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.

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”

Indeed.

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.

Hee!

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.

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 piñata. 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.

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.

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.

Huh.

Eight just might be my new favorite number.

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.