths, after which I could pattern my work: No one can say who built the great cathedrals - we have no record of their names. These builders gave their whole lives for a work they would never see finished. They made great sacrifices and expected no credit. The passion of their building was fueled by their faith that the eyes of God saw everything.
A legendary story in the book told of a rich man who came to visit the cathedral while it was being built, and he saw a workman carving a tiny bird on the inside of a beam. He was puzzled and asked the man, 'Why are you spending so much time carving that bird into a beam that will be covered by the roof? No one will ever see it.' And the workman replied, 'Because God sees.'
I closed the book, feeling the missing piece fall into place. It was almost as if I heard God whispering to me, 'I see you, Charlotte. I see the sacrifices you make every day, even when no one around you does. No act of kindness you've done, no sequin you've sewn on, no cupcake you've baked, is too small for me to notice and smile over. You are building a great cathedral, but you can't see right now what it will become.'
At times, my invisibility feels like an affliction. But it is not a disease that is erasing my life. It is the cure for the disease of my own self-centeredness. It is the antidote to my strong, stubborn pride. I keep the right perspective when I see myself as a great builder. As one of the people who show up at a job that they will never see finished, to work on something that their name will never be on. The writer of the book went so far as to say that no cathedrals could ever be built in our lifetime because there are so few people willing to sacrifice to that degree.
When I really think about it, I don't want my son to tell the friend he's bringing home from college for Thanksgiving, 'My Mom gets up at 4 in the morning and bakes homemade pies, and then she hand bastes a turkey for three hours and presses all the linens for the table.' That would mean I'd built a shrine or a monument to myself. I just want him to want to come home. And then, if there is anything more to say to his friend, to add, 'You're gonna love it there.'
As mothers, we are building great cathedrals. We cannot be seen if we're doing it right. And one day, it is very possible that the world will marvel,not only at what we have built, but at the beauty that has been added to the world by the sacrifices of invisible women.
Great Job, MOM!
Share this with all the Invisible Moms you know ..... I just did. The Will of God will never take you where the Grace of God will not protect you.
OK, typical of all mommies, I've been feeling a little neglected lately. We're still in moving limbo, not knowing where we'll be in six months or so. Amanda's got a boyfriend, Nolan's got football and wrestling and I've got an empty gas tank. My friend, Tiana, who is herself about to pop with her first (who should have made her debut a few days ago) sent this to a few of us. I must say, this is exactly what I needed on a day when I and primed the woodwork in the bathroom and taken forgotten homework ot school and still haven't had a shower and I've just started on dinner and there's laundry on the line, in the dryer and in the washer, the kitchen's been cleaned twice and the dog needs to be brushed. I get it. I hope it means as much to those of you who read it as it does to me today.
I'm Invisible
It all began to make sense, the blank stares, the lack of response, the way one of the kids will walk into the room while I'm on the phone and ask to be taken to the store. Inside I'm thinking,'Can't you see I'm on the phone?' Obviously not; no one can see if I'm on the phone, or cooking, or sweeping the floor, or even standing on my head in the corner, because no
one can see me at all. I'm invisible. The invisible Mom.
Some days I am only a pair of hands, nothing more: Can you fix this? Can you tie this? Can you open this? Some days I'm not a pair of hands; I'm not even a human being. I'm a clock to ask, 'What time is it?' I'm a satellite guide to answer, 'What number is the Disney Channel?' I'm a car to order, 'Right around 5:30, please.' I was certain that these were the hands that once held books and the eyes that studied history and the mind that graduated summa cum laude - but now they had disappeared into the peanut butter, never to be seen again. She's going, she's going, she's gone!
One night, a group of us were having dinner, celebrating the return of a friend from England. Janice had just gotten back from a fabulous trip, and she was going on and on about the hotel she stayed in. I was sitting there,looking around at the others all put together so well. It was hard not to compare and feel sorry for myself as I looked down at my out-of-style dress; it was the only thing I could find that was clean. My unwashed hair was pulled up in a hair clip and I was afraid I could actually smell peanut butter in it. I was feeling pretty pathetic, when Janice turned to me with a beautifully wrapped package, and said, 'I brought you this.' It was a book on the great cathedrals ofEurope. I wasn't exactly sure why she'd given it to me until I read her inscription: 'ToCharlotte, with admiration for the greatness of what you are building when no one sees.'
In the days ahead I would read - no, devour - the book. And I would discover what would become for me, four life-changing truths, after which I could pattern my work: No one can say who built the great cathedrals - we have no record of their names. These builders gave their whole lives for a work they would never see finished. They made great sacrifices and expected no credit. The passion of their building was fueled by their faith that the eyes of God saw everything.
A legendary story in the book told of a rich man who came to visit the cathedral while it was being built, and he saw a workman carving a tiny bird on the inside of a beam. He was puzzled and asked the man, 'Why are you spending so much time carving that bird into a beam that will be covered by the roof? No one will ever see it.' And the workman replied, 'Because God sees.'
I closed the book, feeling the missing piece fall into place. It was almost as if I heard God whispering to me, 'I see you, Charlotte. I see the sacrifices you make every day, even when no one around you does. No act of kindness you've done, no sequin you've sewn on, no cupcake you've baked, is too small for me to notice and smile over. You are building a great cathedral, but you can't see right now what it will become.'
At times, my invisibility feels like an affliction. But it is not a disease that is erasing my life. It is the cure for the disease of my own self-centeredness. It is the antidote to my strong, stubborn pride. I keep the right perspective when I see myself as a great builder. As one of the people who show up at a job that they will never see finished, to work on something that their name will never be on. The writer of the book went so far as to say that no cathedrals could ever be built in our lifetime because there are so few people willing to sacrifice to that degree.
When I really think about it, I don't want my son to tell the friend he's bringing home from college for Thanksgiving, 'My Mom gets up at 4 in the morning and bakes homemade pies, and then she hand bastes a turkey for three hours and presses all the linens for the table.' That would mean I'd built a shrine or a monument to myself. I just want him to want to come home. And then, if there is anything more to say to his friend, to add, 'You're gonna love it there.'
As mothers, we are building great cathedrals. We cannot be seen if we're doing it right. And one day, it is very possible that the world will marvel,not only at what we have built, but at the beauty that has been added to the world by the sacrifices of invisible women.
Great Job, MOM!
Share this with all the Invisible Moms you know ..... I just did. The Will of God will never take you where the Grace of God will not protect you.
Owie
Current mood: sore
Since we still don't know what is up with our future living arrangements we decided to get off our butts and do something about some things around the house. None of these are necessarily new ideas, but rather they are from an idealistic wish list I kinda dreamed up.
Structurally the house is in good shape, all but the patio roof. It took some serious water on during the summer rains of '06 and has got some rot spots and just needs to be ripped off and replaced starting with the wood and ending at the tar. If Travis winds up on going, he'll go in early January and I'm just going to hire someone to do the patio. So, most of what we are doing right now is cosmetic.
I started in on the bathroom a few weeks ago. I got the wall color up, Travis got the new light and the new medicine cabinet up, I touched up the bad spots and left the trim and the cabinet for later. Why? Well, we are going to repaint all the house doors and the baseboards the same color (its called chocolate froth but it looks like an off-white/almond color) we wanted to paint the bathroom cabinet and we needed an oil-based primer to keep the stain on the wooden doors and trim from bleeding through. So, I just waited for no real reason.
I started priming the bathroom door and trim this week. Travis has a four-day this weeked so he decided he would get a go on the kitchen. I think he thought it would be a day job and now I think he thinks it will never get finished.
I woke up late today (ahh- goooood husband) because Travis got up and shut off the alarm and got the kids together. I eventually woke up around 8 or so. I just put on my paint pants, dirty as they were, and came to the kitchen. I started doing simple work right off. Travis was taking my decorative bottles and the cookie jar/pitcher/salt and pepper shaker off the top of the cabinets. They were nasty. He started washing, I finished and he cleaned the dust and grime from the top of the cabinets. Then, he broke his drill. I sent him out to get a new drill and a sander (because I wasn't sure I would buy one he would like on my last outing to Home Depot). So, I finished washing the crap and then started to putty in the holes left from the outgoing hardware on the cabinets. I brushed my hair and got my phone and purse and headed out the door to HD for new hardware and some more paint accessories. When I got home he had all the doors down and was sanding. I took the hardware off the doors and then puttied in the holes. By the time I was done, he had started to prime the cabinets so I took over the sander for the doors and drawers. It took us the rest of the day (yes, the whole freakin' day!) to sand and prime and prime a second coat. I still have a third of the doors to put a second coat of primer on, but the cabinets are ready for paint. We worked until about 5:30 or 6:00, until I was almost ready to cry because I was so tired. All Travis could do was laugh at me. What a ween.
Anyway, I figure we'll have everything painted by tomorrow night, complete with touch-ups. If we do, then Travis can take care of the hardware on Sunday while I have a full day of nursery at church and then am taking Amanda, her friend and her BOYFRIEND to the movies on post. I figure by that time I'll have the mentality of a teenager from huffing paint fumes and over-exposure to my mission minded man. All I plan to do is mark out where the door pulls are supposed to go.
I think Travis plans to take off the big, heavy, metal security door Monday to prime and paint it. I am putting a distressed finish on the kitchen cabinets by hitting them with the hammer and using screwdrivers and knives to make interesting dents and marks in the wood. I should be able to finish that and get the dark stain on and then wiped off by 10 am. I guess after that I should go finish the bathroom paint at that point, huh?
But, as it is, my body hurts so bad right now that the thought of getting out of this chair, where I've been sitting for a really long time, just to go to bed seems like too much work. My whole spine is screaming like a loon, the bottom of my feet hurt because I stood and worked all day in flip-flops, I still have paint on my skin all over my body (including my freshly painted nails upon which I worked tirelessly two days ago), my shoulders are on fire and my right hand feels like it is about to vibrate off the end of my arm from holding the sander for so long.
I am wishing right now that the cabinet fairy will come down and finish up just as soon as I get the energy to get out of this chair and limp/hobble/hunch my way down the hall to my bed, which I plan to never again leave.
Oh, and do you know how much new doorknobs for the inside of your house cost? Holy crap! I hope the cabinet fairy has a Home Depot card with a high limit.
Since we still don't know what is up with our future living arrangements we decided to get off our butts and do something about some things around the house. None of these are necessarily new ideas, but rather they are from an idealistic wish list I kinda dreamed up.
Structurally the house is in good shape, all but the patio roof. It took some serious water on during the summer rains of '06 and has got some rot spots and just needs to be ripped off and replaced starting with the wood and ending at the tar. If Travis winds up on going, he'll go in early January and I'm just going to hire someone to do the patio. So, most of what we are doing right now is cosmetic.
I started in on the bathroom a few weeks ago. I got the wall color up, Travis got the new light and the new medicine cabinet up, I touched up the bad spots and left the trim and the cabinet for later. Why? Well, we are going to repaint all the house doors and the baseboards the same color (its called chocolate froth but it looks like an off-white/almond color) we wanted to paint the bathroom cabinet and we needed an oil-based primer to keep the stain on the wooden doors and trim from bleeding through. So, I just waited for no real reason.
I started priming the bathroom door and trim this week. Travis has a four-day this weeked so he decided he would get a go on the kitchen. I think he thought it would be a day job and now I think he thinks it will never get finished.
I woke up late today (ahh- goooood husband) because Travis got up and shut off the alarm and got the kids together. I eventually woke up around 8 or so. I just put on my paint pants, dirty as they were, and came to the kitchen. I started doing simple work right off. Travis was taking my decorative bottles and the cookie jar/pitcher/salt and pepper shaker off the top of the cabinets. They were nasty. He started washing, I finished and he cleaned the dust and grime from the top of the cabinets. Then, he broke his drill. I sent him out to get a new drill and a sander (because I wasn't sure I would buy one he would like on my last outing to Home Depot). So, I finished washing the crap and then started to putty in the holes left from the outgoing hardware on the cabinets. I brushed my hair and got my phone and purse and headed out the door to HD for new hardware and some more paint accessories. When I got home he had all the doors down and was sanding. I took the hardware off the doors and then puttied in the holes. By the time I was done, he had started to prime the cabinets so I took over the sander for the doors and drawers. It took us the rest of the day (yes, the whole freakin' day!) to sand and prime and prime a second coat. I still have a third of the doors to put a second coat of primer on, but the cabinets are ready for paint. We worked until about 5:30 or 6:00, until I was almost ready to cry because I was so tired. All Travis could do was laugh at me. What a ween.
Anyway, I figure we'll have everything painted by tomorrow night, complete with touch-ups. If we do, then Travis can take care of the hardware on Sunday while I have a full day of nursery at church and then am taking Amanda, her friend and her BOYFRIEND to the movies on post. I figure by that time I'll have the mentality of a teenager from huffing paint fumes and over-exposure to my mission minded man. All I plan to do is mark out where the door pulls are supposed to go.
I think Travis plans to take off the big, heavy, metal security door Monday to prime and paint it. I am putting a distressed finish on the kitchen cabinets by hitting them with the hammer and using screwdrivers and knives to make interesting dents and marks in the wood. I should be able to finish that and get the dark stain on and then wiped off by 10 am. I guess after that I should go finish the bathroom paint at that point, huh?
But, as it is, my body hurts so bad right now that the thought of getting out of this chair, where I've been sitting for a really long time, just to go to bed seems like too much work. My whole spine is screaming like a loon, the bottom of my feet hurt because I stood and worked all day in flip-flops, I still have paint on my skin all over my body (including my freshly painted nails upon which I worked tirelessly two days ago), my shoulders are on fire and my right hand feels like it is about to vibrate off the end of my arm from holding the sander for so long.
I am wishing right now that the cabinet fairy will come down and finish up just as soon as I get the energy to get out of this chair and limp/hobble/hunch my way down the hall to my bed, which I plan to never again leave.
Oh, and do you know how much new doorknobs for the inside of your house cost? Holy crap! I hope the cabinet fairy has a Home Depot card with a high limit.
Tuesday, November 6, 2007
Trying to Hold it All Together
Current mood: scared
Today it happened. I've dreaded it. I've sensed it all along. I was right and even I have impressed myeslf with my ability to see the future. And now, I want to puke.
Just like every day, I conversed with my kids about their days. We were in the car on the way to wrestling while they chatted about Mrs. P and science and the elementary science fair and the homecoming game (yes, homecoming for middle schoolers- its dumb) and chair placements in band. I thought we were done but I was so flipping wrong. The kids weighed in (because the doctor demanded it) and were happy with their results and Nolan toddled off to the wrestling mat while Amanda and I headed for the cardio-loft. She got on a bike and I on an elliptical next to one another. "Everybody Loves Raymond" reruns were on the TV in front of us so we giggled through our 40 minutes of aerobic bliss together. That was actually kind of cool. So when we were done we wiped down our machines and gathered our bags and headed back downstairs to watch the rest of wrestling practice. Just as we got to the ground floor Amanda turned to me and said, "It happened today."
Being the mother of a teenaged daughter I had to fight to keep my heart in my chest and not in my throat because it doesn't take too much to send a mother over the edge when she hears a phrase like, "It happened today." She's already had one normal but important, "It happened today." and I manged to live through that. I knew any additional happenings would really be big deals. Yeah, it was.
After gathering myself together in .5 seconds I was able to turn to her and say, "What are you talking about? What it?" And then my heart broke.
She said, "Jommy (not his real name) asked me out today."
Amazingly enough, I didn't fall down screaming and wailing. I managed to appear unwavered and collected. Allow me to assure you I was most certainly neither. So I asked a few key questions and we talked for a bit about it. And then... I asked her what she said to him about it.
That's when I got the first glimmer that we mighta got something right in the parenting arena. She said, "I told him I would think about it because I knew I needed to ask you and Dad."
If I felt like crying before, I really felt like it then. So I told her (instantly, by the way, after hearing she wanted our blessing) that it was only because we were familiar with Jommy and his family that it would be OK with me if it was OK with her dad.
She texted him on the way home to ask him to call her so she could talk about it with him. He called her back in a few minutes and told her it was fine with him.
I sense many anti-anxiety pills in my future.
Oh, and trips to the mall too.
Crap.
Today it happened. I've dreaded it. I've sensed it all along. I was right and even I have impressed myeslf with my ability to see the future. And now, I want to puke.
Just like every day, I conversed with my kids about their days. We were in the car on the way to wrestling while they chatted about Mrs. P and science and the elementary science fair and the homecoming game (yes, homecoming for middle schoolers- its dumb) and chair placements in band. I thought we were done but I was so flipping wrong. The kids weighed in (because the doctor demanded it) and were happy with their results and Nolan toddled off to the wrestling mat while Amanda and I headed for the cardio-loft. She got on a bike and I on an elliptical next to one another. "Everybody Loves Raymond" reruns were on the TV in front of us so we giggled through our 40 minutes of aerobic bliss together. That was actually kind of cool. So when we were done we wiped down our machines and gathered our bags and headed back downstairs to watch the rest of wrestling practice. Just as we got to the ground floor Amanda turned to me and said, "It happened today."
Being the mother of a teenaged daughter I had to fight to keep my heart in my chest and not in my throat because it doesn't take too much to send a mother over the edge when she hears a phrase like, "It happened today." She's already had one normal but important, "It happened today." and I manged to live through that. I knew any additional happenings would really be big deals. Yeah, it was.
After gathering myself together in .5 seconds I was able to turn to her and say, "What are you talking about? What it?" And then my heart broke.
She said, "Jommy (not his real name) asked me out today."
Amazingly enough, I didn't fall down screaming and wailing. I managed to appear unwavered and collected. Allow me to assure you I was most certainly neither. So I asked a few key questions and we talked for a bit about it. And then... I asked her what she said to him about it.
That's when I got the first glimmer that we mighta got something right in the parenting arena. She said, "I told him I would think about it because I knew I needed to ask you and Dad."
If I felt like crying before, I really felt like it then. So I told her (instantly, by the way, after hearing she wanted our blessing) that it was only because we were familiar with Jommy and his family that it would be OK with me if it was OK with her dad.
She texted him on the way home to ask him to call her so she could talk about it with him. He called her back in a few minutes and told her it was fine with him.
I sense many anti-anxiety pills in my future.
Oh, and trips to the mall too.
Crap.
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