Friday, September 29, 2006

Let’s Whip This Puppy Out, Shall We?

I have ten minutes to write this entry. If I don’t get it written in that time, I won’t get it written at all today so…go!

I just got back from a lovely lunch at one of the swankiest restaurants in our lovely little town. The luncheon was held in honor of contributors to a very upscale and fancy public art project that a committee of fabulous people has been working their collective ass off to realize for over five years. My Board contributed to the project financially, hence my attendance at the luncheon. It is projects like this that make me love my job, my community and the people in it.

And the food was really, really good.

This weekend should be fun. The weather is supposed to be nice so I am hoping to get together with Jana and the kids for a picnic in the high country. The leaves have finally reached their peak of color (unusually late thanks to late summer monsoons and that cold snap from last week) and I would love to get some pictures of the kids. I also hope to get some more black and white shots for the upcoming photo show.

We’ll see.

I might also work on the kid’s scrapbooks or, if I get really ambitious, I might start on our Disney scrapbook. Maybe. And, you know, there is the usual housework and laundry to be done not to mention the weekly pilgrimage to the Hellmouth to supplicate the Gods of Retail. That should be fun.

Oh, watch out for the puddle of sarcasm there, wouldn’t want you to muss your shoes.

Anyhoo, we have a couple of movies from Netflix to watch. I’m looking forward to seeing The Lake House since I heart Keanu Reeves and idolize Sandra Bullock (the original Miss Congeniality as you must recall). I wanted to see the movie when it was in the theaters but, it came down to a choice between it and, I think Cars, or some other family friendly movie and I was out-voted.

Doggone kids and their animated movies.

Anyway, here’s hoping it doesn’t totally suck.

Whew! Done and, in under ten minutes!

Of course, when you have nothing substantial to impart, an entry seems to just write itself. I’m thinking that’s not necessarily a good thing.

Thursday, September 28, 2006

Speaking Of Things That Grow On Trees….

Pomegranates are back in season and, while I love me some ruby-red pomegranate seeds, I do not love the $2.00 a piece price tag. In fact, it makes me very sad.

My dad, the crazy ex-Texan, introduced my sisters and me to pomegranates around the time we were old enough to chew and, in so doing, created three little monsters. Each fall, we clamored over who got to break open the first fruit of the season. Our small fingers worked feverishly to mine the ruby-red seeds from the rind, never minding the stains left behind under our fingernails. And, each year, we ate more and more of the seeds, saving fewer and fewer for my father.

Poor man, right?

Please. I know all about how Dad used to hide the biggest pomegranates in the beer fridge in the garage, thinking we wouldn’t look there for them. I also know about the hidden Snickers bars and, while I’m on the subject; did he really think we didn’t notice him eating Christmas cookies in February? It didn’t take a genius to figure out that Mom was stashing those puppies in the deep freeze just for him, is what I'm saying.

Nevertheless, when I visit my childhood home in the fall, I try to take a bag of pommies (as Dad calls them) home with me for my parents. I figure I owe them and, luckily for me, the prices will have dropped considerably by Thanksgiving which is when I will make my next trip.

In the meantime, I have no choice but to splurge on a couple of small fruits for the children (and a really large, super beautiful one that I will hide in the fridge in the garage for myself); the tradition will live!

My Dad just read this and thought to himself, “I have taught you well, Grasshopper”

Wednesday, September 27, 2006

When You Shake The Tree, A Few Nuts Are Bound To Fall Out

I spent all day yesterday at my Board of Director’s annual retreat. By the time I got home, tidied up the house, served dinner and worked on my platform for achieving world peace, I was exhausted and not really in the mood for homework duty. Having also endured a long day, Hugh was likewise uninspired to accept the responsibility so, we did the only logical thing and flipped for it.

I lost.

Two out of three.

Then, since I am such a gracious loser, I cried foul and demanded a new game; Rock, Paper, Scissors, forgetting that Hugh is the Master of that particular game.

When Hugh threw paper over my rock, I resigned myself to the inevitable which is how I found myself tracing our family’s lineage for an assignment The Girl was required to do for social studies. Lucky for The Girl, I actually know quite a bit about my family, having had the privilege of spending a great deal of time with my maternal grandparents during my childhood and I managed to get as far back as my great-great grandparents on both my mother and father’s sides before admitting defeat and initiating a series of irritating phone calls to my mother.

Irritating to her; I could hit redial for hours.

Once we had that side of the tree done, I called upon Hugh to provide the necessary information to complete his side of the equation which necessitated numerous irritating calls to his parents. And, I’m not even joking about that since, by that time, it was already eight-thirty and his parents are currently visiting family in Maine; two time zones away.
So, while we might have interrupted my mother’s quality television viewing, we totally interrupted his parents sleep. And, the beauty of it is, they couldn’t even complain because it was for The Girl and, as grandparents, they are required to think of the child.


Twenty years from now, when they are prank calling us from the nursing home at all hours of the night? Yeah, we may not be laughing then.

Monday, September 25, 2006

Avast Me Hardees, 'Tis A Shipwreck We Be Comin’ Upon

The Man-Cub’s birthday party extravaganza went as well as could be expected. Assuming you ignore the sudden dip in temperature, the light snowfall and the cake mysteriously imploding overnight, anyway. Which, since I tend to be a rose colored glasses, glass half full, silver lining type of gal, I do.

Because it keeps me sane.

I took the day off on Friday so that I could frost the Man-Cub’s cupcakes and deliver them to his classroom. The weather forecast Thursday night had prepared me for the possibility of scattered showers so I wasn’t terribly surprised to wake up to the light patter of rain. Of course by scattered showers, I thought the weatherman meant that the rain would, you know, come and go. Not so since we got a steady downpour all morning long, making me just a tad bit nervous about the outdoor party planned for the following day.

The rain was kind of nice once I returned from dropping the children off at school and set about frosting the cupcakes, however. Since it was rather chilly, I turned on the fireplace and, stirring chocolate fudge frosting in my lovely kitchen with the cat curled at my feet, purring away, it was a Hallmark moment, I swear. Until I looked out the window and realized it was snowing, that is. For I’m fairly certain I have never heard language like that which crossed my lips at that moment on any Hallmark commercial.

So, the snow lasted for about an hour and my hopes for an outdoor party the following day grew dimmer and dimmer. But! It’s Colorado! Ask anyone what the weather is like here and they will tell you that it changes every five minutes. And, you know, rose colored glasses, glass half full, every cloud with a silver lining, blah, blah, blah.

So. I took the Man-Cub’s cupcakes to the school and watched as he proudly handed them out to his classmates. By the time his classroom party was over, the snow had stopped and it was raining again. See! My point is made; Every. Five. Minutes.

And, by seven that evening, the rain had stopped, leaving a lovely sea of mud in its wake. My parents arrived from my hometown just in time for dinner after which I pulled the cakes out of the freezer and went to work on the birthday boy’s pirate ship. It was a pretty simple design, one that I had seen a friend use before and for which the instructions can be found on the Family Fun website and, it turned out really cute. I meant to take a picture of it before going to bed but got busy doing other things, including locking up the cat (who has a strange propensity for eating frosting; one year he licked the eyelash right off the Girl’s cheerleader cake and I don’t think the child has ever quite forgiven him) and, I forgot.

This turned out to be quite a shame considering the sight that greeted me the following morning. The cake had fallen apart and, by fallen apart, I mean giant chunks had fallen from the sides, a huge crack ran down the center of the ship and the sails were toppled over onto the counter. It was atrocious. I was thisclose to ditching my Rose Colored Glasses credo when the Man-Cub walked up behind me and said “Wow, cool shipwreck”.

Because he is his mother’s son.

Inspiration struck and, with the help of a little leftover frosting (one of the lord’s tender mercies; usually I toss the leftover stuff but, for some reason had stuck it in the fridge when cleaning the kitchen the night before), I managed to make it look like we had maybe, possibly, ok, probably not really but stranger things have happened… meant for it to be a shipwreck the entire time.

For the record; the kids loved it.

They loved the rest of the party too. The weather cleared and we were able to hold the party on the front porch as planned. We hunted for buried treasure, had sword fights, played a rousing game of Drunken Pirate and ate the doomed ghost ship before the little scallywags beat the crackers out of the parrot piƱata. Most importantly, the Man-Cub enjoyed his day.

I enjoyed a large glass of Pinot Grigio but, that part came later, lest you think I am an irresponsible parent.

Thursday, September 21, 2006

The Mythos Of The 50’s Housewife

Last night I did something in my kitchen that I have never done before. I busted out a can of the Campbell’s soup and made dinner from a recipe on the label; cheeseburger pasta, to be exact.

And, lo, the earth did not cease to spin. In fact, that shit was mighty tasty and easier than I care to admit. In fact, it was so easy and such a hit with the whole family, I might just start making all our dinners from recipes found on Campbell soup cans.

I’m totally going to wear an apron and a string of pearls, too.

Then the earth will cease spinning.

Wednesday, September 20, 2006

Signs, Signs, Everywhere There‘re Signs

Even if I didn’t know the arrival of my period was imminent, I would know. The signs are apparent; a smidgen more effort required to zip my pants, a small colony of zits residing on my chin, my breasts testing the endurance of the Lycra in my bra and, oh, I just got all weepy at the thought of the Man-Cub turning eight this weekend. Yep, Aunt Flo is definitely heading my way for a visit.

Although, in all honesty, the whole Man-Cub turning eight thing would still be my undoing even if I weren’t riding the Hormone Express to Hell. I mean eight! My baby! How is that even remotely possible? I swear it was just yesterday that he was a tiny infant with chubby little baby cheeks and serious regurgitative issues which, come to think of it, I don’t actually miss all that much. But, still! Now he’s going to be all… independent. What if he turns sassy (like his sister)? How will I cope with the eye roll times two? Most importantly, how will my heart ever recover the first time that he actively searches for a hole to fall into when I try to kiss him goodbye at school?

And, please, don’t tell me that, since the beginning of time, mothers the world over have survived this. Knowing that little Thorg’s mom probably burst into tears the day that he turned his back on her kisses when she dropped him off at hunting camp, doesn’t really console me.

It may amuse me, though.

Also amusing to me is the fact that spell-check wanted to change Thorg into thong and…did cavemen even wear underwear? I think, not.

It suddenly occurs to me, with the Man-Cub turning eight; we may be that much closer to him understanding the necessity of changing his underwear on a daily basis.


Eight just might be my new favorite number.

Tuesday, September 19, 2006

Sunshine Day

I just got back from my woman’s club meeting where I was voted “Ms. Sunshine” which is an awful lot like being voted Miss Congeniality (not much to look at but she has such a GREAT personality!) but without the tiara and rose bouquet.

I did get a mum plant. But, a tiara would have been nice.

Monday, September 18, 2006

I’m Having A Really Bad Hair Day

I got a little carried away with the hair dye this weekend and, as a result, I am more brunette than I have been in a very long time. I’ve had compliments on the color today which is nice but, each time I accidentally catch sight of myself in the mirror, I am startled by my own reflection; like, who the hell is that? Which leaves me all a ‘twitter over whether I should try adding highlights to soften the brown or just let a few washings do the trick for me. Of course, just as I’m thisclose to solving the dilemma, I ask myself why the hell I’m fretting over it now? Thanks to the grey, I’ll be doing this all over again in six weeks, anyhow.

Boggles the mind.

Speaking of mind-boggling things; last night, the Man-Cub took the longest shower in the history of his shower-taking experience-we are talking forty-five minutes here. Yet, he emerged still smelling like a wet dog. How? Because he forgot to wash his hair or, to wash anything for that matter. That’s right-he forgot to wash. In the shower. The thing you do in the shower. And, he forgot.I briefly consoled myself with the fact that he had managed to dress himself but had to admit defeat in even that small accomplishment when it became apparent that he was wearing the same underwear that he’d had on earlier in the day.

Thank god for The Girl; anal Miss Hygiene does such a good job in the shower, her butt cheeks squeak when she walks.

It should come as no surprise that she has really great hair, too.

Friday, September 15, 2006

My Faith In Mankind Has Been Restored

All the wailing and gnashing of teeth over the Man-Cub’s lost packpack was for naught as it was returned yesterday by a third grader who had picked it up by mistake. Since that means his packpack is now lost, the wailing and gnashing of teeth has only just begun at his house.

Hugh made it home safe and sound last night and he arrived bearing gifts; t-shirts for the kids and various trade show products for me (samples of toilet bowl cleaner! You shouldn’t have. No, really, you shouldn’t have).

Since I received neither diamonds nor a state of the art port-a-potty, I had to question Hugh’s gambling abilities. He assured me that he really did come out ahead, as usual. He just didn’t have time to shop; he was working after all. Plus, gambling is time-consuming. I wouldn’t know since, when we visit casinos together, Hugh won’t even let me stand behind him at the tables; he claims that I am the Kiss of Death for his gambling mojo, a fact to which I must concede although, I would never admit it to him. Alas, I will never be the trophy wife who blows on her husband’s dice for luck (oooh…dirty!). Instead, I am the trophy wife wannabe who goes to the mall while her husband whiles away the hours at the tables. It works for us.

Anyway, with Hugh home, balance has been restored. Unfortunately, when my sinuses got the memo, they decided that it would be the perfect time to stage a coup against my face. I am alternating between streaming rivers of snot flowing profusely from my nostrils and total nasal airway blockage. The skin around my nose is raw from constant abuse by tissue (comparisons to a certain reindeer are inevitable) and my chin decided to get into the act by sprouting a pimple the size of Mt. Everest. I am so pretty!

Admit it; you would totally let me blow on your dice.

Thursday, September 14, 2006

Please, Talk Me Down From The Ledge

Yesterday, I completely lost my shit with the Man-Cub for losing his backpack at school. It was irrational and loud and probably pretty frightening for the boy and, honestly, I have no defense. But, still, his entire backpack, just gone; how does that happen?

Apparently, if you are the Man-Cub, you leave it in the school gymnasium and walk away, fully expecting it to be there when you return because, even though you have been told fifty million times that you must be responsible for your possessions, you think; what harm, can possibly come from leaving your packpack for just a minute?

Well, I will tell you, some little asshole could just up and walk away with it, scoring himself not just a really nice (and expensive) packpack but also your beloved Lightning McQueen lunchbox (which just happened to contain two of your mother’s most beloved pieces of tiny Tupperware), your Old Navy windbreaker jacket; the one that convienently folds into its own self-storing pocket, two library books and, most importantly, your classroom assignment book.

That is what harm can come from it.

Oh, and your mother will totally lose her shit.


Anyway, I took the kids to school this morning and asked the Principal to announce that we are offering a reward for the safe return of the backpack and its contents. I’m thinking $5 is a sufficient amount assuming one of two things; either a friend of the Cub noticed the pack and picked it up intending to return it to him today or, a stranger picked it up by mistake and, upon realizing their mistake, returns it today. I am not overly optimistic.

On the off-chance that the little fuckwit who stole it returns it for the reward, however, I plan to inform him that his reward is knowing that he did a good thing and, I intend to say it as sweetly as possible without choking on my own bile.

The worst case scenario, obviously, is that the pack will never be returned and the Cub will have to use his allowance to pay for the library books. Oh, and his lunches will be packed in brown paper bags for the duration of the school year.

Time will tell.

On a happier note, Hugh is coming home today! Now, if one of the children does something totally frustrating and irresponsible, he can lose his shit and I can step in and be the nurturing and supportive parent. You know, like usual.

Wednesday, September 13, 2006

There Had Better Be Presents In My Future

Last night the fraud division of our credit card company called for verification that a $900 wire transfer from our card earlier in the day had been made legitimately. I was like Wha?? A $900 wire? Wha?!!

Just as I was about to have the credit card company lay the hammer down on our account it dawned on me that Hugh was….in Las Vegas. You know, Las Vegas? Where they gamble? And, um…prostitution is legal? (Not that I ever for one minute assumed that Hugh was patronizing a prostitute, I’m just saying.)

So, I ended the call with the lovely Visa customer service representative, promising to report right back and, I called Hugh.

Chelle: Hey! You wouldn’t know anything about a $900 wire transfer from the credit card, would you?
Hugh: Um….yes…why?
Chelle: Oh, no reason, the credit card company just called to freak my shit out about the possibility of unauthorized charges and I thought I’d better check with you first.
Hugh: Um….yeah…it was..uh….authorized.
Chelle: Really? That’s what you think, huh?
Chelle: Diamonds, Hugh. You had better. Come. Home. With. Diamonds.

I joke, of course. If there is one thing that I know about my husband; it’s that he’s a smart gambler. And, as we have already established the fact that he is unlikely to utilize the service of prostitutes, I believe I can safely say that the $900 will be returned to our account in a timely manner and, with any luck, Hugh will come home with money on top of that.

And, you know, diamonds.

I signed the Man-Cub up for Cub Scouts yesterday. He is quite jazzed about it due, in no small part, to the fact that his den’s first project involves building a catapult for the annual Pumpkin Toss; further evidence that the need to build completely unnecessary machinery is bred into male DNA.

I am actually pleased with the Cub’s desire to participate. I really believe that the skills he learns through the program will benefit him throughout his life and, I believe this despite the fact that scouting never really worked out for me. In fact, I flunked out of Brownies on the first day when the troop leader gave us each a pile of shredded coconut, a handful of pretzel sticks and two Tootsie Rolls with which to model fire building and I ate mine.

The non-existence of fire-building skill is reason #3 that I will never apply for Survivor. Reasons #1 and #2 have to do with my disinclination to eat slugs and lack of primal ability to pee outside. Just so you know.

It just occurred to me that the not peeing outdoors thing could prove problematic when I am called upon to attend camping trips with my new Scout. Perhaps I should request that Hugh use any Vegas winnings not on diamonds but on a state of the art port-a-potty.

$900 should just about cover it.

The Man-Cub Scout

Tuesday, September 12, 2006

Viva Las Vegas!

Last night’s rendezvous with Ben & Jerry went spectacularly; I polished off a carton of Phish Food in record time with nary a drip finding its way onto the sofa. Good times.

Hugh was having an equally good time or, so I gathered when he called from an Italian restaurant in the New York, New York hotel and casino. While he tried valiantly to assure me that his business trip was a bore, as usual, he failed miserably; I could hear the raw excitement in his voice, especially when I asked about the gambling. And, also about the food, his admiration for the spicy meatballs was fairly transparent and, the sauce? He could talk about the sauce for days. Man’s love of Italian cuisine gave him away, is what I’m saying.

On the topic of cuisine, last night the children and I diverted from our planned dinner menu of grilled cheese sandwiches and tomato soup and into breakfast territory; pancakes and sausages! With syrup and everything! Rebels without a pause, that’s us.

And, the rebellion didn’t end there, no siree-bob, I also went totally against the grain by allowing them each an extra half-hour to read books before bedtime! I did. Plus, I let the Man-Cub sleep in his underwear beneath a tent constructed from his sheets and I looked the other way when The Girl neglected to brush her teeth after eating a fudge brownie. That’s right; I’m out of control.

On the other hand, our dentist will think kindly of me when he writes his son’s college tuition check.

Changing topic completely, the weather today was decidedly cool. I actually ended up wearing boots for the first time and, my toes are none too pleased with me. In fact, I believe they said something along the lines of Bitch, please. What is with painting us in all our glory only to hide us away under standard black boots? Let this blister serve as a reminder of our wrath.

Alas, the toes should get used to the confinement as I do believe that autumn is upon us and I, for one, will certainly miss this sight.

Monday, September 11, 2006

Where Were You?

Five years ago, I was heading my first solo Board meeting. My boss of two years had tendered her resignation the month previously and I had been fast-tracked into her position so, while I wasn’t new to the Board, I was certainly new to the responsibilities and I was already on edge. Shortly after the meeting was called to order, one of the administration assistants entered the room with our coffee delivery; she also delivered the horrible news about the twin towers. The stress and anxiety of a new job took a back seat to the anxiety of our nation as we grappled for understanding.

Five years later, we are still grappling.

I’m almost ashamed to say that I had a wonderful weekend. I didn’t dread today and the anniversary of 9/11 as I know many, many people did and I recognize how lucky I am to be able to say that. If you aren’t so lucky, my heart goes out to you and I wish you peace.

I also wish peace on the family of our dearly departed neighbor, Bob. We attended the viewing on Saturday and The Girl placed her letter to him in his casket. It was the first time that either of the children had been to a funeral and the closure provided needed comfort for The Girl.

After the viewing, I took the children to Granny’s for raspberry picking which they had no interest in doing or, so I gathered given the dust left in their wake after being given permission to go play. Jana and I managed to pick seven pints of berries without the help of our ungrateful offspring and had a nice opportunity to catch up.

When the last luscious ripe berry was picked, we joined the girls in the tree house and watched from a safe distance as the boys splashed about in the creek and swung from the tree branches. It was a good day.

Sunday morning, I overslept, missing the mass that I had fully intended to attend with the children. I am a horrible Catholic. On the other hand, I did manage to bake and freeze two ten inch chocolate layer cakes, a twelve inch white cake and two dozen chocolate cupcakes for the Man-Cub’s birthday party later this month so, I am a less horrible parent.

As predicted, I did not achieve my goal of staging a photo shoot of the children; cake baking and the cleaning required afterwards sapped all my energy stores and it was all I could do to heckle Hugh about using an entire stick of butter in the stir-fried kielbasa and vegetables that he prepared for our dinner.

I did rally enough to OPIcure (Changing of the Garnet) later in the evening. I even managed to perform my wifely duties, a sacrifice which, in light of the fact that he was leaving town for Fall Market at the un-godly hour of four a.m. I have no doubt Hugh appreciated greatly. And, by “wifely duties”, you know I mean laundry and packing, right?

So, yes, Hugh is out of town for the next few days which means two things; one, that my cooking duties will be set aside for the duration and two, that I will be entertaining men in my house. Oh, don’t look at me like that! It isn’t as if the children will go hungry, in fact, they are totally looking forward to tonight’s promised dinner of grilled cheese sandwiches, tomato soup and oyster crackers.

I just hope they don’t give me too much grief around bedtime since, the sooner they are asleep the sooner I can turn down the lamps, light a few candles and get busy with the boys. We can’t do it in my bed of course; the sticky mess on the sheets would require me to do laundry lest Hugh discover it upon his return and, please, I can’t be bothered with more laundry. No, we will have to keep our recreational opportunities restricted to the living room sofa. That’s alright, though, the couch is pretty comfortable and I have the perfect DVD to get us in the mood, it’s a documentary on a local dairy farm; I think Ben & Jerry will love it.

What? I said I was a horrible Catholic, not a total ho.

Friday, September 08, 2006

Things I Plan To Do This Weekend…

…which may or may not actually get done.

-Raspberry picking with Jana and the kids. Jana’s mom has a raspberry thicket behind her house and each summer I am the recipient of several pints of fresh berries, a jar of preserves and a syrup of Granny’s that is simply to die for. This year, I will be exchanging labor for the fruity goodness due to the fact that Granny and Step-Father II are vacationing in Florida; somebody has to pick those berries. Now, here’s why it may not get done; the past two days we have been experiencing torrential downpours which have led to some flash flooding and a hell of a lot of mud. Now, I’m all for berry picking in the sunshine but, slogging through mud in order to fill our berry buckets? Yeah, not so much.

-Attending mass at the local Catholic Church. It has been quite a while since I made the pilgrimage to our house of worship and, while we were driving to our hometown last weekend, I had a long conversation about God and religion with my girlfriend, Joy. She reminded me of why I liked attending mass when I was younger and also (totally unintentionally) shamed me for not instilling a better understanding of my religion in my own children. So, why might this not happen? Because I am lazy.

-Setting up a garage photo shoot of my children. Several months ago, I purchased a backdrop and backdrop supporter on eBay. I have been meaning to set it up since practically the moment I received the package from the UPS guy. Plus, the amateur photo show is coming up again in October and I have no new pieces to enter; clearly I need to get my tail in gear. Of course, this will require that I clean out the garage, sweep the floor, set up the supports, hang the backdrop, wrestle the kids into decent clothing AND convince them that they want to smile pretty for the camera. I don’t think I need to elaborate on why this particular project may not happen.

-Signing the Man-Cub up for Boy Scouts. His sudden interest in scouting is traceable to his respect and admiration for his new seat-mate at school who is in Scouts and whose mother is by all accounts THE Den Mother. Hugh was delighted to hear of the child’s interest since he himself is an Eagle Scout. As for me, eh, I could take it or leave it and much will depend on the required schedule. So, yeah, I guess that, whether this particular chore gets done or not, is entirely dependent on my mood and…things aren’t looking too good for the Man-Cub. Shhh…don’t tell him.

One thing that I know for certain will happen this weekend is the funeral for Neighbor Bob. The Girl took the news of his death pretty hard but she seemed to comfort herself with the idea that he is in a far better place and that has been reunited with his dear wife and I can’t ask for better than that. Tonight, she plans to paint a picture and write a letter for Bob and she is adamant about attending the funeral, her first ever. I would try to come up with some reason for not attending since funerals bum me out but, I think we all know that won’t happen.

As to which of my other exciting goals (did I just drip sarcasm on you? My bad) get accomplished this weekend, well; you’ll just have to tune in Monday, now won’t you?

Thursday, September 07, 2006

Look Both Ways Before Crossing

Yesterday, following a trip to the liquor store, a woman was struck by a large pick-up truck and killed while crossing the busy street in front of my office. I had been out of the office at a meeting and returned just as the ambulance left the scene. The driver of the pick-up was still being questioned by the police and it was obvious that, not only was he distressed beyond belief, but he also had Parkinson’s or some other neurological disorder which was being aggravated by the stress of the accident. It was heartbreaking to watch and I feel sorry for everyone involved.

In more sad news, our former neighbor passed away this morning. He was a lovely old gentleman and he and my daughter shared a very special relationship, she used to paint pictures that he would hang on his refrigerator and she enjoyed visiting with him in his backyard. Several months ago, he had a fairly major stroke which left him unable to care for himself and his family made the decision to move him into the local nursing home. The Girl visited him there several times as well, always taking along a piece of her artwork or a photograph for him to enjoy.

Hugh and I are not looking forward to breaking the news to her this evening.

On the other hand, he died peacefully in his sleep and not on a busy highway and I do take some comfort in that.

On a far less depressing note, the Girl is actually starting to get 5th grade math. I am beyond thrilled with this latest development and not just because her newly acquired math skilz enable her to complete her homework sans my assistance and freeing my evenings for quality reality television viewing but because, as a somewhat math-impaired adult, assisting with the homework gives me a headache.

Oh, look; I appear to be grammatically challenged as well! Run on, sentence! Run on!

So, tomorrow is my nephew’s third birthday. Several weeks ago, when I asked my sister what he was into these days she sighed heavily and said, Superman which caused me to cackle with glee for, you see, since we were small children my sister has regarded all things super hero with utter disdain- a fact to which I can attest given her merciless teasing of me when I watched The Justice League cartoons on Saturday mornings during my childhood- so there can be no doubt that she likens her son’s affection for the Man of Steele to the ultimate betrayal.

Hey, perceived betrayal or not, I just hope she doesn’t call him names like “super hero nerd” or “sci-fi geek”. That shit can scar a person. Or, um… so I’ve heard.

Anyway, since she is my sister and, despite any reasons that I might have not to (see above reference to geeks and nerds), I love her, so, I offered my assistance in the party planning, suggesting appropriate party favors and games. One of the games I suggested was a type of Hot Potato using green glow-sticks to simulate Kryptonite. She said she already had “Kryptonite” for the gift bags and, why would they play Hot Potato with it, anyway? To which I replied “Well, duh! Kryptonite kills Superman.” This came as quite the shock to little miss I Hate All Things Super Hero who said “But, I thought that’s what gave him his powers!”

At which point I suggested that she actually take a moment to watch the Superman DVD that her son views oh, I don’t know, three times a day and get her facts straight before she starts spouting misinformation to the party guests. She was duly chastised.

Who’s laughing at the geeky super-hero fan now?

Wednesday, September 06, 2006

Slow Down After the Hoe-Down

The wedding this past weekend went pretty much as I had expected it to; the groom wore boots and a cowboy hat, the bride rode into the ceremony on a wagon, we dined on roasted pig and danced to country music at the reception.

What I didn’t expect, and I should have, was the cold weather. My hometown is in an alpine valley in the Colorado Rockies, it’s always cold this time of year; you would think that I would know better than to attend the ceremony with nothing more than a light suede jacket but, there you go. I am stupid. Luckily my girlfriends, who share my hometown, are equally stupid. Hey! Misery loves company and, a few hours into the reception, we were rocking the misery.

Well, not enough to leave or anything silly like that, after all, our friend waited thirty-six years to find his perfect mate and we weren’t about to leave the party until the last piece of cake had been eaten, the last dance had been danced, the last of the alcohol had been consumed and our friend and his lovely bride had ridden off into the sunset. All of which we did. Except for the drinking part, that is, I was the designated driver so I didn’t drink.

I did, however, eat five pieces of cake. And, I caught a cold. It was totally worth it, though, to see my girlfriends again.

And, despite my cold, Hugh and I had an enjoyable wedding anniversary. He loved the DVD that I made and his gift to me was a very cool digital photo frame. I present this as further evidence that, after thirteen years you begin to share one brain.

I hope someone warned my friend about that.

Friday, September 01, 2006

New Beginnings

Wow, September already! My how this year is flying by. Not that I’m complaining, I love September. I love that the kids are back in school (yes, I know that technically happened in August, la, la, la), I love that the weather is getting cooler, the days are getting shorter and that the trees will soon drape themselves in their autumn finery.

September also means that the Man-Cub’s birthday will soon be upon us which means one thing and one thing only; a party must be had. This year the Cub has requested a pirate theme for his shindig. I tried my best to dissuade him since, the last birthday party he attended was a pirate themed birthday and, didn’t he want to be original? Apparently, not so much. To appease the little lemming, I will be scouring the internet and local party supply stores for appropriate pirate booty with which to impress his friends. Arrrggg.

In addition to celebrating the anniversary of my son’s birth, Hugh and I will be celebrating our thirteenth wedding anniversary this month. Thirteen years of wedded bliss (you know, if you forget the parts that were less than blissful which we do because, that’s how we roll), time really does fly; it seems like just yesterday that I walked into that Red Cross CPR class and noticed the attractive guy with the really nice ass straddling Resusci-Annie. Good times.

In honor of our anniversary, I made Hugh a photo DVD depicting our life together, thus far. While I know the more sentimental photos, such as our first date, the wedding and the births of the children are sure to elicit tears from the big softie, I also included photos of us in some less-than-flattering circumstances and he should get a laugh out of the project as well. At least, he better considering that this thing has taken me almost a year to put together; thirteen years worth of pictures takes a while to sort through, who knew?

Anyway, our anniversary is Monday and, ironic isn’t it, that I would choose Labor Day weekend for my wedding? I mean, it isn’t like marriage is work or anything. Or, you know, so I thought THIRTEEN years ago.

And, speaking of weddings, as I have mentioned, my girlfriend arrives from Phoenix tonight and, together, we will make the drive to our hometown for our friend's wedding tomorrow. I’m looking forward to the wedding for a variety of reasons; one, I never thought I would see the day that this particular friend would find exactly the right woman to spend the rest of his natural life with and, two, the wedding is a western hoe-down where casual attire will be the rule, not the exception. I am totally wearing jeans to a wedding! This is a first for me and I cannot let the moment go unacknowledged.

Oh, and, there will be liquor.

‘Nuff said.
Perhaps I Should Have Been More Specific

Ms. Uterus appears to have a definite death wish, for, while acquiescing to my recent request to stop with the mutherfocking cramps, already, she upped the ante by tricking me into thinking that she was done um…processing the by-product of this month’s non-conception…only to reopen the floodgates and catch me ill-prepared. I’m ninety-nine percent certain that it is her way of blowing raspberries at my recent ultimatum to which I say ha! I’ll show you, missy! I’ll yank you out of there so fast the fallopian tubes will issue a missing organ report.


Ok, ok! You totally called my bluff; we all know that I wouldn’t go willingly under the knife to have you removed, I AM somewhat attached to you. After all, you did nurture the Girl and the Man-Cub for nine months and, you haven’t really given me THAT much trouble lo these twenty-five years of our menstruating partnership. So. I am trumped and must beg for a truce. I’ll make no more demands on you, Ms. Uterus save one; show mercy.


Also, if you could put in a good word for me with Mr. Esophagus, I would be totally indebted to you; this recent heartburn is KILLING me.