Papa

It's father's day here in the USA. I am pretty certain it was a holiday given us by Hallmark. It's not a bad thing. Consider all the people employed by manufacturers of singing bass, silk ties, golf clubs, grill implements, and house slippers. Having Father's Day to cycle through all that inventory is a boon. Walked into the hardware store or sporting goods store lately?

Today, men across this great nation will fire up grills and cook outside -- not because they want to per se -- but because it is expected of them as fathers. There is something really primal about grilling food outside. I think it speaks to a man's inner Neanderthal. Bring home meat, make fire, burn meat, feed young.

Years ago we were all home for somebody's birthday for whatever reason. Dad wanted to get a gas grill for his Father's Day present. Oh the debates! My brother the chef dissuaded my dad from that choice. Yes, the fire comes on instantly. Yes, the clean up is easier. But Dad, the FLAVOR! My brothers and I ran over Dad with that one. You can't beat the flavor of the smokey carcinogens on a good piece of meat. We got Dad a Weber grill, and to make it even more ridiculous, we got a special edition Homer Simpson grill. To his credit, my chef brother made the best prime rib I've ever tasted on that grill to break that puppy in. In hindsight, I suppose we should have let Dad have the grill he wanted -- but in his way, he let us have what we wanted, just like always.

I have a father's day card that I bought ages ago. It was one of those that I meant to send to my dad but forgot and then figured I'd just send to him the next year. It is a little embarrassing how many cards like that I have. What I didn't know is that the next year never came for me. So this card is like a bad penny. It just keeps showing up -- a little emotional grenade that can derail me at a moment's notice.

This Christmas Eve marks the 10th anniversary of my dad's passing. The soul crushing grief has passed for me. It is still accessible though, and no less surprising. I remember watching a scene from Gray's Anatomy (a television show that I never got swept up into so I don't know the character's names) but one of the characters had lost his dad and said, " I don't know how I'm supposed to live without him." And the other person in the scene who had disclosed that she lost her father years ago said, "Me too."

It has been nearly a decade of Fathers Days for me with only my kids' dad to think about. And he's a fantastic dad. I chose incredibly well. I remember what sealed it. We were still a very new couple, but went to visit his family in LA. His niece was maybe 2 years old at the time and he sat on the floor with the limited toys at his parents' house and turned a beach pail and shovel into a hat and comb, a bowl and scoop, and a pirate's stump and hook, for his niece. She was a little shy at first because her uncle had been away for school. But within a few minutes, he was her favorite human being.

He revels in our children. Truly enjoys their company. He reminds me that they're interesting and fantastic people -- not just my daily grind. And after all these years, he still makes me laugh.

To celebrate this father's day we're going to grill up some steak, take in a show, and then head out to his favorite restaurant to get a heart attack inducing burger. Burn meat, feed young. Indeed.

Rodents

My mother is visiting. One of her most quoted quotable was in relation to my pet rats. I told her that we bought them from the pet store and she said, "You *paid* for them?" Did she really think that we went outside, trapped some wild rats, stuck them in a cage and told the kids, "Here's your new pets!"?

This morning when we were talking about the rats and how I still missed them, I told Mom that unfortunately we can't get pet rats anymore. At least, not as long as we have Holly in the family. She asked why.

Me:  Holly is a rat terrier. Rats are her...

Hubby: racial enemy. Holly gets an extra hit die roll against them.

Dinner

Me:  Today is the Feast of the Holy Family.

Him:  We get to eat the holy family?

Why not?

It isn't her fault that she doesn't spell this right. It sounds like it should be spelled with an "h." In fact, I wouldn't be against her writing a proposal that we do add the "h," to Wyoming. Think of it:  WHYOMING. Why not? In fact, as my husband says, if they had spelled Whyoming that way, it would be logical to name the capital Whynot.

Fortunately, my husband caught the error and before my daughter went off to take her geography test, he reminded her not to put in the "h." Aside from that erroneous h, my daughter had this nailed. States & their capitals -- Mrs. Sua from St. Joes would be impressed with my daughter. Mrs. Sua gave me an "F" on that test in the 6th grade. Hey, I got Hawaii & its capital. 

When my daughter came home, Hubby asked how she thought the test went. She said that she think she did awesome. Then he asked if she put the "h" into Wyoming. She stopped in her tracks. Oh bummer, she said, at least I'll get a 3 (instead of the 4, equivalent of an A+). 

So on Friday she came home totally thrilled. 

"Daddy, you're WRONG!!! Whyoming does have an H! My teacher didn't mark it wrong!" 

When he showed her that indeed, Wyoming doesn't have an "h," she made him promise not to let her teacher know. She wants to preserve her 4. 

Wile te onorable ting to do is let er teacer know of te mistake, I tink instead, I'll just sacrifice some H's out of words to make up for te extra one my daugter put into er state test. 

Our legs are broken

I fell asleep last night probably around midnight. I'm reading the book Nurtureshock. If you haven't heard of it, it is one of those books that will change the way you talk to your kids. Right now I'm on the section about sibling rivalry and am astonished by it. There I go, all tangent-y. Sorry about that.

Anyway, around 1 a.m., Hubby woke me from a sound sleep and told me that he finally got an email from the producer of Starship Excelsior. Woohoo! He read me the entire email. He then retrieved my phone and read me the email that also accepted me to the Starship Excelsior cast. I admit, I was pretty excited to hear all of this, albeit rather groggy. I fell back asleep to dreams of Star Trek podcast stardom. Or at least bit parts.

Then this morning my son reminded me of what date it is. That's right people. April 1st. The boy is lying in wait for his sister to come home from a playdate to give her some fake (but non-poisonous) chocolate milk. Realization hit me that my husband might have been waiting until after midnight to give me the fake news that we were bound for stardom.

The jerk!

I ran downstairs and demanded he show me these alleged emails from the producer of Star Trek Excelsior. Well, turns out I should have trusted my man. Here is my acceptance letter.

Hello!

I'm James Heaney. I executive produce Star Trek: Excelsior (assuming "executive produce" is syntactical, which I assure you it is not. "Executively produce," maybe. But not "executive produce." Anyhow, I've already digressed). We received your audition last week, and it's been sitting in my inbox ever since waiting for a spare evening when I'd have a chance to listen to it.

That evening was tonight. Long story short, it was a fine audition. I like your voice, I like your microphone, and female voice actors are always in short supply on Excelsior. In short, I'm grateful to you for taking the plunge and sending in your audition. And I'm pleased to tell you that you "passed."

What happens next is, we put you on our directory list. Your name will sit there waiting for a part to open up that we believe fits your voice better than any other on the list (this usually takes a number of months). Since Excelsior usually has its main characters at least six months before an episode is released, the first roles to open up will almost definitely be very minor parts. If you do a good job with those smaller parts, and get your lines done on time, you'll remain in the cast rotation indefinitely. It'll be great.

Now, of course, most people who audition want to ultimately land in a major role on the show. And, to be honest, most people who stay on the list long enough do eventually end up playing a significant part. But the availability of major roles is unpredictable, and really has a great deal to do with luck. My point being, I can't promise any big parts in your future. It could definitely happen, but, as with any show, the parts we are trying to fill from episode to episode are usually the bit parts. If bit parts are okay with you, though, we're looking forward to working with you! (This little disclaimer may seem silly and obvious to you, but you'd be surprised at the high casting expectations from new auditioners that we've had to deflate over the years.)

Like I said, solid voice/solid mic/female is a triple threat here at Excelsior. Thanks for sending in your audition and welcome aboard! We really couldn't do it without generous people like you volunteering to help keep the Excelsior flying!

Sincerely,
James Heaney
Executive Producer
Star Trek: Excelsior

Hubby's acceptance letter went on an on about the "reckless" willingness he has to throw himself emotively into a role. I got only the trifecta of having a good voice, good mike, and being a girl. *sigh* Truth be told though, Hubby is the one with the real talent at voice acting. He's pretty amazing.

Just wait until he gets cast as a Klingon. Knock your socks off. Kaplah!

Broken legs

Slowly but surely, I'm joining the modern world. About a year ago, my husband bought me an ipod. Not a huge swanky one, but a nano. It was the model that only briefly made the shelves. Not the long rectangle but the short squat one. Anyway, within the past couple of months I have discovered the podcast.

What a wonderful world!!!

While the youth of today are listening to their own "mixed tape" of life, I'm catching up on NPR programs that I may have missed: Selected Shorts, The Moth, This American Life, & Wait Wait Don't Tell Me. I've also discovered non-NPR shows like Comedy DeathRay and the Adam Carolla Show. What has really been fun are the radio dramas. I used to love those when I was a kid, sneaking on the radio at 10 p.m. to listen to the spooky stories. Now I get to listen to Star Trek stories and Zombie stories. Hubby and I have really enjoyed listening to the ZombiePodcast: We're Alive. One of the Star Trek stories we've been listening to is about the Starship Excelsior. What's fun about that podcast is that they're always looking for new voice talent.

Hubby and I have decided to audition.

Go ahead and make fun, but you've got to listen to Hubby's Warf before you make any judgement. Years and years of reading kids books and making silly voices for the different characters has been great rehearsal for this attempt.

The Excelsior producers have two selections from Shakespeare to let us hang ourselves. We have the introductory passage from Romeo & Juliet. Then there is Hamlet's soliloquy -- you know, the famous "to be or not to be" one. We chose the latter.

At first, I did my best Filipino accent and read through the former passage. I thought it was pretty good. Hubby couldn't stop giggling when he listened to it. So instead, I submitted the second passage. I tried to read it just like myself since I figure it would be easier to sustain a voice if I just played myself. Hubby read his in his Gandalf voice. He did Warf for a while but realized that it was hard to emote anything but gruffness when you're trying to be Warf.

Sadly, I don't know how to post an audio file to my blog. If I figure it out, I'll put our attempts at stardom here.

Sitcoms

My 12 year old boy made my jaw drop on the floor today. In modern terminology, what followed was a parenting epic fail.

We were having a perfectly lovely dinner. We were eating fish tacos made with soft tortillas. Hubby was trying to hand the boy one and apparently the boy wasn't catching on. So Hubby said, "Just take it and put it in your mouth."

To which the boy said, "That's what she said."

You might have heard that line on the sitcom, "The Office," as a crude punchline which turns the most innocent word or phrase instantly into something filthy. While certainly, a line like that delivered in my husband's office with a bunch of grown men around would have brought guffaws of laughter. But delivered out of the baby face of my child, it brought its own level of crazy.

My husband said, " I need you to know that was inappropriate. I have no more patience for you today."

I was shocked and tried not to lose my cool too much.

I started with being reasonable: "It is my fondest hope that you will grow up to be a good kind man. That you will be respectful and honest. That you won't be one of those guys who don't respect women and treat them like objects. That joke you told was crude and objectifying. As a guy with two sisters, I'd hope you'd be more respectful. I'd hope you'd be protective of your sisters and in turn be respectful to other girls and women."

Pretty good, right? I should have stopped there. But no, here comes the side of epic with that fail.

"I know you're going through a lot of changes right now and you're probably thinking about sex a lot. Here on the island, we hear of parties teens are having sex just for fun. Like instead of playing Playstation they're having sex. But it cheapens the experience and you end up objectifying yourself and others if you participate. You have my blessing to masturbate to your heart's content. Actually, save up your pennies and buy some good quality lube. I think it is more important to get rid of that frustration. Just j that stuff off. (okay, that might not have been my exact words but you get the drift.) I'd rather you jerk off than be a jerk."

The boy was completely mortified. He didn't even ask for seconds on his dinner. He just kind of left the table in a daze. My husband, for his part, was smirking in the kitchen while listening to my major tangent. Later, he told me that I was a freak because I have masturbation on the brain. He only says this because yesterday I had asked him to explain the punchline of a joke I heard on a podcast the other day. It went like this, "If God didn't want us to masturbate, why did He give us ziploc bags, warm grape jelly, and rubber bands?"

I still can't figure that one out.

Midlife crisis

There is nothing quite as effective in making you feel older than organizing old pictures. I finally got to that box in the back of the closet with packets and packets of pictures in it. Some of those pictures were 12 years old. When I look at myself in the mirror, I don't really think I look all that different than I did 10 years ago or 12 years ago, but when faced with the evidence...

So in a rare moment of feeling my age and the insecurity that comes with it, I looked to my husband for reassurance.

Me: You're not going to trade me in for a younger, prettier model, are you?

Him: No, of course not.

At that point he put his arm around me and kissed me on the forehead. He should have stopped there.

Him: I mean, it doesn't mean I won't try. I just don't think it likely I'll succeed.

Dork.

15 years of marriage based on what exactly?

Me: I saw this thing the other night on one of those lawyer shows. It said that there was research that proves that people of different races have difficulty seeing subtle differences in appearance. So that whole thing about Asians all looking alike, that's true. Man, how the heck did we end up together?

Him: I thought you were somebody else.

I gotta admit, I walked right into that one.

Honest Answers

I got tagged by a friend of mine to do this on Facebook and as my blog and FB are linked, I figured I'd post it here and it will eventually be posted there. Here are my answers to this MEME.

Can you fill this out without lying? You've been tagged, so now you need to answer all the questions HONESTLY. At the end, choose at least 8 people to be tagged. Don't forget to tag me!

To do this, copy this entire message, then go to “notes” under tabs on your profile page, paste these instructions in the body of the note, delete my answers, and type yours.

Next, tag 8 people (in the right hand corner of the app). Click publish (at the bottom). Have fun! :)

1.What was the last thing you put in your mouth? Clam chowder that was leftover from last night. OMG I am a good cook. It is the first time I tried making clam chowder and I just tried what I thought would fit. Granted, this isn't like figuring out how to make a souffle but it was a triumph for me.

2.Where was your profile picture taken? At home after a dinner party with my mobile phone -- a Palm Pre. Hubby is getting increasingly annoyed with the Pre because it could be faster about loading apps, etc. but I don't care. It is freakin' awesome that I can answer my email, txt, send pics, etc. I love it!

3.Can you play Guitar Hero? We don't own Guitar Hero but I have played it before. We do own the pads for DDR for our old Xbox which is very similar, except was done with your feet.

4.Name someone who made you laugh today? My good friend Marisa. She did tell me what felching (sp?) was. Before you Google or Bing that word, remember you can't unknow something that you now know. And the visual is simply not pleasant.

5.How late did you stay up last night and why? Around 1am. I was up coughing. Damned cold.

6.If you could move somewhere else, would you? Norway. Just watched SICKO by Michael Moore. The fjords are gorgeous.

7. Ever been kissed under fireworks? Yes. We got married on the Fourth of July. The country celebrates our anniversary with fireworks. At least that is what we tell our kids.

8. Which of your friends lives closest to you? I'm gonna say Sharon. But I haven't taken out a map. It could be Marisa. Not sure.

9. Do you believe exes can be friends? I think you can go back to friendly acquaintances. But true friends? Probably not.

10. How do you feel about Dr Pepper? It is good. It has been over a decade from the diet Dr. Pepper vaca on Kauai that Hubby and I took. We had about 4 days left on the vaca and we went to the grocery store. The "cube" of diet DP was on sale and I couldn't pass up on that price. After 3 days of drinking nothing but diet DP, Hubby and I couldn't touch it without wanting to throw up. I think we left some in the fridge of the hotel room.

11. When was the last time you cried really hard? When Uncle Nofre died last December, I wailed. I mean truly loudly wailed. I still miss him terribly.

12. Who took your profile picture? I did.

13. Who was the last person you took a picture of? Julia's dogs. Does that count as persons? If not, I've got Julia's leg in the picture.

14. Was yesterday better than today? No.

15. Can you live a day without TV? Hubby would disagree with this claim, but yes, I can live without TV.

16. Are you upset about anything? Not right this second. Oh wait, the railing on our deck fell off when it was dumping rain last night. I may have to get into it with my insurance company. But that is about it.

17. Do you think relationships are ever really worth it? Never. jk. Of course.

18. Are you a bad influence? Yeah, most likely. I could be better about cuss words and not losing my temper. I also keep a fairly messy house, as my mother would attest to, so that's not a good influence on my messy kids either. So definitely I'm a bad influence.

19. Night out or night in? In. I'm an old married lady with kids.

21. Who was the last person you visited in the hospital? My mother, last October. She's cancer free now.

22. What does the last text message in your in box say? It was a note from Julia at 8:38am. "Not so fun standing in the rain at a soccer game..."

23. How do you feel about your life right now? These are the good years. I'm living the dream.

24. Do you hate anyone? No

25. If we were to look in your face book inbox, what would we find? Emails from friends. Nothing scandalous.

27. Has anyone ever called you perfect before? Yes. By my dentist. I have beautiful teeth.

28. What song is stuck in your head? Nothing right now. Blessed silence.

29. Someone knocks on your window at 2:00 a.m., who do you want it to be? Paul Gross. I have a crush on that actor. He's on Eastwick on ABC this year. OMG yummy. He also was on Slings and Arrows, which is where I first started crushing on him. He's tall with dark wavy hair and light eyes. What can I say? I have a type.

30.Wanna have grandkids before you’re 50? My son would be in his early twenties then and while it is possible, given that he's gorgeous but (thankfully) awkward, I doubt it. Hubby always jokes that we'll be grandparents in 3 years. (The boy is 12 right now...)

31. Name something you have to do tomorrow? Pick up the boy from a campout.

32. Do you think too much or too little? Too much -- but obsessively on one thing at a time. So the last couple of days it was all Girl Scouts all the time. A couple of weeks ago, it was all dog training all the time.

33. Do you smile a lot? I think so.

34. How many hours a day do you spend on the computer? I think maybe 5 - 6.

35. If you could be anyone else for a day, who would you be? Paul Gross's mistress. jk. Martha Stewart before prison. Well, she wasn't so bad after prison either.

36. Facebook or Twitter? Facebook. I'm tweeting but not really well enough. There are some people who tweet way too much and I end up being deluged by them so I don't like checking too often.

37. Chicken or Beef? Beef. I'm sure I'm a mad cow and will likely turn into a flesh eating zombie if Zombieland is to be believed. Prepare for the zombie apocalypse.

38. Mac or PC? PC

39. Have you ever punched anyone in the face? No

40. Have you ever been punched in the face? Yes, by an old man who was a patient when I was a nurse. I wasn't familiar with him and had not heard that he was violent. He was sitting in a chair out in the hall and the nurse who was caring for him was in the breakroom giving report. He was tearing stuff up and throwing it on the floor so I bent over to pick the stuff up. I got too close and he gave me a fat lip. I was so shocked as I totally wasn't expecting it. He didn't even look angry. Who knows, maybe when I'm old I'll do crazy stuff like punching 20 year old nurses in the face too.

Mommy mouse crazy

Last night we had supper club. It was a fantastic meal with good company and great Sangria! (Thanks Deb and welcome to the club.) Anyway, those of you who have been to my house know that my mother is eternally ashamed of my lack of house keeping skills. I truly do suck at it. It isn't her fault. I'm just bad at it. I also live with 3 agents of chaos plus my husband. That is not to say that I am not a contributor to the clutter, but it is easier to blame it on them than on myself. Plus, I typically don't leave my legos, dolls and reams of artwork lying around the house. But I am getting off point. So this past week and especially Saturday, there was a lot of running around, cleaning up, and getting things ready for the dinner party.

I did a lot of errands yesterday. Princess had a birthday party at the Grand Forest and needed to be picked up at the park afterwards. I also had to get last minute ingredients for the fish tacos which were my contribution to the dinner. Along with prepping and cooking the meal, I had to pick up our babysitter who lives in the next town over. Oh what a day!

So this morning, I woke up to a day which was surprisingly beautiful. Sun was shining but this being Spring, there was still a little bit of chill in the air. I got out of bed and picked up the hoodie that I was wearing yesterday during all my errands. Don't tell me you've never done that -- grabbed something out of the dirty laundry saying to yourself, "What was I thinking to have put that in there..." So don't judge me. I went to the dining room which was looking sparkly clean and I sat to have a leisurely cup of coffee with my darling husband.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw something on my left shoulder -- I thought that my hair must be blowing in the breeze. But wait -- I was inside the house. There was no flippin' breeze. WTF was that?!? I jumped out of my chair ran my fingers through my hair as fast as I could, pulled on the neck of my jacket and screamed, "Oh GOD!!! Oh GOD!!! There's something in my hair!!!" My husband was not compassionate at all but he did look through my hair. While I was on full freak out mode, my back turned towards him, he looked through my hair and yelled, "AAAAHHHHH!!!" in a completely believable panicky fashion. I jumped about 3 feet in the air and start tearing off my jacket and wildly swinging my head around to shake off the nasties in my hair. To which my husband just laughed uncontrollably. He told me that he couldn't resist scaring me. So he calmed me down and proceeded to look through my hair again.

This is what he said to me, "Honey, I don't see anything here. There's nothing here... Oh wait."

Oh. Wait.

Those two words sent me off the deep end again. Again with the screaming, the jumping up and down, the pulling at my clothes and shaking my head around. Meanwhile, my husband was doubled over laughing at me. He later told me that he sincerely thought that there was something there when he said, "Oh wait..." Unlike the panicked "AAAHHHHH!!!" from earlier, he was not just playing with me. He also said that the minute "oh wait," left his mouth, he knew the reaction it was going to get from me.

My sweet daughter came out from her room dressed for school and also refused to look for the bug in my hair. But she sat down in my seat at the table and within a few minutes screamed and ran from the table just like her mother. There was a inchworm on the seat next to hers. That inchworm was probably on my jacket from the previous day. That inchworm scared the bejeesus out of me.

Later, my husband told Princess,"Mommy went crazy. She went eating-your-babies crazy. Like if you were mice, she would have eaten you right up -- that's how crazy she went."

There are only a few times I've seen my husband laughing so hard that he couldn't breathe. This morning was one of them. Face all pink and almost falling on the floor.

I'm glad to have been of entertainment.

Been there

Shopping with kids guarantees that you will visit every bathroom of every store at least twice for any child who needs your assistance. Those that don't need your help will wait until everybody else has gone and then just as you are to leave a store, suddenly announce that he too needs to visit the restroom. This makes a shopping trip that should last only 30 minutes last about 2 hours. At least it feels like 2 hours.

Today we went to Costco and had lunch. I told the family that I was going to the bathroom and asked if anybody wanted to go with me. Nobody did. As is typical, upon my return, Lil'T and Princess both announced that they had to go.

I know this detailed account of our bathroom visits really isn't that interesting to read, but this post is not about us. It is about a mother with 2 kids, likely twins: a boy and girl around 4 years old. I put Teira on the potty when I heard this monologue from outside our stall.

"Libby, I'll just hold the door closed for you. Don't lock it. Your brother and I are waiting. Don't lock the door. I said no. (exasperated sigh after she discovered that Libby had indeed locked the door.) Okay, well hurry up, we're all waiting for you to be finished... Are you done? Libby, I asked if you're done. Well, if you're done, wipe yourself and pull up your pants. I said, pull up your pants. Okay, your brother has to go to the bathroom too. John, don't lock the door. Libby, what are you doing? OH GOD! GET UP OFF THE FLOOR! LIBBY! OH GROSS! GET UP OFF THAT FLOOR THIS INSTANT!!! JOHN, GET UP OFF THE FLOOR. OPEN THIS DOOR RIGHT NOW!"

At this point she started panicking because she couldn't get the door open. Then kids' grandmother asked from outside the bathroom if everything was alright.

"MY KIDS ARE GOING PSYCHO! LIBBY! OPEN THE DOOR THIS INSTANT!"

This mom totally lost it as both her kids were lying on the bathroom floor of the Costco. (You may have the impulse to rub yourself all over with hand sanitizer. Go with that.) She started pounding on the bathroom stall door.

"LIBBY! OPEN THIS DOOR RIGHT NOW!!!" *pound, pound pound* "OPEN THE DOOR! OPEN IT!" Repeat.

Lil'T and I had finished washing our hands so we waited for Princess outside. I didn't want that poor mom to be too embarrassed with us watching. You could tell she had tried to hold it together as much as possible but just couldn't handle both kids peeking out from under the bathroom stall doors. I know that I'd have gone over the edge if I found my kids lying down on the floor of the Costco bathroom. At least it was the ladies room. I've heard horror stories about mens rooms. Hubby says that the bathrooms on the WS Ferries are so filthy that he'd rather hang his butt over the side of the boat than go to the mens rooms. Then again, he may just be telling tales because he hates having to take Lil'T to the bathroom.

The kids must have opened the door because while we were waiting both kids bounced out of the bathroom and that poor mom had returned to normal. She even offered to help them get a drink of water from the fountain.

I'm sure she felt embarrassed, but she's got to know. We've all been there. Every mom of every little kid has been there. At least I have. She doesn't need to feel embarrassed.

In the car, my son was cracking up at the recounting of this mother's harrowing visit to the bathroom. He thought it was so disgusting for those kids to be lying on the floor of the bathroom. This from the same kid who when he was about 4 years old picked up the urinal cake out of the urinal and asked, "What's this?"

Yeah, that urinal cake. The one that everybody pees on. The one that my husband says every guy aims for. That urinal cake.

I didn't burn the boy or douse him in bleach. But I think I used up my entire bottle of hand sanitizer.

I had to rub it all over him and myself just to feel clean again.

I don't care what you say, it's not my fault

My husband has been losing his wallet lately. Okay, twice in the past 2 months. This simply has to stop. Here's the wondrous thing about marriage. What we have is ours, not just his and not just mine either. Ours. So when one of us misplaces our wallets, both of us need to get new credit cards and new ATM cards. Both of us need to be hawkish about watching the credit card statements and such. So when he lost his wallet three days before I left for San Francisco, I was understandably annoyed. (read "pissed off")

The last place he remembered having the wallet was Rite Aid. He paid for something and then we went directly into our car. We thought that he dropped it in the parking lot. I contacted every store in the shopping complex and asked if anyone had turned in a wallet. No such luck. To put a cherry on top of the whole 3 days of preparing for a trip to San Francisco, my son lost his retainer. Great. And to put all the planets into alignment at once, I was PMSing. Dude, it is amazing that I didn't commit murder or start eating puppies I was in such a bad mood. We ended up throwing caution to the wind and didn't cancel our credit card. ATM was canceled so I had no access to cash on the trip. We changed the credit card when I returned from SFO. This turned out to be the right thing to do because the wallet did show up eventually.

I hired some landscapers to take care of the lawn. With Hubby's punishing work schedule lately, yard maintenance (which has never been all that diligent in the first place) has gone to sh*t. The day that Hubby lost his wallet, he played with the girls in the backyard. When the landscapers cleared the knee high growth that was our "lawn," they found Hubby's wallet.

That was last week.

It's like that movie, "Highlander," when they say, "There can be only one." My husband can't have more than one wallet in his possession at one time. Some kind of cosmic thing.

So two days ago, we went to the grocery store after dropping Princess off at gymnastics. When we got to the grocery store, my husband announced that he had misplaced his wallet. He remembers picking it up but when buckling Lil'T into her car seat, he thinks he put it (this is the part that isn't funny to me yet but might become funny in a couple of weeks) on the roof the car.

Are you kidding me?

But here's the best part. He says to me that maybe he didn't put it on the roof of the car. Maybe he put it down when he was putting on his shoes. The reason why he didn't put it in his pocket is because (this is the part where it all becomes my fault so brace yourself) the shorts I bought him don't have pockets. Yeah. My fault.

So we get home and he can't find the wallet. I'm envisioning combing the sides of the roads we drove. I'm thinking that we should cancel the credit cards and ATM cards AGAIN!!! Luckily, he doesn't have to get another license because the recovered wallet still has a valid one in it. To make matters worse, he had taken out about $100 in cash because we had the babysitter coming the next day. Kiss that good-bye immediately.

So we get a phone message on the answering machine from a lady in the next town over. She says that she found a wallet in her newspaper recycling bin and can't figure out how it got there, but if this is Mr. Haddon, please call back. Miraculously the wallet was undisturbed. All the money was still in there. All the cards were still there. Hubby gave the woman a small reward to thank her for her trouble. Here's where it gets weird though. She lived nowhere near where we drove. Not on the same road, not even in the same town. Totally strange. The best I can figure, somebody who was taking a bus probably picked it up and then decided not to bother with having to return it to us directly so put it in these nice people's recycling bin.

I'm still watching our credit card statements and making sure that no erroneous activity is going on -- but if the stranger who picked up the wallet was going to steal from it, wouldn't s/he have taken the cash out of it first?

So, here's the bizarre thing. My husband blames me for the losing of his wallet. You already know how it is my fault that he put it on the roof of the car. Here is how it is my fault that he lost it in the yard. The shorts he was wearing that day have the pocket on the wrong side and the pockets are shallow. Because I bought him the shorts, it is my fault on both counts that the wallet got lost.

Never mind the fact that if I didn't buy him clothes, he'd still be wearing what he wore in college. Threadbare and all. He's got this one pair of shorts that has the butt completely ripped out of it yet somehow it still manages to be worn from time to time.

Grill me up some puppies, will ya?

Update: This is a quote from Hubby, "Those shorts are still good." See what I live with?

Psyche!

When a phone call starts with, "I've got a proposition for you," you've got to be wary. Especially if the caller is your husband and he's at work for some crisis, you've got to be wary. He went on to tell me that there was some essential equipment that he needed so if I brought it (along with the children), I would be treated to a nice dinner on the company's dime. It wasn't too shabby a deal, especially since That has been asking to go to a fancy restaurant for his birthday.

It takes some time to get each child dressed nicely for an evening on the town, especially since 2 of them are girls. I'm just thankful that Princess doesn't wear make-up or I'd have to take a couple of hours to get ready.

We weren't able to get reservations at the place that That had picked out, but Hubby's boss had a favorite restaurant that was a good second choice. They serve high end Italian food. My son didn't want to have Italian food because on Monday, he'll be attending a pizza party for his Knowledge Master team. I suggested he order a risotto or ravioli -- just try something different. This restaurant had nary a pizza in sight. It was very fancy. To give you an idea, when I entered I thought to myself this is not a place that has high chairs. I was right, sort of. The one high chair that was there was in use. Thankfully, after that family was done, we were given the high chair for Lil'T.

That ordered a venison ravioli which was so good he didn't even offer me a taste. The girls had gnocchi which was as close to a kid friendly meal as they could muster. Hubby had penne with salmon and I had the Chilean sea bass. I think I'll have good dreams about that for a long time.

In fancy restaurants, they don't give you a dessert menu. Instead they bring a tray that showcases all the desserts. I think they know that once you lay eyes on those treats, there really is no going back. You must have some. You should have seen the kids' eyes when the server brought out the tray. We all placed our orders and the tray was whisked away by the server for the neighboring table.

Lil'T didn't like that one bit.

There was some whining crescendoing into a full out wail. I did my best to comfort her but I was off my game because it was kind of funny. We tried to explain that our desserts would be coming, that those weren't ours. She was having none of it.

Next time we'll just tell the waiter to leave the tray and to just put together a new one. Showing a kid all those goodies and then taking them away is just mean.

The advantages of marrying young

When my husband and I met, I was only 21 and he was 23. As far as the dating scene is concerned, we were pretty green. I mean, I sure never lived through anything resembling Sex in the City. There are advantages to that too. I didn't get to drop $1000 on a pair of shoes but I don't think I could ever do that. Too much Catholic guilt built up inside of me. And $1000 shoes is just plain uppity. For shoes to cost that much, they had better make me lose weight just by wearing them. Not by walking in them, but just by slipping them on.

But the other day, Hubby came home late from work. I warmed up his food and we sat down at the dinner table. While he was eating, he told me about his day. And at a crucial moment, he burped. All this while his mouth was full of food.

I told him, "The problem with us having met when we were so young is that you never really had to sharpen your game."

He didn't really understand that. So I told him that a guy who has a little more seasoning on him in the dating world would never have a mouthful of half macerated pork chop, talk and burp all at the same time. He'd be so much more suave. He'd have figured out how to present himself as refined, not boorish.

He shook his head. "I didn't burp... Well, not that I recall anyway."

My point exactly.

Perspective

We were out for our Sunday drive yesterday after having a great breakfast brunch. Often Hubby will drive us around the island just to take in the sights. Now that it is spring, the island is especially pretty with flowers and new foliage appearing. My girls and I especially like seeing the baby ducks and geese start to emerge -- little puff balls following their mothers in a straight line. Too cute!

We passed by a church parking lot which often is a meeting place for people with tricked out restored old cars. You know the ones that steal evenings and weekends by the need for obsessive polishing, chrome buffing and glass cleaning. Well, this weekend was no exception. As Hubby drove by, he glanced over at these preening men (yes, men with very patient wives, if there were wives involved) with a little bit of longing. He just doesn't have the time, nor a patient enough wife, nor we the space, for him to take a hunk of junk and coax it into a hot rod.

Here's how the conversation went down:

Princess: "Daddy, look!"

Hubby: "Oh yeah, I see them, those really cool cars..."

Princess: "No, (a little confused) geese."

Ah... the perspective from a 7 year old girl's eyes versus the perspective of a 40 year old man's eyes. But you know, that 40 year old man is still thinking about the Hot Wheels he fell in love with when he was 4 years old. Maybe they're not so different after all.

The brown berry incident

I've been getting a lot of questions about the brown berry incident. Here it is. To the certain embarrassment of my son.

It was the summer 1999. Our small family of three had spent that lazy afternoon picking blackberries which grew wild in the empty lot near our house. While I managed to get a lot of berries in my bucket, my son mostly held his berries in his belly. It was a fun afternoon. He was only 2 years old at the time. My son was potty training but still in diapers.

We were hosting Hubby's parents who were going to attend a high school class reunion. Their best friends were also visiting. Being a good little host, I was entertaining the four seniors in the living room when That toddled in.

My first thought was, "How did he get chocolate?" There was brown stuff all over him -- his hands, his face, his legs. And the second thought was, "OMG!!! That's NOT chocolate!!!"

See, what we figured out happened was That wanted to be a big boy and go to the potty himself. He only managed to get the tab off on one side of the diaper. The other side was too hard to open, so instead of opening it, he just climbed up on the potty and went. Unfortunately, the runny poop that came out didn't really make it into the potty and instead mostly hit the diaper and smeared the toilet. It gets worse. Knowing he didn't quite do it right, he decided to elicit help from Mom or Dad. He went looking for us. He tracked brown berry down the hall into my husband's office, then he decided to look in our bedroom and also in his bedroom. Unsuccessful, he went to the living room and we all took in the HORROR.

It was a very bad day.

There was a moment of paralysis. I couldn't even think what to do first. I tossed the boy in the bathtub but what about the carpet? And the poo all over the bathroom? And how could I ever kiss that boy again? There was poo in his HAIR!!!

We did manage to clean it all up, with only a couple of freak outs in front of the in-laws. (I say that, even though we ended up moving out of that house and ripping the carpet out.)

He was my ride

Me: *exasperated* You're driving me crazy.

Hubby: How can I drive you crazy? You're already parked there and the engine is cold.

Next I'll be hunting with Cheney

One of the first words Lil'T ever said was "bird." Okay, it sounds more like, "bee," but you get it. She loves birds. This has caused me to increase my bird feeders from just two up to 6. I have 4 different kinds of seed, a suet cake feeder and a hummingbird feeder. At breakfast, I am treated to Lil'T's squeals of delight when birds come to eat their meals. The different seeds have encouraged a bunch of different species of bird to visit. It's been really fun. I've got to invest in one of those bird identification books because the only one I know for sure is the red breasted nuthatch, which my hubby loves to call the nutscratch. Seriously. It's like living with Beavis.

So this morning I was making breakfast and looked out my window to see that one of my bird feeders was lying broken on the deck. It had been pulled down off of the hook by some masked robbers -- raccoons. Those little jerks! It was my black oil sunflower seed feeder. It is the most popular feeder on the deck being the most frequented by the widest variety of birds.

I picked up the feeder and although it was grievously cracked on the bottom, it was still usable so I rehung it. I knew that this was the first volley in a war. It was a war that I didn't want to get drawn into, but taking away the feeders from Lil'T's favorite breakfast companions is just mean. And I won't stand for it.

I talked things over with my husband and we agreed that we'd have to use That's bb gun to frighten the raccoons off. A little background on the bb gun.

Months before Christmas, my husband said that it would be great fun to have a bb gun for That. I said no. So he asked again -- repeatedly -- after he thought that I might have changed my mind. I kept saying no. I know my son. One year in school, he lost 5 jackets. Five. One he had so briefly in his possession, that when we looked for it in the school's lost and found, he asked me what it looked like. I think he wore it for one day and promptly lost it. Five. So this same child, I'm supposed to believe he's going to remember never to point that bb gun at another child? That he's going to remember to always point it towards the ground with the safety on? That he's going to remember to wear his safety goggles and that all the people with him should be wearing their safety goggles? Consider that every day for his entire life, I've had to remind him to take his dishes from the dining table to the kitchen sink. He's 10 years old. He's had to bus his dishes since he was maybe 4. That's 6 years of 2-3 meals a day -- it's over 4000 times. And at the end of each of those meals, I have to remind him to bus his dishes. One wonders how I would have such little faith in my son's memory. No gun.

So on Christmas morning, my husband brought out a long, poorly wrapped cardboard box. When That opened it, it was like he was just given a puppy. He was so happy. Who am I? The Grinch? So no, I didn't take it away from him. Especially since my husband handed me a box with safety goggles and the keys to the gun lock.

Now I don't know. Maybe it is a guy thing. Hubby went on and on about how people in the store kept talking about what a great time it was for their boys when they were little. To hear him say it, those other customers were practically weeping tears of joy at the thought of him buying his son his first bb gun. Shooting targets and small helpless creatures: it is a rite of passage. When asked how he could possibly go and get the gun after all my objections, Hubby said, "I had to do it over your objections. You weren't budging." That's verbatim, folks.

To his credit, he did get the weakest bb gun on the market. He said that it was only good for shooting pop cans, because tin cans are too heavy. He says you could get better acceleration on the bb if you just took one in your hand and threw it really hard.

But, that bb gun was our only tool to combat the raccoons this evening.

We were eating dinner and I noticed that the bird feeders were swaying wildly out on the deck. I also noticed that the wind chimes weren't making any noise. So I knew that we had those darned raccoons ruining my bird feeders again. They were after the already damaged sunflower seed feeder.

Hubby came to the dining room with the gun in hand amidst protestations from both of the older children. They were worried that Dad would shoot one of the raccoon's eyes out. After all, that's all they hear me worry over when we talk about the bb gun. Hubby soothed their fears by saying, "What do you think I'm aiming at? Of course I'm trying to put out one of their eyes. That'll teach 'um."

We turned off all the lights in the house so Hubby could see his quarry better. He aimed and shot. The raccoon let go of the bird feeder instantly. But it stayed right there on the deck.

My husband continued his rapid bb gun assault. Eventually the raccoons left the deck. My husband triumphantly cried out (imagine the voice of He-Man), "I am powerful. I can touch you all the way from here. Buahahahaha!"

But when he did come back into the house, he said that the raccoons kind of looked at him like one would look at a little brother throwing popcorn on you. Kind of annoying but it doesn't hurt. Heck, he hit them every time, but it still took several shots to get them convinced that the bb onslaught would not end until they left. Let's say this. They walked off the deck. No scamper. No run. Walked.

I went out and took down the remaining bird feeders. I'll hang them up tomorrow morning before Lil'T wakes up. Hopefully the birds will come by again. But those darned raccoons... Hubby was making a hard play for more power to his bb. He said the next model up listed raccoon deterrence as a feature.

Can I still be a Democrat and be a member of the N.R.A? Or will those guys shoot me on sight? Maybe I shouldn't wear my, "I miss Bill," t-shirt to the meeting.

15 - love

In thinking about a title to this post, I have come up blank. My brain keeps playing Pat Benatar's "Love is a Battlefield." But really, only because of the title. The lyrics (sorry Pat) are inane. I mean, "you come on with a come on, you don't fight fair." Seriously? Come on with a come on. Seems like a case of not knowing what to put next, you know? Like "Those pants are as tight as... tight pants." Whatever. But I wanted to just tell you about a small but in no way insignificant victory in my marriage.

Last weekend, we were supposed to visit with Sharon and Steve for dinner. They wanted to play a board game with us. They were expecting us there at around 5pm. I had wanted to get there as soon as possible because I had picked up a few things from the store for the dinner and needed to get them cooking at Sharon's house. Well, my hubby was dragging his feet because he couldn't get his printer to spit out my son's homework assignment. Something about ink nozzles being clogged.

I was of the mind that if my son didn't finish his homework, that wasn't my problem. I know that sounds cold, but it is a Love & Logic thing. He's got to pay his own consequences. He might have started on the project in Friday instead of Sunday and we would have known about the printer problem, but I digress (and am sounding like a nag while I go on about it.) I gave my opinion, but my husband was having none of it. He said that all he had to do was print it out but he'd been having problems. That wasn't the boy's fault. So, I told my husband that he would have to drive my car and I'd be taking the van because I had already loaded up the stuff for Sharon & Steve in the back of the van.

Now, here's the part that I was embarrassed to admit to all of you, but I think it is an essential part of the story. A couple of years ago, my husband bought me a CD for Christmas. It was a CD that he said he had a little trouble buying, because he had never in his lifetime, purchased a CD from the display at the front of a music store. Ever. It was the Clay Aiken CD. Yes, it was the year he was on American Idol. Yes, I watched American Idol that year. Yes, I voted for Clay. Yes, I asked for that CD. Do you think less of me now? Well, I had forgotten that I had that CD and a few weeks ago, I stumbled across it. It was like visiting an old friend. And on the way back from the hospital that day, I was blasting it on the speakers. Now do you think less of me? Even I laugh at myself a little for blasting Clay Aiken on my speakers. Whatever.

I was at Sharon and Steve's house when I remembered that I had left the car stereo on playing Clay Aiken's "Invisible." I instantly busted up laughing and wished that I could have been there when he turned the key.

He made it to the party only about 30 minutes later and didn't say anything.

I asked him about it later that evening. He told me that when he turned the ignition, Clay was belting his poor breaking heart out. My husband blindly started hitting the console with the flat of his hand, hoping that something he hit would turn off the sound. When he finally got it off, my son said, "Whew. Thanks Dad." Nobody in my family appreciates good pop music.

Okay, so I have to ask, do you think less of me now?