40 Something Crises

Rolling in Silk (Umm, not silk sheets, sheesh!)

2008-07-16T11:14:00.001-07:00

This weekend we are going to a gigantic barbecue. We have this barbecue every July in the pasture of our friend and fellow church member family. And every year Nacho volunteers to get the watermelon and corn on the cob. Consequently, the Nacho family gets to shuck the corn every year and prepare it for cooking.

This morning the kids and I were shucking corn. At the end, I had tons of corn silk all over the carpet (Why-oh-why do they put carpeting in dining rooms and bathrooms? I happened to be at the house when they were about to put carpeting in our bathrooms when I yelled STOP! I absolutely will not have carpeting in the bathroom. That is too gross!).

As we finished the corn, the kids, of course, scattered as fast as they could. I couldn’t get anyone to help pick up the corn silks. I didn’t want to vacuum the silks because I was afraid it would gum up the vacuum cleaner (and I paid good money for a good vacuum that I’m now too scared to use unless we do a pre-vacuum cleaning {which means going over the carpet with a magnifying glass to make sure there are no rocks, threads, nuts or bolts or hairpins or anything that might destroy my hi-tech, super powerful, very EXPENSIVE vacuum cleaner}).

Ah-Hah! I will use the lint roller. I started rolling up all sorts of silks. It was easy. And pretty soon, I had one kid after another begging for a turn with the lint roller. Now I wish I had three more rollers. I wonder if they would do the kitchen floor next?

Profound Thoughts

2008-07-09T09:34:00.001-07:00

I was thinking that rather than talk about my mundane life, maybe I would expound on something that I am mulling over in my mind. So here’s what I’m thinking – “Ow!” and “Yum!” I know, it’s deep. Maybe I should bring you up-to-date.

Nacho was at the doctor the other day with some weird type of nerve problem that sends excruciating, shooting pains from his thigh down to the bottom of his foot. His thigh sometimes feels like it’s on fire, and then it’s as if someone is jabbing an ice pick in his thigh. What did the doctor say? He said “The nerve damage is permanent, but if you don’t lose 100 pounds you are going to die.” Okay then.

So Nacho is now very determined, and since I have about 1,000 pounds to lose, I decided to hop on his determination train for the ride.

Part of this ride was a stop at the “Better Bodies” station. This is a company that is a gym-type facility that you can only use with one of their evil personal trainers. They stand huddled together, watching the patrons walk in through the door. One of them says “I’ll take that one, and he will not be walking out the door, but crawling out the door like a mass of jello, wobbling all the way to his car. Heh! Heh! Heh!”

As we walked in the door, I could see that they were waiting for us, rubbing their hands together. I felt the beginnings of panic start in the pit of my stomach and radiate down my legs. I looked around at the other patrons, dripping with sweat and writhing in pain as their trainer yelled “One more! Keep it going! No stopping now!” The grimaces on their faces warned me to turn and run while I still could. But before I could reach the door, my husband plunked a big ol’ wad of cash down on the desk, and he gave me that look of “You had better not waste this big wad of cash I just plunked down on the desk!” So I tucked my tail between my legs and I came slinking back to the torture chamber.

Cory was assigned to us. He was a soft-spoken, nice, young man. He took us into a quiet, calm room and assured us he would help us meet our goals. He told us we would be so happy we came to him. He told us this was a great choice that we were making. He assured us that for our first day our workout would be easy, but that we should be prepared for a tougher workout on our next visit. I have discovered that Cory LIES!

For the next 30 minutes we were helpless victims, suffering through the preview of what we can expect for the next four months. As I grunted, and grimaced, and groaned, he chuckled “And the best part is, you are paying me to do this to you.” Then, when we were whimpering as we were making our escape, we were told not to eat any grains of any kind at any time. What? Now I have to self-impose my torture?

Yes, that’s right. No bread for a sandwich. No toast with my breakfast. No brown rice with my General Tso’s chicken. No pasta with my marinara sauce. No croutons on my salad. And not that I love oatmeal all that much, but now that I can’t have it, it is what I am craving.

And so today, my muscles are screaming at me and I wish I had a walker to use to help me get up and down and around. My Clarissa wants me to hold her, when I just want someone to hold me. I watch my kids eat super-sugar-chocolate-bombs for breakfast and I think “Yum”. They eat peanut butter and honey sandwiches for lunch and I think “Yum”. They eat some Spaghetti-O’s for dinner and I think “Yum”. People, these are things I have detested for years, but since I can’t have them, they suddenly look very appetizing.

And so now you know why I am having such profound thoughts as “yum” and “ow”.

Tomorrow I’m going to post on how you can fool yourself into thinking cottage cheese can be used as a grain.

In The Good Ol' Summertime

2008-07-07T08:35:00.004-07:00

I was just perusing some of my favorite blogs this morning when I noticed on the sidebar of Chickie Momma’s blog that it had been five weeks since I posted last. It's only been five weeks?! Because, really, to me it feels like it has been an eternity, or at least five months.

At the end of May, I was so looking forward to summer, because that's vacation time, right? Yeah, sure. I forgot that it's only vacation time while you're still in grade school. I remember the feelings very distinctly when I had my first job as a high school graduate and realized that the working world doesn't give summers off. Well, guess what. The family world doesn't give summers off either! What was I thinking?!

I have a daughter in summer school (by choice, to get ahead), two boys working as lifeguards at two different pools, four kids on two different swim teams at two different pools, and I am the preferred taxi driver to all these events (forgot to mention cub scouts and boy scouts). They picked me because I'm cheap, really cheap. So my vacation is the time I sit and wait for them to be done because gas is too expensive to run back and forth. Yep, each mile I drive I hear that "cha-ching" and imagine the Saudis rubbing their hands greedily together. I wish someone would find oil on my property because I would let them drill. It would not mar the pristine beauty of this blow-dirt one little bit. And I am positive that the mice would just adjust to making their homes in, on and around the drills, just as they have my home.

So, with all this waiting time, I have decided to elevate my reading from dimestore romance novels to classics. The first classic I started was the Old Testament. Hmmm, it read like a dimestore romance novel or murder mystery. No, really. Just in the first couple of books there was murder, intrigue, deception, incest. I have decided that the first few books of the Old Testament were not meant for family scripture study, or at least it needs to be edited. I'm sure this book will end up being longer than a summer read.

Next, I picked up "Pride And Prejudice". I read this book before I was married, and, frankly, I didn't remember much from it. But recently (and I use that term loosely because I am 40-something) it was mentioned in "You've Got Mail" as Meg Ryan's character talks about getting lost in all the language, and there was a movie made of a modern version of "Pride and Prejudice", and finally the movie "Pride and Prejudice" with Winona Ryder. So I picked it up as a light summer read. Hah! Okay, the plot isn't all that complicated. But, just as Meg Ryan, I got lost in all that language. Not lost as intrigued or in a romantic sort of way, just lost. Sometimes I had to read out loud, and repeat a paragraph a couple of times before I completely understood just what was really being said.

Next I have picked "Jane Eyre" by Charlotte Bronte. She was born 30 years after Jane Austen, so I'm anticipating dialogue that is a little easier for me to understand. I have also read this book pre-marriage, and again, I can't remember what it's about.

Also this summer I have read Stephenie Meyer's new book "The Host". It was good and I enjoyed it. But my favorite book so far this summer is "Goose Girl" by Shannon Hale. I loved that book and I'm looking forward to reading her other books.

Okay blog pals, give me some reading suggestions. I have a few more weeks left of driving and waiting. (Ms. Suburban Correspondent”, I would try my hand at knitting, but it's too hot! I might try it though when the whether hints at cooling off, around Halloween.)

Fun Clarissa moments -- she has learned the word "mine" and she walks around repeating "Mine books!" "Mine phone!" "Mine bwanket!" She sounds more and more German all the time.

Stay Tuned . . . .

2008-05-27T13:18:00.003-07:00

For anyone that has been checking in, hubby is going out of town next week and I plan on catching up with your blogs and adding to my own. I'm so excited!

All Things In Moderation Please

2008-05-16T10:52:00.002-07:00

Okay, I'm back. Did you miss me? I really, really, really hope someone missed me. I think I went through withdrawals. And I certainly missed all six of you. You have become my link to sanity and escapism. Out in my rural wilderness, you have joined the ranks of my friends, along with the rattlesnakes, javelinas and scorpions - not that I think of you as poisenous and dangerous nocturnal creatures, but because that's about all there is out here.

Where did I go? Sit down, let me tell you all about it.

Poor Nacho is going through a very stressful time right now and feeling my absence as I sit like a zombie in front of the blogs. He sees me for about ten minutes a day, and that's usually the ten minutes I have free to try and write and comment and read. The whining got progressively louder and more obvious as I tried, once again, to complete a Nablopomo.

So I got the scales out - husband/marital relationship or blogging, husband/marital relationship or blogging. Hmmm, this is a tough one.

No, it really wasn't tough. I was willing to give it all up and never touch it again. After all, if I'm going to sacrifice something for my Nacho, it might as well be martyrdom all the way, right? He wasn't happy with that either. He just wanted balance, moderation, and a little love and attention. Okay, I guess I can compromise. He's worth it.

And so, my friends, a little prudence, hopefully some better writing as I take time to develop a higher quality post, moderation, and a much happier Nacho.

But if I'm ever widowed, I will be here every day!!

Okay, Clarissa's diaper stinks, she's covered head to toe in red sugar, and I have to find where she dumped it. Balance, balance, balance . . .

Happy Mother's Day

2008-05-11T22:15:00.001-07:00

Today was a wonderful Mother’s Day. I woke to see my children working together to make me breakfast. To see teenagers cooperating to create something for me is very touching. Then, tonight my sweet Nacho made dinner for me. It was delicious. I am very grateful for a family that loves me.

On the spur of the moment, I invited two women to come and spend Mother’s Day with us. One is a single woman, never married, never had children. The other woman is a single mother with two young children, no other family around and not much contact with other adults.
The second woman was talking as she came in the door, and didn’t stop talking until she got in her car and shut the door. For three hours and forty-five minutes it was straight talking, going from one subject to the next. Nobody else had to prompt her, or ask her questions, or offer any comments. We just sat and listened. By the end of the evening, my head was pounding!

As she talked, she revealed a childhood of severe emotional/mental abuse with some physical abuse. I have found, since living the past nine years in this rural community, that there is an awful lot of abuse going on, and has been going on for generations. How did I not know this before? I have discovered just how sheltered I have been.

So, on this Mother’s Day, I would like to remember my mother who never, ever abused me and who loved me tremendously. She had eight children, and every one of those eight children were well fed, well dressed, well cared for, but mostly each one was well loved. Every single one of us felt we were her special child, the one she loved the most, the one that was her best friend. How is it possible for a mother to love eight children so much that each one felt they were the extra special child?

My mom isn’t here anymore for me to tell her how much I love her. So may I share with you how much I love my mother, how grateful I am for her, and how I hope that each one of my children feels like they are my most absolute special friend, just as my mother was to me.

I hope you have all had a wonderful Mother’s Day!

When I Knew We Had Become Rednecks

2008-05-10T08:18:00.001-07:00

I am following along in the bug theme. I think Nablopomo should have used bugs as the theme this month, because I totally would have rocked with that subject.

As I have mentioned previously, from about spring to fall our home is inundated with flying creepy crawlies. It’s getting to the point where I hardly even notice them anymore, except when they fly into my bra and bite me.

A few years ago, my sweet Nacho walked into the house one evening with a box. Now, all kids get kind of crazy when you walk into the house with a box in your arms. Ours could hardly wait to see what was inside it.

Me: Hey sweetie! What’s in the box?

Nacho: A bug zapper.

Me: A bug zapper?

Nacho: Yeah, I wanted to get one because of all our bugs. I remembered when I was living at home my dad bought one and hung it up outside to zap all the bugs. It totally annoyed the neighbor because whenever a really big moth got in it, it would completely destroy his TV reception.

I’m thinking that one tiny little bug zapper outside is not going to do the trick. We were going to need some industrial sized zappers, one on each corner of the house, and a few outside of each door and window.

But then Nacho did something completely unexpected and really quite strange. He proceeded to set up the bug zapper INSIDE the house. Next he turned all the lights out in the house. Soon all the boys were gathered around the bug zapper, just waiting.

Bzt – Ooh, it got one.

Bzt, bzt – Hey, a couple more.

BZZZZZZZT – Whoa! That was a really big one. I can smell it and everything!

That bug zapper entertained them for hours. It then became the favored evening entertainment all during the bug months.

That’s when I knew we had truly become rednecks.

Boobs and Bugs

2008-05-09T07:16:00.000-07:00

I was just sitting here typing when I felt a bug fly into my bra. I thought to myself “Did a bug just fly into my bra?” I wasn’t quite sure, until I felt it stinging or biting or something. My first instinct was to stand up and fling my bra off and start searching for the offensive thing. Unfortunately, I had a 17-yr-old and 18-yr-old boy in the same room with me. I could just imagine their faces as A) a female suddenly stood up and flung her bra off and B) her boobs suddenly collapsed down to her belly button. While this is highly entertaining for my sweet Nacho and considered somewhat of a comic relief for him after a very stressful day, I didn’t think these boys would appreciate it near as much as he does.

So I was trying to nonchalantly search for this sexually assaulting bug, but I just knew that if the boys happened to see me, it would probably appear that I was trying to feel myself up.

So then I remembered that yesterday, or the day before, I took my bra off and found a dead bug. I wondered was it in my underwear drawer and had died in my bra before I put it on, or was it alive and subsequently was suffocated as I wore my bra throughout the day. Then I felt that I just really didn’t want to know. I hate creepy crawlies.

Then I remembered what happened to me 11 years ago. We had just moved from the city to this more rural area. I was exhausted from unpacking boxes and trying to make our new place seem like our home. I was lying in our new bedroom, when I heard something buzzing around. It was a flying ant. I had never seen a flying ant before. I started to panic, because I really hadn’t had much experience with creepy crawlies before moving here. So I said to myself “Calm down. It’s just one dumb bug. The hall light is on and it’s dark in here and it will probably fly into the hall towards the light. It is not going to bite or sting you. Close your eyes and go to sleep.”

I was just drifting off to sleep when I felt something on my body stinging me. I ran into the bathroom and stripped down, and there was the offensive flying ant. Geez, I am never trusting my self-talk ever again.

Then one morning I woke up and found that a spider had bit me on my boob which subsequently became infected and took a number of weeks to heal and left a beautiful scar (which matches the set of scars I previously received when a midwife put hot packs on me to stimulate labor, which by the way did nothing to stimulate labor but left a matched set of burn scars. I just know when I go in for physicals the doctor is thinking “don’t ask, I don’t want to hear any sordid stories”).

I am getting just a little bit tired of horny bugs.

Carcinogens, E-Coli and a Mooky Nose

2008-05-08T19:41:00.001-07:00

I am a Bear den leader at Cub Scouts, and today was our den meeting. Consequently, when I got home it was dinner time, and there was no dinner to be found anywhere. I was planning hamburgers, but I just needed to put my feet up a minute because Cub Scouts wears me out. You know, nine-year-old boys and all. Fine, I only have one Bear, but he wears me out, okay?! Besides, there’s all that rural traffic. It’s getting worse every day. Today there were like four cars at the stop sign.

So I was at home, putting my feet up, sitting at the computer checking my boys’ school, looking at the news, reading e-mails (okay, okay, I was also checking blogs, but I had to see how many comments Sue the navel gazer had achieved). That’s when Clarissa came in crying.

Crying I can handle, but crying with a green runny nose is just too much. I mean, this mucus was hanging down past her top lip. Ugh, didn’t anybody wipe her nose the whole time I was gone? Then she wiped her nose with her hand and smeared the green slime up way past her cheek bone, which then stringed out as if it was cheese on a pizza when she pulled her hand away from her face.

She held her arms out to me asking silently for me to hold her. Hunh, hunh, hunh. I love her, but not her snot. I held her at arm’s length and asked her why she was crying. “I hungy”. Okay, I can fix that. I get up and go to the kitchen, eliciting more crying as she thought I was ignoring and abandoning her.

I threw a frozen hamburger patty on the fire and turned it up high. I coaxed the hamburger “Hurry, hurry, hurry”. But then, somewhere in the recesses of my addled brain, a memory surfaced which was that meat cooked at a high temperature, until the edges are crispy, have carcinogens. Hmm. I looked at the hamburger, I looked at Clarissa. The nose excrement was now hanging past her belly button. Burn, baby, burn!

Well, it was looking pretty done on the outside, but when I pierced the center, it was still more than a little pink. An E-coli threat. I looked at the patty, and I looked at my baby. She was holding her hands out to me again. Hey, we’ll say a blessing on the hamburger and, Voila, no E-coli, right?

I cut her burger in fourths, cleaned her face, and set a happy toddler down to eat. She took one bite, spit out the meat, and promptly fell asleep. The dog ate the rest of the hamburger. Eh, the dog can get cancer and e-coli, I don’t care. Besides, she eats the poopy diapers out of the garbage. I’m sure she will survive.

My Hero, My Nacho

2008-05-07T22:06:00.000-07:00

Today Clarissa and I were out running errands all afternoon. That is so much fun to do with a 2-yr-old. I can hardly wait ‘til we get to do that again.

One of our stops was at Sam’s Club. Sam’s Club is like Costco, a membership warehouse. Because I have so many teenagers, I always have an overflowing cart. But today I also had to buy food for the dog. So I picked up a 50 lb bag and I was trying to maneuver it onto the bottom rack, under the main cart. This is quite a feat for any woman to do while also trying to rein in a 2-yr-old. I think I struggled with it for at least five minutes before I was able to get everything under control and situated. During those five minutes, I can’t tell you how many men passed me by, some of them even having to move around me. No one offered any help. I was just a little put out.

It reminded me of when I was first married and 8 ½ months pregnant. I was working at a downtown professional building, 20+ stories tall. We had a garage just for the professionals and their employees at that building. I was driving my first car ever, a Honda Accord. I loved that car. But one day, for some reason, it wouldn’t start. I knew that I could get it started by getting the car rolling and popping the clutch. But I had to get it backed out of the parking space and rolling in the right direction. Now, you would think that professional men, seeing a very pregnant woman pushing a car, would be gallant and stop and offer to help. Nope. It was quittin’ time and they had a beer, a recliner and a remote calling their name. It was 4:30 and by 4:35 they wanted to hit that freeway to avoid any traffic jam. So there were many men who went around me and my car as I tried not to go into labor while pushing my car. I was very shocked.

That’s one of the many reasons why I love my Nacho. He is gallant. He stops to help everyone he sees in need. He is my knight in shining armor. When he gets up early, he does my dishes. When I come home with groceries, he’s out there unloading them. If he ever sees you stranded on the side of the road, he will stop and help you, if you let him. If you cause a grocery display to tumble to the ground and roll all over, he will be there to help you gather them up and put it together again.

He is my hero, my Nacho.

Randomness

2008-05-06T18:10:00.004-07:00

I consider myself a pretty easy-going person. It only takes my kids or my husband to ruffle my feathers (of course, that’s my entire life right now). But I have a new pet-peeve that I need to work through. My new pet-peeve is WORD VERIFICATION!

I absolutely hate it when I have written some lengthy comment (because I know that really everyone is interested in my comments, probably more than the original post, which is why I bless so many blogs with my comments, as a type of charitable act to bring more readers to other blogs, which is why they don’t read mine, because I don’t comment on my own) and then I have to go through the word verification. I know, I KNOW I am reading them correctly. I used to be a transcriptionist, so I know that probably I don’t have too many type-o’s on my good days. But sometimes those fat letters get squished up next to the skinny letters, and probably there are too many smudges on my screen from my kids who absolutely know better than to touch my screen, and then it takes me like three tries to get the dumb word right, and usually by then my comment is lost somewhere in cyberspace, and I do not feel like writing the whole thing over again and go through the dumb word verification again.

Didn’t you all think that my NIL’s nacho cake was amazing?! If you would like to see some more of her fun cakes, just click here. She gave me permission to let you all see her cakes. Let me know what you think of them.

One of the chickees tagged me for a meme the other day. I was really pretty excited because it’s my first tag. I blessed her post with my comment too. It was just a little Miss-America-style screaming and crying and ranting that she picked me. It felt like I had broached another official blogger hurdle.

So, in case you are interested, the meme is below:

Four Jobs I’ve Held

Medical Receptionist
Sales Associate
Word Processor
At Home Medical Transciptionist

Four Movies I could watch over and over and over

1. While You Were Sleeping
2. Return To Me
3. Fiddler On The Roof
4. Monsters, Inc.

Four Places I’ve Lived

1. Spain
2. Idaho
3. Utah
4. Arizona

Four TV Shows I like to waste my time on

Um, we only get CBS, so occasionally I will watch

1. Morning News
2. Afternoon News
3. Evening News
4. Nightly News

Four of My Favorite Foods

1. Crème Brulee
2. Great Wall of Chocolate (P.F. Chang’s)
3. Anything Nacho cooks
4. Beef Stew

Four Places I Would Like To Be

1. Manhattan
2. Hawaii
3. San Diego
4. Europe

Okay, so now I tag four others. Here’s the hard part. Are they going to roll their eyes? Will they think this is so dumb? Will they scream and cry and say “Thank you, thank you, thank you”?

I tag Mrs. Smith, Karen the Kiwibyrd, Suburban Correspondent (if she doesn’t think it’s too immature and a waste of time, because she’s really becoming very popular over on her blog) and The Badness herself, if she visits anymore.

I know it seems silly, but really, it gives me something to look forward to in my pathetic little life, and I get to know you a little better, and pretend that I can count you as my friends (except you Mrs. Smith, because you have to be my friend whether you want to or not, take it up with mom).

Family Night

2008-05-05T21:36:00.000-07:00

Tonight is Monday night. Around our house, that means Family Home Evening. We have set aside Monday night as the time for our family to gather around for dinner and an evening of activity which could include a lesson of some type to better us, maybe a game or a movie, or maybe just go to the park and play soccer. The idea is that Monday night is a special night reserved for family. Sometimes we invite other families or friends to join us. Tonight we invited my girlfriend who has no family, and another couple who have no children. They became part of our family. So we had quite a houseful.

After dinner, when we gather in the front room, we usually start with a song and a prayer. The song helps us to quiet down and become reverent for the prayer. Tonight we let Clarissa pick the song to get things started. She picked “The Eensy Weensy Spider”. Well, it wasn’t exactly what you could call a reverent song, or a prayer song, but it was her turn to pick, and that song was important to her, so we sang “The Eensy Weensy Spider”.

Honestly, I was almost brought to tears. I certainly had chills. There was a room filled to the brim with five adults, four teenagers and one preteen all singing “The Eensy Weensy Spider”, including the hand actions. All of this was to the great delight of my 2-yr-old Clarissa who was grinning from ear to ear and absolutely glowing with delight that we were all singing her song.

I’m feeling pretty wrapped around her finger.

In Honor Of My Nacho

2008-05-04T20:50:00.003-07:00

This is a cake that my niece-in-law made and decorated. I am very impressed.

Me Time

2008-05-04T18:45:00.001-07:00

Yesterday was supposed to be the perfect “me time” day. Nacho was gone to do some outdoor scout training; Obi took Simba, Bobby Jo and Brielle to pick up new glasses and go to the movies; Pablo (the awesome pool boy) was helping out with an eagle service project. So I pulled out a book for leisure reading, opened the front page, and started my journey into escapism. Somehow I had forgotten about Clarissa. After all, I’ve only had two-and-a-half years to get used to having her around.

I was really getting into my Cinderella-type story. She was born to two loving parents, but the father was killed and so she was raised by a single mom, struggling to make ends meet. When she’s a teen, her mother gives birth to a baby sister, and then the mother is killed leaving our Cinderella-type heroine to raise her sister along with herself. How tragic. I was ready for the nitty-gritty, put-your-shoulder-to-the-wheel type of hard work, when I heard . . .

“Mo-o-o-m!”

Wha-what? Oh yeah, Clarissa. She’s standing on top of the TV. So I get her down, put her in front of a movie (I know, bad mom!) and return to my book.

Our heroine has worked her way through cosmetology school and is now working at a very up-scale salon, making a name for herself. She has a client that wants her to come work as his assistant in his gigantic mansion, and he just happens to have a moody, broody, handsome, rich son. Oh boy, was this going to be good.

“Mom, coley” (Clarissa’s way of saying “Hey, I found a marker and I’ve painted my fingernails and my toenails and the bathroom door and the bathroom toilet and the wall just outside of the bathroom.”). So, I clean everything up, put the marker way, way up high, set Clarissa down with her puzzles, and I get back to my book.

They squabble and fight and kiss and finally decide they might just love each other. Things are looking very up-beat for our modern Cinderella, when along comes her long-lost, first love to complicate things. Oh no, what will she do now?

“Mom, hungy? Wan eat?” Clarissa made us lunch, and she was covered head to toe in peanut butter and jelly. I put my book away, cleaned up my precious sweetie, and decided to spend "me time" with Clarissa, eating PB&J sandwiches.

So, my book will have to wait for a more convenient moment. But as I read, I will be remembering the fun afternoon I had with Clarissa, because there are jelly smears all over my book.

People With Badges Part II

2008-05-03T19:49:00.003-07:00

My experience with the highway patrolman affected me greatly. For weeks whenever I would notice a car that remotely resembled one used by those in uniform, it would send me into a panic. I can’t tell you how many times my heart was thrown into hyper-palpitations over the fire chief’s car. My hands went clammy every time I saw the white car with a mirror spotlight that cruises the same roads I do. But when it turned out that I was actually in the vicinity of a policeman or highway patrolman, I went into true panic mode.

At any sighting of an officer, I would immediately go down the list:

Cruise control on (check)
Seatbelts on (check)
Registration and proof of insurance (check)

One Afternoon I was out running errands with kids in tow. I had to make a right turn out of the drugstore parking lot, drive 20 feet and turn left into the grocery store parking lot. I noticed a police patrol car and the usual panic started up. I said to myself “This is ridiculous. You used your signal in a timely manner. You aren’t speeding. Quit being so paranoid.”

So I turned into the parking lot, and the patrol car turned in after me and flipped their lights on. Great! So I DID NOT GET OUT OF MY CAR, got my license ready and rolled down the window. It was a woman this time. She barely looked at my license when I handed it to her, and she looked around inside the car and then looked at me with a somewhat amused look on her face.

“Is everything alright in here?”

Yes.

Somewhat chuckling she asked again “Are you sure everyone is okay? There’s nothing wrong here?”

Somewhat confused I told her again that we were all okay.

“We received a 9-1-1 call about your suburban. The caller was quite upset. They said that someone had written in the dust of the back window the message ‘Help me, I’ve been kidnapped.’ So I just needed to check it out and make sure you were okay.”

I turned around and looked at my kids, and there was Brielle, looking down very sheepishly. I love my daughter, I love my daughter, I love my daughter.

I’m happy to report that for the past eight years I haven’t been pulled over again. Not even for beating my daughter (which I didn't do, but came close to really feeling like it).

The Highway Patrolman

2008-05-02T10:18:00.003-07:00

Voices you will hear in the following narrative:

Me: The parent driving the Suburban, and perfectly capable of handling the situation.

Thoughts: What I was thinking.

Brielle: Not yet a teenager, therefore loving and helpful and kind and willing.

Simba: Too young to be in the front seat, and too young to care whether he’s supposed to be in the front seat or not.

Bobby Jo: Rascally toddler who loves playing Houdini in the child carseat.

Officer Allen Pederman*: Highway patrolman

Setting – mom driving on freeway to Dr appointment, going WITH THE FLOW OF TRAFFIC so as not to be noticed going less than ten miles an hour over the speed limit.

Brielle: "Mom, Bobby Jo climbed out of his carseat again and is in the back seat with me."

Me: "Okay, could you please buckle him into the seatbelt until I can fix it?"

Simba immediately unclicks seatbelt and jumps from middle seat to front seat.

Me: "What are you doing?"

Simba: "Well, Bobby Jo got to trade seats."

Me: "Okay, well put the seatbelt on."

Simba: "I can’t, it’s stuck."

Me: "What? Shoot! Okay, let me try" (reach across car, can’t reach seatbelt, unbuckle myself to reach further, belt is indeed stuck so I take next exit to remedy situation).

Brielle: "Mom, there’s a policeman following us with his lights on."

Me: "What?! Dang!"

Okay, we have frontage road traffic merging with off-ramp traffic, so I will pull over in the convenience store parking lot on the corner so everyone will be safe. Hmm, what do I do? I guess I will go talk with him (open door and walk towards officer).

Pederman: "WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU ARE DOING?! Get back in your car!"

Whoa! (Heart pounding, get back in car and wait while officer peers in mirror and comes up cautiously).

Pederman: (after asking for license and making sure it was me in the picture) "Do you realize how fast you were going?"

Me: "Uh, no. I was just driving with everyone else."

Pederman: "64 in a 55 mph zone. You also didn’t pull over in a timely manner, and you endangered my life when I had to drive through the intersection."

Your life was endangered when you had to turn right at a light? Wasn’t driver’s training included with highway patrol training?

Pederman: "Proof of insurance."

Me: "Uh, we bought a new car yesterday and the proof of insurance is in the new car."

Pederman: (shaking head and looking disgusted) "You have a toddler that should be in a carseat and is in the backseat."

Me: (trying to lighten up the situation) "I know, he keeps climbing out. My husband and I have even tried tying him in. We are considering using duct tape next time to see . . "

Pederman: (interrupting) "ARE YOU THE PARENT?!"

Note to self – no sense of humor.

Me: "Um, yes."

Pederman: "Then I’m sure you can come up with something to make the child obey."

Second note to self – the idiot obviously has no children, therefore is clueless.

Pederman: "You are not in a seatbelt, and the child next to you is not in a seatbelt."

Me: (no more jokes) "I was pulling off the freeway to fix that."

Pederman: "You have a crack in your windshield, your mirrors aren’t adjusted properly, you haven’t vacuumed the car in over a month, you are overweight, you look like a redneck, . . . ."

I finally left with five tickets, two warnings, and a serious case of post traumatic stress syndrome.

Judge (who incidentally did have a sense of humor and grandchildren) dismissed all the tickets except speeding.

* The officer’s name was changed slightly to protect the chauvinistic, power hungry, S.O. – uh, ahem, to protect him.

May Nablopomo

2008-05-01T08:03:00.002-07:00

So, call me crazy, but I signed up for Nablopomo again. Who knows, maybe I will actually complete it. What? You doubt my ability? Look, just because it’s the end of the pseudo-homeschool school year and we are doing just a little catch-up; and just because I have neglected my house for a while and I need to play catch-up there also; and just because I’ve neglected my body for decades and I’m playing major catch-up with that; and just because we are heading out of state to play a little FIL-sitting; and just because I have a 2-yr-old that is constantly begging to go to the park and “swing, swide”; all of this does not mean I can’t complete a full month of posting.

Yes, I hear all the voices telling me not to try, that I can’t possibly do it, that Nacho is really going to feel neglected (not tonight dear, I have to blog) (I had to put that in because that’s what he said to me one night and challenged me to put it in the blog - like that’s a challenge – gimme a break). But what do I say to all those voices? SHADDUP! I AM GOING TO DO IT!

Okay Mrs. Smith, the challenge is on. You are going to go down! No heart attacks this month, no attempted suicides either. Eagle projects are behind us. I am woman, hear me ROAR!

Post #1 for May is now history.

Twitter-Pated

2008-04-27T21:56:00.001-07:00

It seems everyone is all a-twitter about twitter. I’ve heard quite a bit about it lately. However I didn’t quite understand what it was. So I did a little research. I went to the twitter site and watched a video explaining what twitter is and how to use it.

Twitter is considered a new keep-in-touch tool. From what I understand, you pick a list of people you want to broadcast to, or read about, and you make short, limited entries about what you are doing at that particular moment of the day. My husband and I, after viewing the introductory video, just looked at each other in amazement that some people would waste so much time in their day following what other people do.

Can you imagine if I posted even every hour about the things I’ve been doing? It would read something like this:

“Just pushed the alarm clock sleep button for the fifth time.”

“Tried to talk to teenaged daughter but she screamed and grabbed a dirty dish from under her bed to throw at me.”

“Went into teenaged boys room but had to leave immediately to search for gas mask.”

“I just finished eating third bowl of ice cream. Do you think anyone will notice the carton half empty?”

“Nacho and I tried for some ‘alone time’ but toddler was screaming and kicking at locked door the entire time.”

Come on! If you are stuck reading about my activities your whole day, I think you seriously need therapy and to get a life.

However, I will admit that there is one twitter-like site that I enjoy. A gal that lives in New York has an “on-the-go” blog. Nacho and I have fallen in love with NYC, often feel homesick for NYC, and I enjoy it when she posts that she is currently on the Washington Bridge or posts a picture of Times Square. It brings back great memories and gives me ideas of where to go when we next visit NYC.

This weekend I read an article about Twitter that could change my opinion. A student journalist was in Egypt covering a protest when he found himself in jail. He “twittered” the word “arrested”, that’s it, and all his friends and family went into action to save him. He was, indeed, saved.

So now I’m thinking about what I can “twitter” so people will come to my aid and rescue.

“Dishes in sink dirty”

“Laundry in washer soured”

“All out of mad money”

Hmmm, I may have to re-think this whole twitter thing. It could be useful after all.

Great Big Ugly Beetle

2008-04-25T17:03:00.002-07:00

I know it's spring. How do I know? All the critters are out. I'm not sure if they are migrating, or just hatching and my home is in their path, or what. All I know is that millions of bugs are all over my property.

I am a city girl. I grew up in a home that had regular exterminator visits. In fact, the exterminator guy was family. He came into our home, listened to us practice piano, watched shows with us, gave us advise. Okay, we weren't really that close. But he was a montly visitor to our home. The worst bugs we ever had in our home was an occasional little black beetle that we called "tickle bugs", an earwig or two, and maybe some daddy longlegs. Then I moved out to the country.

One day I was hanging clothes out on the line, because we live in the country with strong sunshine and no homeowner's association telling us we can't. The clothes dried in 30 minutes or less. I couldn't hang the next load out before the first load was dry. So I was busily hanging clothes out when I felt a fly on my foot and ankle. It kept coming back so I looked down at my feet and I saw hundreds of ugly bugs crawling all over the ground and all over my feet.

I ran into the house like a screaming maniac. All the kids wondered why their normally laid-back, non-emotional mother was all of the sudden in hysterics. I showed them the bugs, and being mostly boys, they thought it was the coolest thing in the world. I could still feel them crawling on me. And I still had laundry to hang out.

I had my two oldest watch from the door. They were to alert me if any bug was getting close to crawling on me. As I hung the clothes I was constantly lifting first the left leg, then the right, then the left, then the right, so that no bug could get on me. I'm sure the neighbors thought I was doing some type of karate balance moves.

Needless to say, the laundry was done, and after about three days the bugs were gone. But this year they are back. Does anyone recognize them from my picture? Will they bite me and poisen me? Will they come into my house tonight and eat me? It certainly brings back memories of movies such as "The Birds", "The Frogs", and other ugly, scary movies I watched as a child.

Well, I have more laundry to do. For the next few days I will definitely be using the dryer!

Your Chance To Help Me With My Dilemma (and isn't that what your life is all about anyway, solving my problems)

2008-04-25T09:01:00.005-07:00

Remember when I was bemoaning the fact that I didn’t know what my passion was, didn’t know what to do with my life (click here for previous moaning)? Well, here is a perfect example of someone finding their passion. This gal knew what she wanted to do when she was FIVE YEARS OLD! Her name is Lorie Line and she’s an amazing pianist and entrepreneur. I’m sure it was what my mother was hoping for when she paid for years and years of piano lessons.

So, could someone please tell me how to create an empire out of sitting around with friends and loved ones putting puzzles together and eating chocolate? No, huh? Welllll, how about reading a really good novel while Nacho gives me a foot rub. Can I become a multi-millionaire doing that?

Where is my drive?! Where is my passion?! Where?!

I would love to hear your success stories. Maybe I can get some ideas from you.

Share please.

Just For The Record

2008-04-24T13:00:00.004-07:00

I received a really cool e-mail from a friend, and wanted to share it with everyone. But I couldn't cut and paste because of all the pictures. I knew it was a "forward" (which for the record I hate and don't normally read but it didn't look like an ordinary forward). So I googled it, and low and behold, it has been shared on these different blogs already.

The Wife Of A Texan
Rebecca's Blog
The Gab Blog

Take your pick. They all are the same. But it introduces you to three more bloggers, which is what we all really need, right?

And, also just for the record, I wouldn't mind a second wife under the conditions mentioned in the above blogs.

P. S. Author of "Just For the Record": The Gab Blog

Strange Things Are Happenin' Here, Ain't No Doubt About It!

2008-04-24T12:21:00.003-07:00

Cell phonecall to Nacho after leaving tire store:

Me: Hi Sweetie!

Nacho: Hello. Did they finish with the tire?

Me: Yep.

Nacho: How’s it drive?

Me: Umm, hold on, let me build up some speed (I was entering the freeway on the on-ramp). Uh, it seems okay, except there’s a lot of play in the steering wheel.

BIG UGLY SOUND LIKE METAL ON METAL.

Nacho: Hey! Are you okay? Were you just in an accident?

Me: I don’t know. Something happened. I’ve pulled to the side of the freeway.

Nacho: Where are you? I’ll be right there. Are you okay?

Me: Yeah, we’re okay. Hey, there’s a wheel flying through the air. It must be 50 feet up. It’s just spinning through the air, way up there. (Realization dawns) OH. MY. GOSH! That’s our tire! Our tire is flying through the air!

Nacho: What!!!!! I’ll be there in a minute. I’m calling the tire place right now! I’ll call you back.

Minute later:

Nacho: Are you sure you’re okay? Is the baby okay?

Me: Yeah, yeah. We’re fine. But there’s an ambulance coming on the other side. It’s stopping just a few feet behind us. I wonder if someone called? Wait, there’s a car stopped on the other side. People are looking in the bushes by the car. Do you think our tire hit someone and caused an accident? Oh My Gosh! I think our tire hit that car.

Nacho: I’m almost to the ambulance. I’ll call you back. STAY WHERE YOU ARE!

Later:

Nacho: The car was hit with the tire and the airbag deployed, but the driver is missing.

Me: What?! The driver was thrown from the car?

Nacho: No. He ran off. He abandoned the car. It’s a rental car, and whoever was in it didn’t want to be found, and he ran off. Are you okay?

Me: (No injury, but emotions of what just happened and what could have happened setting in) Yeahahahahaha Waaaaa . . .

What Motivates Me To Lose Weight

2008-04-23T17:55:00.002-07:00

Fluffy Chicks: You have read this post already. You are free to move on.

Normally I’m a fairly private person. I share really personal stuff with close family and one or two close friends. But I will share the following experience with all of you because I only know one person personally on my blog (my sister, clear over in India, and I think she would enjoy the entertainment value of this story) and I don’t anticipate ever meeting any of you face-to-face. If I should ever meet any of you, please do not ever, ever, ever, ever, ever refer to this experience.

A good-sized group of families from my church invited my family to join them for a week of fun camping on the beaches of Rocky Point, Mexico. I am normally not a camper and don’t like vacationing with swinging, skinny, active people because I feel that I stick out like a sore thumb. Well, my husband borrowed a cheap, old, pop-up tent trailer to encourage me to go. I decided not to be a stick-in-the-mud, threw caution to the wind, and I went.

It was so thoughtful of my husband to get the trailer. But it was not sturdy. We decided not to sleep in the same pop-out since we were both large. However, one afternoon when the kids were busy on the beach and some of us adults were languishing and visiting in camp, my husband got that certain gleam in his eyes and asked me to follow him into the tent trailer. Oh that wiley man. Before I knew it, and against my better judgment, he had persuaded me to cuddle, in the same pop-out, in the buff, in broad daylight, in a rickety tent trailer with a flimsy door lock. Before we knew it, the pop-out collapsed, the trailer tipped and a concerned five-year-old was quickly pulling on the door to see if we were okay. One wise-guy friend cracked “Hey you two! That ain’t the love boat you know!”

This is what motivates me to lose weight.

(Sounds eerily like it could be Lucille Ball!)

CNN Story

2008-04-23T17:09:00.001-07:00

CNN

I think the backlash on this will be immense.

Subtle Hint

2008-04-20T00:20:00.002-07:00

Nacho: Hey.

Me: Hey.

Nacho: Watcha doin?

Me: Reading.

Nacho: Blogs?

Me: Yeah.

Nacho: Do you think if I started a blog you would talk to me and pay attention to me?

Is he trying to tell me something?