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.

Bragging about my offspring

From That's Knowledge Master Coach:

"Hello 5th grade Knowledge Master Open team member!!! Congratulations on your awesome job on your very first competition. You scored 692 points and came in 2nd in the state and 23rd in the nation out of 248 teams..."

In That's words:

"Knowledge Masters is a team competition where students with high academic strengths are chosen by taking a test with general knowledge questions. I did especially well on questions about early weaponry. I told Mom that playing Diablo with Dad finally paid off. There were 16 people on the team out of 332 fifth graders in my school. It didn't actually take that much work to prepare. Just a few questions on a website. We'd practice once a week for an hour and 15 minutes after school. The hardest part was coming to a decision because everybody seemed to have their own answers and often shouted it out so they could be heard. It was kind of chaotic in the first practice. Sometimes the captain wouldn't be able to decide whose answer was correct. And that would make the typist worried so he'd hit a button that he thought was correct. Also, there were times when the captain would get anxious about time running out and would randomly pick an answer even though we'd be working it out. That happened a few times when I was just about to give the calculated answer and it was too late. That was frustrating. It got better as we went along. We learned how to talk to each other and make decisions better. It was pretty cool. When we first practiced, we got 732 points which was better than our real score which was 692. I keep thinking that we probably would have been in first place with that score! Maybe next time."

I'm feeling pretty proud of the boy. How awesome that he tried out and made the team. Hooyah!

Spillary, Bill's House

I've just returned from my caucus. I am still shaking from the experience. Shaking in a good way.

I talked to a regular caucus goer, an older lady who was sitting next to me. She said she went every 4 years since she could vote, and only missed the 2004 caucus. Anyway, she said that in her precinct she only had about 15 people come to caucus last time. This year there was more like 150. And in that sea of people, about 70% were voting for Barack Obama. 20% were for Hillary Clinton. 10% were still undecided. Can you believe that? Undecided! Out of my precinct, they even got a delegate. But I suppose, it is still a long way until the convention. And I just don't want a difficult contentious fight within the party. We need unity and depth.

Anyway, I was one of the 20%. I've supported Hillary Clinton since she declared her candidacy. I've heard Barack Obama speak and I swear, he makes my pulse race, my spirits rise, and my heart swell. He inspires. But I am pragmatic. I know that like in love, romance and roses eventually fade and what you are left with is substance. If there is nothing more than lyrics and poetry to base your relationship upon, then you are doomed.

I LIKE BARACK OBAMA. And should he get the nomination, I shall vote for him. I'll even rally for him. But I hope that he will start out to heal the rift in the party by holding out a hand to Hillary if he does win the nomination. I can see Hillary asking him to be her running mate. I cannot see Barack Obama doing the same.

And so today, I stepped far out of my comfort zone.

After 4 or 5 people spoke up for Barack Obama, a genuine love fest for him, and knowing that I was one of 23 in my precinct to support Hillary, I decided that I had to speak.

I could feel my heart racing the second I decided that. I knew I was going to stand up and as I addressed my neighbors, I shaked and trembled from all the adrenalin. I have never been afraid to speak publicly before, but never have I had to be the lone voice for a very small minority.

I opened with, "I'm addressing you from the unenviable position of being in the minority. I am speaking for Hillary Clinton."

A lot of it was a blur, but I did manage to say that she has 16 years of experience working for health care reform and that I am a nurse. I also managed to say that if you look at her subcommittees, she deals with matters of trade, finance, defense, and also childcare, healthcare and education. She's up to speed already with detailed plans of how she'd get things done. Her years as first lady, she was the face of our country to many foreigners. She is experienced with speaking to foreign dignitaries. She already knows where they keep the extra pillows and blankets at the White House. (Okay, I didn't say that last bit.) I ended with saying that I like Barack Obama. That if he is at the top of the ticket, I'll vote for him. But if I had my way, I'd have Hillary at the top of that ticket.

I didn't get booed. I did have a couple of people of the Obama camp try to get me to switch sides. Making arguments about electability and how polarizing a figure Hillary would be. But I am voting for whom I want, not trying to guess how others will vote. Plus, I don't get why people are so anxious to keep Bill Clinton away from the White House. Last time he lived there, we enjoyed 8 years of prosperity and peace, right? And he has Hillary's ear. Rock on, I say. I edited my remarks in my head so that I would not speak out against Barack Obama. If he gets the nomination, he gets my vote. I just want a little more seasoning on my president. We've had a handsome, young, charismatic but unseasoned president for the past 7 years. It hasn't worked out too well for us so far.

I'll probably get lots of anger about that last statement, but at least you'll comment. Right?

*Update -- the title of this post comes from an NPR feature of a group called the Capitol Steps. Here is a transcript of the program when my husband & I first heard of Spillary.

Kung Hei Fat Choi

Happy Chinese New Year, the Year of the Rat! Turns out that "Kung Hei Fat Choi" translates to "Congratulations and be prosperous." Sounds a little like Spock's "Live long and prosper." Which I always thought should be answered with, "Be fruitful and multiply." But I think I'm mixing a couple of things up.

These are my dearly departed rats, Ralph (brown rat) and Weencha (silver rat). They were both female rats. That really wanted a boy rat, but I knew better. We just made Ralph a tranny rat instead. That way we didn't have tons of baby rats to deal with.

Rats make excellent pets. I know that seems weird but they really do. Being social animals, rats love hanging out with their people. They will lick and groom you like you're just another of the brood. They are very smart. Weencha figured out how to open their cage, and was wise enough to never do it while we were in the room. After scolding the kids for a few days for leaving the cage door open, we set up a sting to see what really was going on. While hiding in the doorway, we watched Weencha jump on the cage door and throw her body weight around while biting on the cage for leverage, and unhook the clasp. Then she'd send Ralph out to forage for an enormous amount of hamsteroids -- a treat for rodents. I had scolded the kids for that too, telling them that they were overfeeding the rats.

My favorite rat story of all time though, is when my mother first saw our rats. She was totally disgusted by them. I told her that we picked them up from the pet store a few weeks before her visit. To which she asked in disbelief, "You bought them?"

I mean, what is the alternative? We went outside, trapped a couple of rats, put them in a cage and told the kids they were pets?

Anyway, I hope you have a prosperous Year of the Rat.

R.I.P. Ralph & Weencha, you are missed.

Lying to my kids

Again, I'm a liar. Normally I'm a pretty honest person, but when you are watching a PG movie with a 10 year old, sometimes you're taken aback by some of the jokes.

We rented the movie RV the other day. There is a scene where Robin Williams' character is visiting with another trailer park family.
Jeff Daniel's character brags that his wife makes $60K a year without ever leaving their trailer. Robin Williams says, "How? Hooking?"

Now this is the moment that my husband and I hoped that That wouldn't have picked up on. We had hoped That's incredible inattention to detail would kick in. Heck, the boy only hears every other word you say. Why did he have to pick up on "hooking?"

Foolish me, in response to the line, I said, "no, he did NOT just say that..."

Of course, this is what made That's ears perk up. I held my breath and the dreaded question came.

"Mom, what is hooking?"

I could have gone a couple ways with this. I suppose I could have just told the truth, but considering that Princess was also listening now, I had to change the joke into a completely G-rated one.

"Hooking is another word for fishing."

"Fishing? But then why did you say 'he did not just say that'?"

Great. Now he listens to everything I say? "Well, because fishing is only for men to do. Women don't fish, obviously. That would be an insult to her."

I held my breath again.

"That's not even funny."

Yay, I won that one.

But in telling my friend Julia about the situation the next day, she was surprised that I didn't come clean with the real thing. I've always been a proponent to telling the truth about sex and talking about it early on. That way the kids aren't freaked out when you finally start talking about sex. Waiting until they hit puberty is way too late. See, they get desensitized to you talking about it if you start early. You get over the heebies around talking to your kids about sex a lot quicker if you start practicing early. Like when they're 2 weeks old. They tend not to ask a lot of questions then.

I told Julia that I am open about normal healthy sex. Not dysfunctional objectified sex. I also told her that I would not be discussing EVERYTHING there is to know about sex with my kids. Like if That asked me what S&M was, I'd look him square in the eyes and tell him that it was spaghetti and meatballs.

Julia has first hand knowledge about the horror of talking to kids about sex. It is so much easier when they can't ask you questions. While she was driving, her 3 kids were in the back seat: her son B was 12, son A was 9, and daughter T was 7. At school, B's class was talking about the AIDS epidemic which of course led to a conversation about modes of transmission. And the inevitable question, "What is sex?"

The way Julia tells the story, she gripped the steering wheel as tightly as she could and tried to answer the questions truthfully but using the least amount of words she could manage.

"Well, sex is what a man and woman do to have a baby."

"How?" asked B.

She said that by this point you could see that her knuckles were completely white. No small task, considering that she's half Mexican.

"The man puts his penis in the woman's vagina and then his sperm can join with her egg to make a baby."

Blessed silence followed for only a few moments.

A piped up, "So Dad put his penis in your vagina?"

Thank goodness the steering wheel was made of sturdy stuff.

A, totally grossed out, queried, "How long did he leave it in there?"

Someone was looking out for them that day as there were no cars directly in front of theirs. There could easily have been an accident. And what would Julia have to say in her defense? "Sorry officer, my kids were asking me about sex."

A asked one more thing in a tone that clearly showed that he thought it disgusting, "Did you like it?"

I'm thankful that Julia didn't crash her car and managed to squeak out, "Go ask your father."

I gotta say, I'm glad I told That all about sex when he was an infant. He knows all there is to know. We even went over the proper spelling of fallopian tubes. He was a very advanced baby.

A thick accent

Lil'T has a very thick accent. It's the 2 year old accent. All of them go through this phase when the child transitions from babbling to fully formed sentences. But she's 2, so sometimes she doesn't quite get it right.

Her word for "cold" is "dude." I actually think it is pretty neat. At first, Hubby thought that she was saying "dude," as in, "Dude, it's cold outside." But as time went on, Lola realized that dude referred to ice cream, cold water, and snow. It has something to do with the way she substitutes d for c in a lot of words.

There's also "wadid" for "water." "Bee" for "bird." "Supping" for "something." "Shoop" for "soup." The last one being kind of fun because I tried to correct it by saying, "ssssss-oup." She responded with "shhhhh-oop."

She'll substitute the "sh" sound for the "s" sound a lot. She may intend to say "sit," but instead she sounds like a miniature truck driver. Speaking of the word truck, there is the unfortunate substitution of the sound "f" for the "tr" sound. There really is nothing like your angelic faced cherub talking like that, and all the adults around looking at you thinking, "Her parents need their mouths washed out with soap!"

Then there are the funny names she's decided to call things. Like she saw me using lotion and asked me what it was. I told her "lotion," but she misunderstood and said, "Lola-shin?" I said, "No, Mommy's lotion." So she said, "Mommy-shin?" I've not been able to break her of this one. She still calls it lola-shin.

She also calls her poops "hot dogs." My mother thought this was absolutely hysterical. One day while Lil'T was sitting on the toilet, Mom asked her if she was done. Lil'T said, "I make hot dog." Without missing a beat Mom said, "Yes, but are you done? Is there may-be a vienna sausage still in you?" Lil'T didn't quite catch the reference.

Last night we went to a friend's house for dinner and I discovered that all adult women are "Mom" and all adult men are "Dad." But the nice thing is that there is only one "Mommy," and only one "Daddy," for Lil'T.

I know I'll be sad when she loses her accent and her funny words. Like when That stopped saying jeeps for grapes. Or when Princess stopped saying Weencha for princess. I especially miss Princess's imaginary friend Lidiot. Hubby used to joke that Lidiot's brother must be named Smoron.

But anyway, I suppose I have to live in the present. Live in the now.

I sure could use a dude frink.

Lots of blood

I'm gonna shock the shorts off of a lot of you. This middle aged mother of 3 is a fan of the UFC. And if you don't know what I'm writing about, where have you been? Under a rock? Hanging out with Nell?

There is a lot to like about the UFC. It puts all martial arts under scrutiny. It is like the board game Heroscape. Heroscape answers the question that a lot of people have wondered for generations. Simply this. Who would win? Lizard warriors vs. Amazons? The Huns vs. Cylons? Men in Black vs. Gladiators? Super Moms vs. Highheeled shoes? Okay, maybe not the last one. And in that contest, the shoes clearly would win. But the world of mixed martial arts answers the question: Which martial art, training, mix of skills works best? It pits discipline against discipline. It challenges the athlete to balance cardio, striking and wrestling skills.

Along with that, they have the fun nicknames for the guys. My favorite being "Cabbage" from Hawaii. That is an awesome name. Totally neutral and hysterical. Cabbage is known to have said, "My head full of concrete." I personally think your name shouldn't be so puffed up that when you suffer a defeat, it looks stupid. Like if your nickname is "Killer," and you get beat by a guy who is named, "Watercress," you look like a jerk. My hubby thinks his own nickname would be, "The Tapper."

There's also the great entrance songs. My favorite is Matt Hughes's entry song "Country Boy Can Survive," by Hank Williams. It is perfect. It crescendos just about the time he enters the octogan. My husband's would be Celine Dion's, "It's Coming Back to Me Now." The line, "if you touch me like this, and if I touch you like that..." he thinks is very fitting for the sport.

Sure, a lot of it comes down to the individual. There is no shortage of men out there who are willing to devote their lives to fighting in this sport. All with distinct personalities. There's Tank Abbot who has admitted that he goes to bars just because he loves a good barfight. The guy is seriously off base. But you would never say that to his face. There is of course "the Natural" Randy Couture. The first guy to take belts in 2 weight classes. Few things I love about Randy. He's older than me. He's from the Pacific Northwest. He is articulate. The last being an unusual skill in this group. He uses his brain just as much as his body to dominate the octagon. And now he's retired (for a second time). The first time he retired, he had been beat by the then invincible "Iceman" Chuck Liddell. Randy said, "You won't see these gloves again in the octagon." But I think he must have gotten new gloves because he earned and then defended the heavyweight belt, retiring with that belt on. And of course there is "Rampage" Quinton Jackson. When he enters the octagon, he howls. No joke. And his stare down is like looking in the eyes of crazy. He gets right up into the face of the opponent close enough to kiss, with a look that withers. Its message, "I'm gonna crush you, little man." And so far, Rampage has delivered. He defeated the Pride dual belt holder, "Dangerous" Dan Henderson (a.k.a. Hollywood). To Dan's credit, he has always said that Rampage is a friend and he never trash talked him. I like Dan Henderson. A Texan that I like, imagine that.

But this post isn't supposed to be a litany of the personalities in the UFC. It is all about the only champion for whom I actually scream at the television. (Okay, that isn't exactly a true statement. I scream at the t.v. during a lot of these matches.)

The Prodigy, reigning UFC Lightweight Champion, BJ Penn

BJ won his UFC 80 match against Joe Stevenson, which had been upgraded to a title fight because the reigning champ, Sean Sherk, had been suspended. The Sherk fight will be BJ's first defense of this belt.

But I have to tell you about the Stevenson fight. Oh man. There was a lot of blood. BJ came out explosive and Stevenson went down in the first moments of the fight, but to his credit, he came back and fought well, delivering one of the bloodiest fights I've ever seen. It was like out of some horrible B movie. BJ delivered a wicked fast elbow strike to Stevenson while on the ground -- briefly holding Stevenson's left arm out of the way, and in the next breath, BJ's right elbow surgically flew in to cut a gash in Stevenson's forehead. At first, it didn't seem that big a deal, but those head injuries bleed hard. I suppose that it must be demoralizing, as a fighter, to see your lifeblood covering the guy who cut you. Anyway, at some point, that cut went from oozing to squirting. With every heart beat and every strain, Stevenson was covering the both of them and the mat (and I think the spectators in the front row) with blood. It might have been a good time to change my color television to black and white. Seriously, I'm a nurse, and the blood was grossing me out. Ultimately, BJ was able to get a rear naked choke on Stevenson and the fight ended by submission. Giving BJ your back is never ever a good idea.

The first time BJ won a UFC belt, he cried. He had defeated his idol, Matt Hughes, who had been heavily favored to win that fight. This time he didn't cry, but he did an absolutely disgusting thing. After he won, his corner came in and hugged him. Ugh. Without latex body suits. Yuck. And then after they toweled him down, he licked his gloves. Ewww, ewww, ewww!!!

But either way, I'm just thrilled that BJ is back.

Go BJ!

Oh, by the way, if you're still undecided about whom to vote for in the presidential race, remember that it was John McCain who wanted to outlaw the mixed martial arts. Look, I like McCain. In fact, back in 2000, if it was destined that a Republican take the White House, I wish it had been McCain. But he tried to get rid of the whole sport! Unforgivable.

*Update -- 2/5/08 I know this is a little late for an update but I just had to say how thrilled I am that Nougeira beat Silvia. I don't really like Silvia all that much. And how AWESOME is it that Frank Mir is back? I seriously thought that Mir was going to be breathing through his nose in the back of his head, that guy was pounding him so hard. But submission ruled the day. Yay! It will be fun to watch a Mir/Nougeira fight.