Busy, busy, busy!

I've been so busy taking tests! I took three tests and got the following results:

Mad Men just hired me to be a media buyer. I don't know what that is.
http://www.amctv.com/originals/madmen/job-interview/

I write like David Foster Wallace or Stephen King.
http://iwl.me/

My sponge worthy celebrities are: Keanu Reeves and Jake Gyllenhall. I think they're both legal, anyway.
http://www.todaysponge.com/spongeworthy.html

Go ahead and try them! Have fun! Live a little!

And in other breaking news, it is HOT here in the Commonwealth. The temperature hit 100 in my area ("100, feels like 107"). That's just crazy. I do not accept it. I think I'll go throw some ice on the kitchen floor and roll in it. Now that I've put that picture in your head, I bid you goodnight.

http://www.google.com/imgres?imgurl=http://annieem.files.wordpress.com/2010/02/cousin_it2.jpg&imgrefurl=http://annieem.wordpress.com/2010/02/09/allusions-needed/&usg=___Lu_p5O2ArKPxZAXAhwHdWivMYY=&h=336&w=448&sz=38&hl=en&start=2&um=1&itbs=1&tbnid=wWHzxIi1hc4-3M:&tbnh=95&tbnw=127&prev=/images%3Fq%3Dcousin%2Bit%26um%3D1%26hl%3Den%26client%3Dfirefox-a%26rls%3Dorg.mozilla:en-US:official%26tbs%3Disch:1

Nip it Good!

I'm not a dusky sun-kissed goddess. Basically, I only tan on the tops of my feet and the backs of my hands. Otherwise, I burn and sprout more freckles. If I were to let this continue, maybe the freckles would all join together and I'd end up with a rich, freckle-tinted tan before keeling over from skin cancer. So that's not a good idea.

My good idea was to buy a long-sleeved swim shirt. And that was fine. BUT. But, swim shirts for women (from here on referred to as "SS's"), like their male counterparts, do not have any extra coverage, if you get where I'm going. No? Nip, nip, nippity nip. Got me? There is no extra shelf-bra in which to stow the baggage. You hit the cold water and TA-DA!

Now some might proudly display their peaks of femininity and there's nothing wrong with that. Some might find this freeing or sexy and some might just not care. I am not one of them. Most of my life has been about blending in. When everyone dressed like a preppy, so did I. After that I just tried not to look too disheveled for work, with varying degrees of success. My forays in sexy fashion have been few and embarrassing. Oh, there was that stretch velvet period, but mostly, I've been pretty plain.

True, I have gone braless. For a long time, I wore loose shirts so that I didn't have to feel like I was wearing a tourniquet for a superficial chest wound. I hate bras. But I digress. What is really important about all of this is that I bought a snug fitting SS to help keep me from burning to a crisp, yet I was ding dong damned If I was going to put on a tantalizing show, or more possibly be crushed by the fact that MY milkshake scares all the boys at the pool. I feel I'm on this earth to not traumatize anyone, myself included.

Enter my new bikini top. Okay, so I have a special hatred for the recent trend of selling bathing suits in pieces and charging nearly as much for each piece as one would pay for a one-piece. Thieves. Yet I willing paid for the two parts of my tankini (tank top and shorts bathing suit) as soon as I discovered it. Sure, I could pull off a one-piece, but it would be like Sweeny Todd over here every time I had to do a little edging. Much safer, the tankini.

Anyway, so I had to solve the nip problem of the swim shirt, and for the first time, I was glad that I could choose to buy just on half of a bathing suit. I bought a teeny bikini top for a low-low price at a local Mart. It was the only one available that did not have dangling beads hanging between the cups or a big ol' metal buckle holding the two sides together (Priscilla, thou are shameless!), thus enabling the top to look smooth under said tight SS. My new bikini top is a real throwback to the seventies. In fact, I would have sold my mother to the Ayatollah to possess such awesomeness. Each side has a wing of a pink, metallic butterfly, plus aqua and black accents. Be still my aging teen-aged heart! Of course, under the SS, no one will ever see it, but that's okay because I couldn't find a top one that wasn't PADDED. Now when I saunter out to the pool, I look like I possess an enormous rack. I make shade, people. Of course, I am still a pool Mom and everyone still calls me "ma'am" but, while others barely see that woman who has almost blended into her surroundings like a gecko, I know that I've gone from a McFlurry to a Triple-thick Shake. And I'm the only one who needs to know.

P.S. the long-sleeved SS is very, very comfortable and actually keeps me cool out of the water after a dip!

A list of stuff

1. We were supposed to have visitors this week, but my mother-in-law fell off a chair, so it's a no go. However GameGuy still took the week off and we are having a lazy staycation. I prefer a go-cation, but the freedom was unexpected and, also, Comet has swimmer's ear, so we are laying low (GG's favorite type of vacation).

2. Comet and I were watering the garden one evening and heard something that sounded exactly like gunshots. Shortly after that, a huge ornamental cherry tree just keeled over in the yard. And it looked so healthy. This was before our local "microburst" (mini-tornado), so wtf? Maybe it was the hard winter.

3. I have hopped myself up on caffeine and now do not have the wherewithal to hop myself down. It's the damon Diet Coke, that's what it is.

4. I love our neighborhood pool. Love.It. It's never crowded and I just can't believe that every member isn't there every evening. Maybe they all have swimmer's ear.

5. Just finished "I'm Not the New Me," a memoir by Wendy McClure a writer and blogger (Poundy.com). It's sort of about weight-loss, but it's really more about the antipathy you can feel when you are changing your "self" by losing weight. McClure is thought-provoking and really funny. She is self-deprecating without being self-loathing. It was a good read and it has a section in the middle with photos of horrible 1970's Weight Watchers recipe cards. Fluffy mackerel pudding anyone?! Who can resist it?

6. My garden is growing, but I have some doubts about whether or not it will produce. Someone wrote a book about gardening called "The $64 Tomato." I may be able to top that come harvest time.

Peace out.

F.U.B.P. or It's a Gas, Gas, Gas!

Firstly, tell me people somewhere are boycotting BP gas stations! Today, I drove by a BP and there were lots of customers. What?!?! I'm still boycotting Exxon because of the Valdez. Would people take action if BP was polluting local rivers? How about swimming pools? BP is polluting the Ocean that belongs to everyone, and they can't seem to stop! Pick up your grudge and carry it, my 'Villians! And BP: Shut it off, clean it up and then find a good use for it! At least, be really, really sorry about it. Until then, I'm giving my business to Chevron. P.S. I'm never buying gas at a BP again unless I have to roll in on fumes, and then I'm only getting a gallon. Furthermore, I hope all the other companies practice good citizenship or I'm going to dig for oil in my backyard to supply my own petroleum needs.

And speaking of, I'd like to point out that I can't stand the smell of gasoline. It makes me sick. I used to be down on bio-fuel because I didn't want to smell like an old french fry. Today, what I wouldn't give to smell like a delicious old french fry. Because! Because I had another gas pump related calamity. I have this tendency to get gasoline on my person every fifth time I fill the car. It is a minor disability and for much of my adult life, I have just refused to pump my own gas. I willingly paid more for someone else to fill 'er up. Then gas got crazy expensive (for the U.S.) a couple of years ago and, when my full service gas station closed, I boldly decided to pump my own. Aside from the occasional tiny spot of gas on my hand or shoe, it was livable. Until today. I'll admit it, I got cocky.

It started a couple of months ago when I realized that you could prop the nozzle open with that little metal thingy, thereby not having to squeeze for a whole couple of minutes. Oh, was I too cool for school! I'm a g.d. genius, I know. I smugly propped and then glanced around to see if anyone was noticing my coolness. Oh, nothing could touch me! Until today. Today, I decided to pump up the volume, as it were. I not only propped my nozzle, but walked away and--drum roll please--washed the windshield! The front went so well, I decided to do the back. As I finished my washing I thought, hey, I'll just pull the nozzle out of the tank before I put the squeegee away. Hubris. Because, I squeezed when I should have yanked and managed to squirt myself with gas from the top of my head to the tip of my shoe. Horrors. A trip to Goodwill for a wardrobe change and a Silkwood shower at the gym and I Still.Smell.Like.Gasoline. Stop shaking your head.

In other news, today is the last day of kindergarten! The teacher gifts are given, the boy has been bringing home truckloads of work pages and art and at 3:05 p.m. he will be a rising first grader! He learned so much, he worked so hard and I am very proud. Now it's Summertime and the livin' will be a little less easy for me, but a lot more fun.

Remember: Boycott BP! It's easy.

Monday Erratica

1. Comet and his friend, Einstein, are happily playing a video game in the next room. They.Are.So.Loud. What the hell was I thinking when we bought this open plan house! Why didn't I hold out for a basement rumpus room? My aching head. Sitting outside in the pouring rain is looking mighty attractive. Or maybe I could go sit out in the van...

2. I saw a commercial at the gym today. I didn't have my headphones, so I only got the visuals, but basically it showed this woman in the grocery store looking for something. It turned out to be her two young children who were running amok in the produce section. The next scene is the same woman walking into the house as her small daughter drops a water balloon from upstairs and it splatters next to her small son who is watching TV. It was an ad for an I.U.D.

3. We planted some pumpkin seeds a couple of weeks ago and they are taking over the world. I am having a gardening service come and till a pumpkin patch and it can't happen too soon!

4. Yesterday, my friend and neighbor asked me how I would feel about having animals in our rather large, currently unused dog pen. Livestock. Have I mentioned my formative years spent in close proximity to our bovine friends? She wants to go in on a miniature cow with a couple of people and share the milk. I looked miniature cows up on the internet and they are soooo cute, I would kiss one if it was standing in my kitchen right now. However, livestock is work. There's the poop, and with the poop come the flies. Then comes the milking of the cow and I couldn't help think of a friend who milked her goats and when she strained the milk, there were all these hairs and ickies in the strainer afterward. And what about pasteurization? (I'm a wimp that way.) And cows can get sick and wouldn't it be lonely? Then you would need two. Also, would it "moo" very early in the morning, because I'm not down with that. So no tiny, adorable, sweet little cow in my dog pen. I hope my friend gets a miniature cow and finds a place to put it in the neighborhood so that I can kiss it and give it carrots (or whatever they like). I admire my friend's creative ideas and pioneer spirit, but face it, if I had lived in the 1800's, I would have been the first pioneer buried 'longside the trail. "It was her either her tonsils or the fact that she hadn't bathed in a month that did ol' Gusta in," the hardier pioneers would recall as the shucked and milked and sowed.

4. Today, I had a fortuitous meeting with Impasta and two other friends at the local Panera and joined them for a chat. It was like getting an unexpected present!

5. We are storing our lawnmower in the garage and the stink of the gas and oil that is coming through the laundry room door is nauseating. Maybe *that* can go in the dog pen!

That's it.

Lady Pain

Okay, so I thought I was just having regular decrepit, aged pain, so I took some Tylenol. Didn't work. Still, I thought, this must just be really, really decrepit, aged pain, and I took MORE Tylenol. Guess what? Didn't work. Then I realized: Oshit! It was LADY PAIN! (Pardon me, non-spousal male reader(s).) And I had already more than wasted my painkiller quotient! If I had only known, I would have gone for the Ibuprofen! What's a girl to do?

Drink Chardonnay, of course. Luckily for me, and those closest to me, I had laid in a bottle of Toasted Head Chardonnay for my birthday (a week hence), and all I had to do was pop the cork. A glass and-a-half later, I am a bit tipsy, but feelin' no pain.

This experience made me realize/remember that I am SO grateful for ibuprofen and those who "fought" to make it and over-the-counter drug. I salute you, whoever the heck you are (were)! You see, before the advent of ibuprofen, I could only alleviate my Lady Pain with alcohol, and I didn't even figure *that* out until my late twenties--way too late. I was the woman whose eyes suddenly bugged out of her head during a work meeting and when asked, "What's wrong?" gasped, "Nothing, WHY do you ASK?" Aspirin? Bwhahahahaha! Tylenol? Don't GET me started! By the by, I'm not so much saluting the Chardonnay-ists, as I will feel this tomorrow.

I'm happy to add ibuprofen to my gratitude short list. I have, actually, tons to be grateful for, and I'm starting a class this week to learn to feel more gratitude. Before the ibuprofen realization, I was only deeply committed to my gratitude to the local trash collection service which now lets me mingle my trash and recyclables! I can't even express the joy that gives me. (And also, that time when GameGuy got the gum out of the dryer when it was totally my fault and my gum...) With me, it's the little things. Always the little things.

So, in my funky little Gusta way, I'm grateful. Also, a bit drunk.

P.S. Apologies to Impasta: "We'll always have the Burrito place..." Sometimes it *is* the hill of beans!

P.P.S. I'm reading "The Adventures of Kavalier and Clay" (Michael Chabon) and it's the best book I've read since "The Corrections" (Jonathan Frantzen). GameGuy gets a big ol' "I told you so!" as he's been telling me to read it for eight years and I have been demurring because I'm always sure I'll hate things that people tell me I will love. Silly me.

My baby is six!

Comet is six with a bullet (and many, many sticks that are his "guns")! He is smart, sassy, funny and the center of our world. He's big. It seems like only yesterday that we brought him home, like some tiny, weird, exotic pet that we had to learn to care for with no "Guide to Care and Feeding Of" booklet. Now he's a big boy and can argue like a lawyer. He reads. He writes. He is a math whiz. He is a Kung Fu fighter and a soccer superstar. A Rock 'em Sock 'em robot champ. He enjoys video games, Broadway musicals and all types of weaponry. His new favorite word (succeeding "butt") is "Duh." He is impatient and cuddly, sweet and tart. He is a ball of energy and I love to watch blaze across my sky!

Happy birthday, my little Comet!

Pros and Cons

Why I shouldn't have a baby:

1. I am too old.

2. I have a very bad back.

3. Gameguy would have to be institutionalized.

4. I might have to be institutionalized.

5. Comet WOULD NOT LIKE it.

Why I want to have a baby:

1. I love, love, love babies.

2. I am really good at babies. It's my best skill.

3. For reasons that were mostly not my fault, I ran out of time and did not get to
have enough babies.

There you have it. What I think about at least 25% of the time, sometimes more. Why I weep and become tetchy every time a friend, acquaintance or total stranger is pregnant or has a snoodly little bundle of their very own.

I realize that I got lucky just having one baby out of three pregnancies, but I want more.

Monday Erratica

1. Shout out to my friend Impasta! I ran into her and her family at the Dogwood Festival carnival yesterday. She wanted to know if I beat "the system" and we did! We bought two unlimited ride wristbands for twenty dollars apiece and as the individual tickets were $1 per ticket, the boys had to go on over $40 worth of rides. As most of the rides cost three or four tickets per rider, and they rode 58 tickets worth of rides, I'd say we won. The whole experience cost $48, with snacks, and though all I got out of it was dirty feet and half a funnel cake, I still had fun seeing friendly faces and watching Gameguy and Comet spin around and around and around!

2. This weekend is the big six year-old blowout! Yes, Comet is turning six and there will be much celebrating! He is having a knights party with sixteen other four two six year-olds invited. They will have armour and to round out the event, each squire will receive a foam sword at the end of the festivities and become Sir So-And-So! Gameguy and I only have to keep our heads together for two hours. Wish the parents luck!

3. We bought a riding lawnmower. A John Deere--I feel so authentic. Anyway, now this cowgirl has to go wrangle up the sticks in the yard for the maiden voyage of John, Dear.

Peace out.

Doomsday Etiquette

Is it just me, or is it rude to caution other people about the coming of Judgment Day? I was at the gym today and this woman was going on and on about Judgment Day to the poor staff members who were stuck behind the check-in counter. Like how does she know that *she's* going to make it? Best to keep quiet and look busy. Anyway, I was offended on behalf of the desk staff and I wanted to say, "Hey lady, EVERY day is Judgment Day, and you are just not making my cut today!" Frankly, I hope God is not as judgmental as I am or woe betide us all!

On a lighter note, what would be my incentive to do anything I didn't want to (or have to) do if I knew the end was nigh? Don't tell me that the world is ending soon! I'm already a negligent housekeeper. Why bother doing the dishes? I can just use paper plates and the environment be damned! I'll buy new clothes on credit when the old ones get dirty! Heck, let's just live in hotels until the end of time. Seriously, a gal like me needs to believe in the consequences of the long haul.

So basically, I believe that we should all keep our heads in our own bowl and let everyone enjoy their own particular flavor of Puppy Chow. And be nice. We should all be as nice as we can be.

Monday Erratica

1. A guy came over to give an estimate on putting new siding on our house and when he discovered that I was the person he would be dealing with (and not my husband) he was very condescending. Also, another siding outfit sent an email asking it you "both" will be there. What's the deal? Are spouses ordering siding unbeknownst to their s.o.'s and wreaking havoc for siding companies everywhere? Siding, it's just so damn titillating! How could a girl help herself? I should have just told him, "My husband doesn't deal with tradesman. In fact, we're considering a sister-wife or brother-husband who excels at dealing with tradesfolk and paying the bills on time. Know anyone?" Also, if you know anyone who is good with constant meowing (cats) and whining (kid), and has a kid that is five or older, have them give me a call. We don't have cable or a big TV, but would consider both for the right person.

2. I'm doing exercises to strengthen my back, but man it just hurts more. Also, I went to the gym today and got zero energy boost from my work out. I felt so cheated. Where is my boost? I want my half-an-hour back.

3. Hosted a knitting bee at my house. Some fun girls came over and we had a good time. Maybe this will make me more relaxed about having people over. But good luck, I doubt it.

4. All I really want out of life is a nap. Either I have everything in the world (just about) or I'm depressed or I have shit in my blood (thanks for that one, grandma). I think it's a mixture of the first two.

5. Thinking about going to NYC with Comet for part of spring break, but see above. Hmm, maybe Gameguy could take Comet to NYC (or anywhere) and I can sleep for three days. Or, I could go to NYC myself and sleep for three days. Life is full of such hard choices.

6. We have giant frogs in our pond, and at least eight fish have survived the winter. I am going to have to talk to the frogs about all of that loud singing at night, though. It's noisier out here in the country than it was in town!

7. Spring has sprung!

Monday Erratica

I'm baaaack! The snow nearly did me in. Seriously. Very, very seriously.

Now for the list o' stuff:

1. We bought a new-to-us 2006 minivan named "Pearl" and are now embroiled in the process of deciding whether or not to return "her" because 2006 was a bad year for pick-up (technical term "oomph") in Sienna minivans.

2. And speaking of a lack of oomph, I am quite energy-free. I look at the squalor of my home and move my head back and forth like a dog contemplating something perplexing. I begin to think that a reverse vampire has been visiting me in the night and infusing me with the blood of Keith Richards (which KR doesn't need as he is being infused with the blood of virgins). My grandmother would have said, "You got shit in your blood." Nice. See also, winter doldrums. Anyone have a (legal) recipe for a Spring tonic?

3. I'm thinking of getting a vanity plate: MUFNTOP. It's all that.

4. I'm thinking of starting a new movement called the Middle Aged Rebellion. In this movement, people who consider themselves middle aged would tell any person or agency who was trying to sell us "youth" to nip it and tuck it up their butts. I've got friends who are so worried about their wrinkles that they're giving themselves more wrinkles!

5. I'm thinking, "less thinking, more doing."

6. The local 2010 board game convention is over and done. A good time was had by Gameguy. He especially loves the game auction and I must say, he outdid himself. Not only did he get some new games for himself, but in a bold and truly uncharacteristic move, he bought Comet a box of 400+ tiny gaming figures. Usually I buy the crap proclaiming "OVER 200 PIECES" on the box. This time, it wasn't me. There are orcs, skeletons, robots, guys with blow guns, guys that are part creature/part crossbow, and golems (golem?) to name a few. A cast of hundreds. And did I forget to mention the booby women? Barely clad and nearly unarmed (unless wings are considered weapons), these girls and their girls are representin' in Mage Quest/War/Domination/whatever. I think I will sneak them away. I can tell Comet there was a fairy convention or breast health seminar or something. Comet hasn't particularly noticed the "B-Girls" and he totally loves his new game.

I also participated in the game convention. Twice. Illegally, come to think of it, as I wasn't a paying participant. I enjoyed playing Bohnanza, but the other game, which involved quests was like a purgatory designed just for me.

That's all I got.

Be my Valentine!

Valentine's Day is upon us and I've been meaning to share my Valentine's philosophy, because it's a good one. We are stuck with this Hallmark Holiday that makes half of us really happy and makes the rest feel left out in the cold. I say, take Valentine's day back! Make it a family and friend day as well as a day for "luvvers. Or better yet, be your own best Valentine. Get yourself a little something. And don't wait for the half-price candy available on February 15! You are worth full price!

Not counting the past ten years of my total of 44, I never had a romantic Valentine (well one, and no, it wasn't Peter Frampton). I grew up in the days when teachers didn't make you bring in a little folded Fat Albert Valentine for EVERYONE in the class ("Hey! Hey! Hey! You're the Greatest!"). You were at the mercy of the mothers of your classmates. Some, like my own who insisted that I give a Valentine to everyone (which led to merciless teasing about me and a kid named Dewey "sittin' in a tree"). Then there were the other moms who threw a pack of valentines at their kid and went back to watching Merv Griffin or sloppin' the hogs or whatever they happened to be into. These days, teachers insist on Valentines for all--yay, teachers! Nipping the early feelings of Valentine's Day inadequacy in the bud and having an easier day with happier children to teach.

If school was a disappointment in the Valentine department, I must say that in an unusual display of consideration for the feeling of it's members, my family turned Valentine's Day into a family holiday. I grew up in a household where I was the only person who wasn't a widow. If we had been waiting for cupid, we would never have known the sweet taste of Russell Stover's Nuts and Chews. My Mom and Grandmother always bought me a heart-shaped box of chocolates and a card and I gave them little gifts, too. My Aunt even got into the act, and we exchanged candy Valentines with my cousins. So, aside from the slings and lack of cupid's arrows coming at me in grade school, I learned early that I didn't have to sit around "with my hand on my ass" (expression ala my Mama) waiting for a guy to luuuurrrrve me on February 14.

In college, when Valentine's Day and having a boyfriend became more important, my cousin Fancy and I became each others Valentines. Neither of us had a love interest, so we would send one another candy and cards from our respective colleges. Once we even went out to dinner on Valentine's day and you should have seen us at our table for two right next to the kitchen and witnessed the lousy service extended to the one non-hetero couple in the place. But we had a great time and laughed ourselves silly. And we didn't have to deal with any sexual pressure, either! Thanks, Fancy!

After college, even though, through either death or estrangement, my family Valentine connection had dried up, I decided to take matters into my own hands. I became my own best Valentine. I made sure that bought myself something smashing for valentines day, usually earrings or a book I wanted. I made Valentines for my girlfriends in the spirit of Valentine inclusiveness. I remember some guy kind of giving me a pitying line because I wouldn't be getting any Valentine attention. I pointed to my sensational new earrings and said, "I get my own Valentines." He thought this was crazy and not a little pathetic. I think what was really crazy and really pathetic was that he was married and didn't bother to wear his ring or mention his wife or numerous children the whole time I knew him. I bet he was a great Valentine.

Okay, then there was the one time that I did have a boyfriend (pre-Gameguy) on Valentine's day, but by Valentine's day the relationship was unraveling and no amount of gifts, roses, and candlelit dinners could make it better. So, while it was a minor romantic victory to have an actual boyfriend on Valentine's Day, it more disappointing than romantic. Blerg. Thus proving that having a love interest on Valentine's Day does not insure happiness and can even be a little sad.

So, skip ahead two years and I meet my Gameguy and now I get a great, usually weird Valentine gift book that's about death or parasites and a Cadbury fruit and nut candy bar and it's fab! He gets a gift chocolate and we order Chinese and watch a dvd and it is all I want in a Valentine's day. With Comet added to the mix, and I get a terrific handmade surprise and another person to induct in the family Valentine tradition. We make Valentines for grandma and Fancy, and add his favorite General Tsao's Tofu to our Chinese order.

And I haven't given up on being my own Valentine, either. Yesterday, cruising the aisles of Whole Foods, I spied a pair of freshwater pearl and crystal earrings that called out to me, "Happy Valentine's Day, you groovy gal, you," and I bought them on the spot. "The greatest love of all..." and all that.

So, along with being my Valentine (no gifts or cards required), I challenge everyone to put a broader spin on this little thing called Valentine's Day. It's here and it's everywhere. Instead of hanging your head or beating yourself up for lack of a love interest, make it your own! Get yourself a little something, get together with your friends! Delight a child with some candy. This is your Valentine's Day party, and you can invite everyone, if you want to!

Things we lost in the move

My grandmother, lets call her "the Nanja," had a life list of the three greatest inventions ever created The list included the machine gun, the jeep and the helicopter. Her young adult years were spent during WW II, so we shouldn't judge. Those *were* some cool new creations. In later years, the Nanja had her own toy machine gun that made authentic rat-tat-tat sounds and scared the shit out my uncle on one memorable evening (nearly leading to the untimely deaths of two prankster cousins).

Well, the times the are a-changin' at least for me. I have my own list, but my motto seems to be, "make food, not war" because the two items on my list of the all time best inventions are my Kitchen Aid Professional mixer (industrial gray) and, until recently, my Braun hand held immersion blender. I'm still casting about for the number three on my list. The microwave comes to mind. Anyway, the sad part of this tale is that since we moved, I cannot locate my immersion blender. Kitchen life as I knew it is a thing of the past. No more whipping up beans for burritos in seconds. It's mash, mash, mash with a potato masher, and it's just not as thorough. I mean, there a visable beans and Comet is only "kinda-kinda" on visible beans. Also, for whipping potatoes, it couldn't be beat. The only thing I can imagine is that I left it hanging in it's convenient wall mounted holder in our old kitchen.

And an we talk about the appliances I do have and never use? Two fondue sets (par-tay), an ice cream maker, a bread machine, a meat grinding/pasta making attachment for my Kitchen Aid and a salad shooter. I'd give them away, but there's always that slim, slim chance that I'll have an overwhelming desire to throw a fondue, shredded vegetable and ice cream party, and them where would I be?

But, as appliances leave us, new appliances come into our lives to brighten and, occasionally, warm our days. I am speaking of course of my early Valentine's gift from the thoughty Gameguy. It's a sexy red electric faux woodstove with faux flames and real heat. I'm going to put it up in our palatial bedroom suite and pretend I'm Jane Austen toasting my toes in front of an open "fire" while I create my masterpieces (er, blog entries). Fantasies can come true!

I bid you goodnight and bon apetit!

Jesus, Mary and Joseph

I was raised Catholic. Voodoo Catholic to be exact. Voodoo Catholic is a combination of all of the regular rules of Catholicism plus things like "don't put your hat on the bed or someone will DIE!" and "don't put your shoes on the table or someone will DIE!" The implication being that you held the power of life and death in your own hands, especially if you were carrying a hat or a pair of shoes. So, you were very powerful but never in a good way. There was no "put your shoes away and always have fun at play" or "put your hat on the rack and you'll receive candy by the sack!" It was mostly dark, dark stuff.

And so, as soon as I left home, I abandoned the Catholic thing, especially the inconvenient going to Mass part. I dabbled in new ageism, but it was a little too funky for me and plus, they always wanted you to write stuff down, "take out a clean sheet of paper" I'm sorry, that's more than I'm comfortable with. Then it was onto Unitarianism, but something bugged me about that (probably the incessant church attendance, I mean every week--come on!) I learned a little about Buddhism, but by then religion wasn't sticking. I still believed in God, but who or what God is a little amorphous for me.

I like having God so that I have someone to talk to when I'm in a jam who might just throw a little magic my way, and if not, I appreciate the listening. I find it useful to argue with God with I'm angry or confused. I've had no verbal answers or burning bushes, but the listening is enough for me. I believe in karma and in the possibility that the next person you meet who is in need, could be God in disguise. I try to act accordingly, unless the person scares me. I believe the only way to live a good life is to be good to myself and other people and to do what I can to make my little corner of the world a better place in whatever way I'm able to do that at any given time. I believe that life with no kind of God, even a God of one's own devising, is a little lonelier than it could be.

And I haven't quite given up my Catholic roots. Saint Anthony helps me find things every day. (Dear St. Anthony, come around, something's lost that can't be found. Try it. I don't know why, but it works.) I also have little chats in my head with Mary. She was the mother of a challenging only son, too. And then I have Saint Jude for the really hard, scary, impossible stuff. I think I'm in it mostly for the listening and the chance of a little magic thrown in just when i need it.

P.S. I still don't allow hats on the bed or shoes on the table, just in case.

Monday Erratica

1. Curve ball! Due to flash flooding, the County Schools are closed! What's a mother to do? A lot.

2. I'm trying to decide whether to keep my spare tire as a flotation device or hire a personal trainer and work it off. Hmmm, water safety versus vanity? Which will win? Stay tuned!

3. Our friends in Connecticut sent Comet a fabulous toy rocket that is as big a an ottoman (the furnishing, not an ancient Turk). The nicest part is that the friend's children searched for it and chose it for Comet themselves. Very sweet. Now to surreptitiously smuggle out a toy of equal size and weight.....

4. Speaking of toys, I tried to pitch a toy buyout to Comet. I was thinking $50 in his robot fund for half of his toys (toys he doesn't play with) and he said, "NO! If you take my toys you will have to give me $12 dollars!" I thought this was a deal until he added "for EACH toy." My child is too savvy. I guess I'll just be sneaky about it.

5. So our vehicle (the classy one) had developed a stench. It got so bad that even I could take it so longer, so I did a bit of detail work this afternoon. Okay, so it kind of smelled like moderately stinky cheese, but after examining the extent of the damage, it's a wonder it didn't smell like Limburger with anchovies stuffed in a cabbage and baked in the sun. It was rough. All I hope is that the cleansers I used will cover up the "ambiance" long enough for me to get the car to the mechanic and bodywork place and then I will have it professionally cleaned!

6. Speaking of dirty cars, we visited my cousin Fancy at her new condo home and Gameguy noted that, aside from our car, there was only one other dirty car in the whole, extensive condo complex. Different lifestyle choices, I guess. Another good reason to live in the woods!

I'm out of here!

Freedom's just another word for

get me THE HELL OUT of this house! Actually, I've been singing a happier tune for the last two days since Comet went back to school, but the weekend followed by two school holidays and a Comet sick day almost finished me. I gots to get the hell out of this (or any) house for at least an hour a day, preferably alone in the car or I lose my shizzle. I have always been this way. Since I was a kid, I was the first one waiting at the door when there was even a rumor that someone was going to the grocery store. When anyone said the words "I'm going to the," I was quick to shout out "I wanna come!" before they even finished the sentence. Often the sentence ended in "kitchen" or "bathroom." Then I would add sadness to my thwarted wanderlust.

Could it have something to do with my incarceration, er, childhood, in scenic Jetersville, population no one cares? Where my nearest neighbors were Black Angus cows--their field was about ten feet from the bathroom window---who would occasionally escape and run around my house until Mr. Puglisi came and rounded them up? Where entertainment was walking over to the country store across the street and buying a soda from the machine. Big entertainment was when the phone company put in a telephone booth next to the store and you could call people up but they couldn't hear you unless you put in the dime, and guess what? We never put in the dime! Ah, good times.

Could it be because I didn't have a car until well into my twenties and was dependent upon the kindness of friends and the strength of my tough little legs in a town with (formerly) crap public transportation? Though my tough little legs were in some good shape in those days. There is a side benefit to this earlier deprivation in that I don't feel guilty about using gas. I grew up in the sticks and never went more the ten miles from home and didn't have a car till I was twenty-six. Ya'll suburban brats can feel THAT shame. I'm just using my share from the seventies and eighties!

Actually, I'm blaming my most recent hatred of humanity/bad moods on the almost recent snowfall we experienced and the internally horrifying, scarring FOUR days that I was stuck/at home with my loving family. My boys were pretty happy, but I was ready to chew off my own leg and limp down Route 20 just to see the bright lights of Food Lion before I bled out.

GameGuy is a man who could stay in the house for weeks and not even notice as long as there was enough food and people kept showing up to play boardgames, yet he understands me. Comet could stay home forever and he's only five and doesn't understand anybody. It's GameGuy who makes sure I get THE HELL OUT at least once a day. During the at home days this week, he supported me as I ran (drove) out for forty-five minutes to an hour over his lunchtime so that I could maintain. He knows that his girl has got to move, see the world, see people I don't know and don't have to talk to or ever see again. I need to be in the impersonal flow of humanity, be it ever so humble as a walk through our dubiously named Fashion Square Mall (it isn't square, either). He knows I'll never be gone long, and he really gets it when I tell him, "Baby, I was born to run (to the store)!"

Monday Erratica

1. I saw Mary Chapin Carpenter (or her doppelganger) in Barnes and Noble today! I was right behind her in line and didn't realize it until I was leaving. She gave me a suspicious look. I wonder if she remembers our Whole Foods "encounter."

2. It's a four day weekend for Comet and that means Mama Gusta and Gameguy providing the entertainment. Actually, he's into playing his own version of this game where you build towers, so he has been keeping himself busy. He's in a grouchy/whiny phase and I'm going with "he's working through a developmental milestone" so I don't lose my already tenuous grip.

3. We are considering buying a minivan. We looked at two. On the one hand is the luxury model that practically drives itself AND HAS HEATED SEATS (the cup holder of the middle-aged set--it also has seventeen cup holders or something like that). On the other is a more (very) spartan vehicle that has less mileage, is a year "younger" and many thousands lower in price. It has less of everything in fact. AND THE SEATS AREN'T HEATED. So to be indulgent or sensible? My mind says go for the value but my ass says, "What about MY needs!"

4. We have a babysitter for a couple of hours tonight. A lovely girl who has very little time to babysit. Where have all the babysitters gone? (Long time passing...) Back in my day, people gave the babysitter a dollar an hour and girls were clambering for the opportunity. Most girls. I was the kid who would rather read a book than earn money and had absolutely no love for or understanding of children. I would have made a good security guard.

5. Our house looks like a bomb exploded because we are trying to finally open all of our boxes and get on with our lives. It's always messiest before the dawn.

6. I saw "Sherlock Holmes" recently. It was good, but I could never quite let go of the fact that I paid $9.50 for my ticket. Rent the DVD.

Old Yeller

I'd like to think that I'm a pretty good parent and that I'm compassionate and understanding of my child's needs. I'd like to think that. Then comes a morning like this one when Comet refuses, for the third day in a row, to get up for school. Okay, so I go in there with the cajoling, the understanding. "I know it's early and you're tired, but you're going to have fun at school today." Not even close. I go so far as to read him a book, "Dinner at the Panda Palace," an all time favorite. Nothin' doin'. And still the clock ticks away the minutes until bus time. I begin to get a bit terse and become a tight talker. Does this work? No. Then my voice raises and I decide to leave the room and go about my business downstairs hoping that Comet's need to pee will win out over his desire to sleep (drive Mama crazy).

And I'm right. I hear the thump, thump, slam of Comet hitting the bathroom. Then there's a wail for "Mama!" to come upstairs. But I am so done with this drama that I wait it the kitchen, making breakfast, putting the finishing touches on the old lunch box, and finally he comes downstairs and he has his clothes with him, except his socks. I have happily anticipated him/been a bad housekeeper and there happen to be clean socks on the sofa. To which Comet announces, "I am not getting dressed!" Great.

Okay, onto breakfast. And here I make a fatal mistake. There's always a fatal parental mistake on a bad school morning, isn't there? I decide it would be fun to make up a story game with the sight words he is studying, and I use the term loosely, for school. Oh, the anguish. "I can't EAT while you READ those WORDS!" Nuff said, I calmly read him from his History of the World book, cheerily relating how the early Muslims killed the Christians, and the early Christians killed them right back. How people were murdered or forced into slavery. Plus the pillaging, burning and unmentioned raping that went on. This he loves to hear about. The words "there" and "with." Not so much.

But there's more! Comet, who has eaten about a micron of breakfast, says "I want to show you a surprise!" He runs off to the dining room and brings back a Lindt chocolate truffle. "Daddy said I could eat this after breakfast!" he announces joyfully. Now, Daddy is not a fool and if anyone would have made the mistake of telling him he could eat it after breakfast, that fool would have been me. And I didn't do it. I calmly explain that he hasn't even eaten his breakfast, and that I want him to put the candy in his lunch box to eat after lunch.

ALL.HELL.BREAKS.LOOSE. Comet will not put the candy in his lunch box or put it down. In the mean time, I am trying to get him to dress and during this totally fun experience he informs me the "Ha, ha, I'm going to eat it while I walk down the driveway to the school bus!" Was it the deviousness of his plan or that "Ha, Ha!" that drove me over the edge? "You can't have the candy at all!" I declare and wrestle it out of his tight little fist. There is much screaming and grabbing and hating. (Aside: This is the boy who, after a summer spent listening to Little Shop of Horrors and learning that the plants would give you anything you wanted as long as you fed them fresh blood said, "I would feed the plants for all of the candy in the whole world!" He loves him some candy.) Okay, now huge screaming, kicking, refusal to put on shoes. And time is a tickin' away! It's after seven, the bus comes at 7:10. We have a loooooong driveway.

Finally, I call in reinforcements! "GAMEGUY" I bellow. Gameguy comes downstairs and tries to shoe and comfort our hysterical child. I try not to hit anyone. The coat is on and we have lift off! Oh, no we don't, because Comet has run back into the interior of the house. Cajoling and yelling on the part of his parents, along with a bit of physical assistance from GG and we are on the porch. It is still possible that we will catch the bus.

I try to lighten the mood. Mention the herd of deer I see up ahead. Comet is not interested. He's back to wailing about his candy and doing this robot walk every time I ask him to walk down the driveway, at which point I lose it and emit an ear piercing shriek! I partially drag him and then decide to walk. Time is going fast. We will miss the bus! I do not wish to get into a habit of driving a certain someone to school because he won't move his booty. I take off ahead of him and for Comet it's z trail of tears and recriminations down the hill. I don't think I could walk as slowly as he did if I tried. I emit another awful shriek, then decide to just shut up and walk down to the bus stop. He is still yards and yards behind me, all I can see is the little flashes of his light up sneakers, slowly blink blinking down the driveway.

The bus gets to our stop and I wave the driver on (she has to turn around and pass our house again on the way out.) Somehow, and I really don't know how, Comet makes it to the bus stop a minute before the bus comes. He's upset, I'm upset. I say, "I'm sorry for yelling and getting mad at you," to which her replies, "I'm not." Okay. I watch his little self cross the road and get on the bus and feel sad, mad and relieved all at once. What a horrible morning.

Cut to an hour and a half later when I go to his class to volunteer and he is all hugs and kisses and "I love you Mommy!" Can this be the same child on the same day?