Unexplored Territory

Wednesday, August 30, 2006

TT # 8

Afer compiling this list, there is a definite pattern. I love men with deep, strong voices, dark hair, dark eyes, and men who can sing. Not too bad of a list, I don't think.

Thirteen Men I Find To Be Very Yummy

1.

Mike Rowe, the host of Dirty Jobs. I have just really started watching this show, and now I tune in every week just to watch Mike. AND ... he is an OPERA singer. Oh man... there was one episode in a candy store where he started singing ... and he is a bass (ETA: one of my visitors has pointed out that he believes Mike to be a baritone, so I stand corrected)... oooooo... weak in the knees, I tell ya!

Ewan McGregor. Mmmmm.... I love to be surprised by an actor. I love to find out that he is a triple threat. And that is exactly what Ewan proved to me in Moulin Rouge. He can sing. He can dance. And he can act. And he sings. Did I mention that he sings. He's just not your young Ben Kenobi anymore!

Kevin Spacey. Oh yeah. Here is another triple threat. I didn't particularly care much for the movie where he played Bobby Darin in "Beyond the Sea." But I watched it to watch him sing and dance and act. Do you see a pattern here?

Harrison Ford. Notice that I used a younger picture of him. I am not particularly enamored of the older Harrison Ford, the one who dates Calista Flockhart. I LOVE the Harrison Ford of the 1980s. The Henry of Regarding Henry. The John Book of Witness. The Deckard of Blade Runner. The Jack Trainer of Working Girl.

Julian McMahon of Nip/Tuck. Mmmmmm...... and only a few short days until the season premier.

Dylan Walsh. Another Nip/Tuck entry ... there is just SOMEthing about him.

Pierce Brosnan. I have loved this man since he started playing the part of Remington Steele. His accent. Oh ... his accent.

Alan Rickman. Another European actor ... this man's accent is just so.... soothing. I loved him in Dogma. There was that scene at the end when he told Bethany that she was pregnant, and he put his hand on her belly .... oh, that was DIVINE!

James Earl Jones. Dude. Darth Vader, man. Golly ... his voice is SOOOOOOO sexy, and that just makes him a sexy man!

10.

Sean Connery. Ok ... so that makes it one Scot and two Irishmen. Or is Ewan Scottish, too? Well, it IS my heritage. Sean Connery is just so wonderfully yummy ... oh man.

11.

Hugo Weaving. Strange one, maybe. But I fell in love with his voice in V for Vendetta. We never once saw his face (I know what he looks like), but his voice... who couldn't love it? Of course, he is more well-known as Mr. Smith in The Matrix movies, and he isn't so nice in those. But that voice in that movie...

12.

Keanu Reeves. I am not a HUGE fan of his, but when he wears these glasses and that duster coat, or the black turtleneck in The Matrix movies, I go weak in the knees. But he is AWFUL darn cute in this photo:

because I think he looks an awful lot like the German exchange student who lived with my family for a year ... after his haircut, though.

13.

Tom Hanks. Saved the best for last. I just love him. I have always loved him. He could play a cow, and I would go see the movie. He is the epitome of a man to me.

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Tuesday, August 29, 2006

Robin ... this one is for you!

I took a quiz for you ... to prove that I am a child of the 60s, as you always say!

You Belong in 1967

If you scored...

1950 - 1959: You're fun loving, romantic, and more than a little innocent. See you at the drive in!

1960 - 1969: You are a free spirit with a huge heart. Love, peace, and happiness rule - oh, and drugs too.

1970 - 1979: Bold and brash, you take life by the horns. Whether you're partying or protesting, you give it your all!

1980 - 1989: Wild, over the top, and just a little bit cheesy. You're colorful at night - and successful during the day.

1990 - 1999: With you anything goes! You're grunge one day, ghetto fabulous the next. It's all good!

What Year Do You Belong In?

Pass the Torch Tuesday

Believe it or not, Kelly and I did not plan this. I had planned on posting this as my PTT entry even before I read Kelly's post last night. But she brings up a good point: it is the process, not the product.

Last night, I made some mini meatloaves and had purchased a box of Idahoan mashed potatoes. For Queen Bee, anything that happens in the kitchen is in adventure. She is always right there, wanting to help. And it wasn't so long ago that I was the same age, and always wanting to help my mother in the kitchen.

I had to go back to my "office" (read: bedroom) to start work for the day, so I left Queen in charge of making the potatoes. She had made the kind that come in the bag (Idahoan has some REALLY good instant, real mashed potatoes and my kids love them!), so she thought she knew what she had to do. I didn't look at the box to see what the instructions were, and I assumed that Ace would oversee the construction of our side dish.

Assume nothing.

When I came out to pull the mini loaves out of the stove, Queen was quite proud of herself when she pulled out my completely full, large Pampered Chef batter bowl. It was overflowing with potatoes... that looked like they could double as wallpaper paste.

Finding out that the Queen had used only milk with no butter, we trudged our way through the potatoes, telling her that they were the best we had ever had. She had tried so hard, and wanted them to be right.

And they were.

Monday, August 28, 2006

An aching womb

When I was pregnant with the Chandelier Monkey, I had a feeling that she was it for me. I was on bedrest (well, ok ... MY version of bedrest with two very active little kids in the house) with the Monkey, and she was born at 37 weeks at a whopping 4 pounds 13 ounces. It was all because I had some high blood pressure issues, and her placenta just stopped nourishing her at some point. The doctor even commented that she was glad she "took her" when she did because of the state of her placenta.

It was at that time that the dr. asked me THREE times "are you sure you want to go through with this procedure?"

And I said yes. Three times.

Three times. Three children. Enough was enough for my body, I thought.

But today, a good online friend of mine just told me that she is expecting another baby.

Another good online friend is expecting baby number 5 at the beginning of next week.

It is times like these that I want to be pregnant again. I want another baby in my life.

My niece is expecting her first child at the end of January, and I am hoping to get my hands on that baby whenever I can.

But ... it isn't the same. I want to nurse, and nurse successfully. I should have taken the hint of the personality yet to come when the Monkey would pull off of me, screeching because she wasn't getting her milk the way she wanted it.

I want to cloth diaper another bum. I want to buy tiny diapers, and wash them, and fold them, and pull them out all over again, to use all over again. To get that satisfaction that I am not throwing my dipes in the landfills.

I want to knit small woolies again.

So there are times, like now, when I wonder if I made the right choice. It is hard to be the one who has to constantly live with that choice. When we were on our way up to the appointment where we would learn that my BP was 180/110 and learn that the Monkey was breech position and not moving from that position, Ace and I discussed his options. He turned pale white when the dr. mentioned the word scalpel. But it turned out that I would be the one undergoing the knife, and it only seemed appopriate that I be the one to have the "procedure."

And now I feel like I have cheated our family. I have always had the feeling that I could have four children. That this is a four kid family. That the Monkey needs a younger sibling. That the Man deserves a shot at being one of two boys in the family. That feeling of not being completely fulfilled.

It is hard for me to be the one who bears that. It is hard for me to admit that I am the one who can no longer bear children. I have a lot to work through, I guess.

I just didn't didn't think I would be feeling this way three years post op.

Sunday, August 27, 2006

All that pot and kettle stuff...

A phone conversation with the Mominator.

Hey ... I was calling to ask you a question.

Yes?

Is there a meet the teacher/drop off school supplies time tomorrow at X?

For who, Mom?

Ok ... before I give her response, I have to give a little background. Tiffany works with Mominator at a little boutique. Tiffany is a KNOW IT ALL. Tiffany does not have a filter from her brain to her mouth. Tiffany is also 10 years my junior. So when the Mominator starts a sentence off with "well, Tiffany just told me ..."I immediately put on my boxing gloves.

Well, Tiffany just told me that Taylor is meeting her teacher tomorrow, and dropping off school supplies.

Yeah. Interesting.

Well, I wasn't sure if you needed to know that.

Well, I already knew that because I got a letter from the Door Man's K teacher, telling me the same thing.

Oh ... did the Queen get a similar letter?

No, she didn't. Mom ... you remember that the Queen has the same teacher for second grade as she did for first? You know ... that looping thing?

Well, yes. I remembered that. I was just telling you what Tiffany told me, and better to hear it from me than to not hear it at all and not do something you should have.

Well, I suppose that would be true IF you knew what you were talking about. Queen does NOT have a meeting with her teacher, who she already KNOWS, tomorrow.

Hmmm.

Now ... this "hmmm" thing. It ticks me off to no end.

Hmmmm... said at the end of a sentence for the Mominator is an indication that there is disbelief over the whole situation ...

Hmmm..... well, I don't believe you.

Hmmmm... well, I think you are wrong.

Hmmmm.... well, I am just telling you what Tiffany said to me, and I would rather call my own flesh and blood, make her feel like an inept mother by questioning everything she says, and let her know that I believe the words of a person I have known for 2-3 years over hers.

So.... hmmmm.

Hmmmm .... Hmmmm what, mother? I can certainly get you the Queen's teacher's phone number, and you can call her to see what she has to say.

Well... no, I'm not going to do that.

Well fine, then. Let's leave it at that.

Well, I just thought maybe you needed to know.

I DON'T need to know; I DIDN'T need to know; and now I am po'ed that you keep pushing me because YOU think I NEED to know.

Golly. You know what? Sometimes, you are REALLY difficult to get along with!

Wow. Hello pot. Nice to meet you.

Saturday, August 26, 2006

What does your telephone voice say about you?

When I hear what my voice sounds like on the phone, I think ... ok ... good. Calm, cool, and collected. Until the little voices in the background pop up and screaming ensues. Then I sound like a crazed banshee.

But when I am operating on little sleep (like this morning ... worked until 4 am this morning to get work finished for the week ... yes, I am crazy), I get that quality of tone in my voice. That tone that says "yes, I'm tired ... but I sound DARN sexy!!"

I have been told by many admirers (yeah ... ok .... my ex-boyfriend and Ace .... oh yeah, and my college admirer/best boy friend) that I sound really sexy. That my voice is really low. I liken myself to Kathleen Turner on her best days ... not the gravelly-sounding Kathleen Turner of today. The Jessica Rabbit Kathleen Turner.

Do I really sound like her? Nah. Probably not.

But I got to try out the sexy Kathleen voice on our executive senior pastor on the phone this morning. And it doesn't hurt matters that I think he is the cat's meow.

And that is how I will play it in my mind for weeks to come.

Friday, August 25, 2006

The time my Dad embarassed the crap out of me

I know. There really isn't just "one" time when your parents embarass you. But my Dad really didn't do it too, too much. That was my mother's job. She had an innate ability to say the wrong thing at the wrong time. She had the innate ability to use her acerbic wit to bring us down a peg or two, and generally in front of our peers. I will never forget the time she grounded me in front of my boyfriend's graduating senior class; a class in which I had most of my friends.

My Dad was known to attend my basketball games (I played and was a rah-rah'er) in plaid pants. And not just ANY plaid pants. Very LOUD plaid pants. My friends would say things like "hey Murry (my nickname in HS) ... what do you think your Dad is wearing tonight?" and people would CHEER when he walked into the gym if he had them on.

Yes ... embarassing moments to be sure. But this one takes the cake.

When I was in college, my parents took a group of high school kids up to Toronto to see Phantom of the Opera. I was able to make the trip, but the caveat was that I had to sleep in my parents' room in the other bed. No biggie, I thought.

I used to wear contacts when I was growing up, before I had my cataract surgeries. Because I was blessed with cataracts when I was born, my vision was very poor without the aid of contacts or glasses. So when I was ready to go to bed, I took my lenses out, and I couldn't see anything. My father used this to his advantage that night in that hotel room.

My mother was having "tummy trouble," and was in the bathroom for some time. I went to bed, and my Dad turned on the tv. He was flipping through the channels when all of a sudden, I hear this cheesy music, and start hearing the sounds of two women... so you get the drift.

I sat straight up in bed, flipped on the light, and my Dad started chuckling.

DAD!!!! I CAN'T BELIEVE YOU!!!!! I am IN this room with you!!! I might not be able to SEE what you are watching, but I sure as heck am not DEAF!

Haaaa haaa... oh yeah.... ok. Flips the channels again.

About 3 minutes later, hoping I had gone to sleep, what channel is back on? Yep.

So I pulled out the big guns...

MOM! You wouldn't believe what Dad has on in here!!!

What is he watching?

A PORNO! With ME in the room!!!

JERRY!!!!! You turn that off RIGHT NOW!

Heh heh .... the remote control was stuck.

Stuck my butt.

Thursday, August 24, 2006

My new tenant

Give it up for my new renter, Once Was Lost But Now Am Found. Please check her out, spread some love, have some fun.

Wednesday, August 23, 2006

TT # 7

When I was in college, my mother suggested that I go to one of the career fairs that Cedar Point, a local amusement park, was having. I didn't think too much about it, so I went ahead and made the trip to Sandusky, Ohio.

When I arrived, my future boss pulled me aside and interviewed me, asking me if I could work with large amounts of money. Of course I could. I could juggle 10 plates on my head, and drink a Pepsi at the same time, if you asked me. I wouldn't do it WELL, but I could try. That started my career in the Group Sales Booth at the Point. I worked there for three years.

A lot of people go to amusement parks to have a good time. Not much thought is put into the people who make sure your ride is safe, or make sure your food is good, or make sure those batrhooms are clean. But there are hundreds of college kids, enticed by the sweet sound of not having to return home for the summer to live with good old Mom and Dad, who make those places run. I was one of them.

Thirteen Reasons Why Working At Cedar Point Was So Much Da** Fun

1. I have already mentioned it before, but I will mention it again: you don't have to spend your summer with your parents. I chose not to spend three summers with them. I moved from college to CP back to college back to CP back to college back to CP and then on to law school. It was a sweet existence.

2. You get to go into the park FOR FREE. In those days, when I was young and stupid, and had no real concept of my mortality, I would ride those crazy rides whenever I felt like it. It was awesome, man!

3. We would make fun of EVERYone who walked into the park who wore matching outfits. It didn't matter if they looked nice or not; they were fair game if their shirts matched. The best ones were the shirts that would say "I'm With Stupid" and have arrows pointing in the direction of each other. When they would get all messed up, and be standing on the wrong side of one another ... well they were just insulting everyone's intelligence there.

4. The night life was AMAZING! Imagine ... a college scene ... ALL SUMMER LONG with NO classes to attend. Yeah sure... there was that work thing. But who cared?

5. Employee fun nights where we could ride rollercoasters in the dark. Those were awesome times!

6. Cedar Point at night ... there is nothing more magical for me. I love the lights of the Causeway. I loved the feeling of urgency of the guests to get things done in a short amount of time.

7. Ace worked there one summer. I will never forget it: he came to visit me one weekend, and I BEGGED him to see if he could get a job up there. He went to personnel, and he walked up to the door of the booth and told me that he would be working in the Merchandise Warehouse. It was a magical summer, really. So many fun things to do.

8. Sitting at the fountain at nighttime with Ace, with a pint of Ben & Jerry's that they sold in Ace's dorm, and watching everyone make their ways home.

9. My first summer, I lived in a dorm right NEXT to the Corkscrew. It wasn't a huge ride, but I lived right next to the hill. I would lie in bed at night, and my bed would shake because of the train going up the hill. It was hilarious.

10. Having a crush on my boss. There, I said it. I was SOOOOO enamored of my boss. The feeling was SOOOOO not mutual.

11. The people I got to meet. Although I don't keep in touch with her, my roommate one year was in my wedding party. Good times... good times.

12. Even though I hated them, the Muffleheads (these annoying mayfly type of insects) would offer some great entertainment. They came out in droves during a particular period of time, and they would literally swarm you. They wouldn't bite or anything, but when they would hit something or someone with a little bit of force, they would disintegrate into a green pool of goo. We would go out and watch people on the rides hit a patch of them and, they would purse their lips together and squeeze their eyes shut. It was hilarious.

13. The lake at night. Ooooohhhhh.. so gorgeous. The sound of the waves, hitting the beach. Just absolutely wonderful. Sitting on the beach, listening to the waves, watching the light at the lighthouse, wondering if the guy on the rake machine is going to see you sitting there, in the dark, on the sand.

There are just so many things that I could talk about. I just loved to work there so much. I take great pride in saying I once worked at Cedar Point. I remember when I would look at alums crazily when they would spout off about where they worked when they were my age. Now I think it is endearing.

Tuesday, August 22, 2006

Drama with a Capital D

This morning, Queen told me that she "woke up wrong." I didn't know what she meant at all. Then she described to me how she felt: wobbly, headache, sort of tummy ache, and just overall yuckiness. I thought "well, there's that virus that was showing up as a cold with the younger two... it is just manifesting itself differently in her."

I gave her bowl of Cocoa Pebbles, hoping to boost her blood sugar. It helped a little, but then she came back to my room and was complaining again. Because we had a scare with Diabetes Type 1 last year (she was misdiagnosed as having it), we have a tester kit here at the house. I decided to take her sugar reading. It was 86. No problems. But then I realized that it was an hour after she had eaten all that sugar, and it probably should have read in the 100s. So I thought that I had solved the mystery: hypoglycemia.

I went ahead and gave her some Ibuprofen for her headache, and fed her some animal crackers. Well, both of those remedies worked, and she came bounding out of my room, eyes all aglow and ready to attack the day. I chalked it up to low blood sugar.

Until this afternoon.

The older two went outside to play during the Monkey's nap. I heard someone come in, and then leave. About one minute later, the phone rings. I looked at the caller ID, and saw that it was our cell phone. At first, I thought it was Ace, but then I remembered that he didn't take the phone with him. So I knew it was one of the kids.

It was Queen.

Mommy .... can you come out here.

Where ARE you?

Out here.

What is wrong?

I'm not feeling well at all.

Thinking I would go out and find her laid out on the couch, I went to the living room. No Queen. Still on the phone with her, and carrying a trash can ... just in case ... I asked her where she was again.

I'm outside.

So I go out in the backyard, and sure enough, with her back up against the garage, sits Queen with the cell phone in her hand.

What is wrong?

When I walk, I can't walk a straight line. I am all wobbly again, and not feeling well.

Well, ok. But who got the cell phone for you to call me.

I did.

Ok. You walked INTO the house (albeit in a "not straight" way), grabbed the cell phone, came BACK outside, sat down on the patio, and called me to tell me something you could have told me from the couch?

Ummmm..... yes.

Once she was back inside and on the loveseat, I looked at her and said ...

A little melodramatic, don't you think?

And she agreed.

When the Door Man was about 2 1/2 years old, and when I was pregnant with the Monkey, we were driving to some location that escapes me now. We used to sing the ABC song whereever we went, always reinforcing the alphabet as we would look for things that would start with "a" and "b" and so on.

At one point, the Door Man pipes up, and sings the song. Ace and I were aghast! As the parents of two children only 23 months apart, we only really watched the accomplishments of the first child when it came to milestones of the larger magnitude ... ABCs, numbers, shapes, and colors. We were constantly pounding those things into the Queen's head, and not really thinking about the impact that it would have on her younger sibling.

When the Door Man piped his voice into the mix, I turned and looked at him. He was happily singing away, and I asked the Queen if she had been working with the Man. The Queen replied that she always sang the ABCs, and then she asked us to listen to the following...

The Door Man counted to 10!

Queen has always been so proud of that moment, and Ace and I jokingly told people that we were slacking as parents because our 4 year old was doing a better job at teaching her brother than we were.

And it wasn't until that moment did I realize the power of siblings.

Monday, August 21, 2006

Well I would probably just wear my street clothes

My sister works at a real estate office. My Dad is the sales manager there, and my brother is an agent. My sister has been their controller for close to 20 years now, maybe over that. So she is entrenched in the market, the agents at her office, and the agents at other offices, as well.

She attended a surprise birthday party this weekend, where some of her office was in attendance. One of the agents commented that his wife wasn't at this party because she was going to another party held in one of our community's hoity-toity neighborhoods. It was ....

A White Trash Party.

Ok. Give me a break. Seriously. How rude is that? Those of us who are probably deemed by the upper crust to be white trash (which would be anyone not listed in their income level) are greatly offended by the concept.

What would one wear to a white trash party? Had I known they were throwing this shindig, I would have set up a garage sale across the street, and sold them their party clothes. They could have shopped in my housewares department for the White Elephant gag gifts. And if they wanted to give the hosts' kids presents, they could rid me of our Sit n' Spin that plays all sorts of annoying music... because you know, that is what we white trash folks have in our houses.

What would one do at a white trash party? Do they serve hooch out of a trash bin. Or worse yet, drink Bud Light? I know I have had my share of hooch in a bucket at college parties, and have certainly partaken of a Bud Light or two. Or ten.

The fact that the party was co-hosted by a couple who are not originals to this town (really, there are very few of us left), and co-hosted by an individual who is a real estate agent, makes me sick. I would love to see the looks on the faces of the individuals who list with this agent when they hear that they were being made fun of at this party. Even if I don't know what they did at this party, the fact that they themed this party as White Trash makes me glad that I don't run in their circles.

What are they teaching their kids? I certainly hope that these kids were not present, and didn't hear one word about the preparation of this party.

Next week, I think I might have a Rich Bitch party. But I highly doubt that they would have a garage sale to help me furnish the party supplies. Because that is too White Trash.

Saturday, August 19, 2006

I have figured out why it is raining

This morning, I was awakened to the pitter patter sound of rain hitting my window air unit. "Finally," I thought. Then I remembered: it was race morning, and there were going to be some sad kids in the house.

This weekend is our town's annual Balloon Festival. It really is an awesome experience to be driving around town to look up and see about 20 hot air balloons, sailing high in the sky. However, the past few years have been terrible, weather-wise. So it was really no wonder that we had a smattering of rain this morning. Part of the festival is a 5K run for the adults, and a one mile fun run for kids.

Ace had already taken a shower (before he ran ... yeah. Don't ask), and the kids were waking up slowly. It was a slow start for me and the Monkey since the Monkey decided that 1:20, 1:45, 2:20, and 4:20 were all excellent times to scream out and scare the crap out of mama. So ... needless to say, I didn't want to move too quickly this morning.

The rain is coming down pretty good, and I knew that Ace would run no matter what, unless the entire race was called off. He had signed the kids up for a mile run, and Queen was all set to go. She had her shoes, her shorts, her shirt, and was getting her water bottle ready.

Then the voice of reason resonates throughout the kitchen and living room.

"I'm sorry, but you all won't be able to run this year."

The theatrics start.

WHAT? WHY? screeches the Queen.

Well because ... look outside. You are not running in pouring down rain.

But I've .... been... ...... looking forward ....... to this .......... for a ....long .....time.

Well I am terribly sorry, but there isn't anything you can do about it.

Now, the Door Man responded like this:

"I'm sorry, but you all won't be able to run this year."
Huh? Run? Where?

At the race this morning.

Oh. Ok. Returns to cartoon watching.

Ace told me that he could just take the Queen to the race, and she could run.

Uhhhh... yeah. No thanks. There is a cold that is running through the house, and I am not going to give her more of a reason to get it.

Well ... I'm sure there will be other kids out running.

Yeah. And I am not their parent. So .. no.

We get ready to go watch Ace run, and the Queen opens another can of drama, and it starts all over again.

She settles down (for the time being), and handles seeing a smattering of kids running back for the finish line (one of whom was a classmate ... oh... there's Nick. Nick got to run ....Yeah. Nick's mom is a maniacal runner. It is in his blood).

Then on the way home, it starts ALL OVER AGAIN!

I'm going to run next year.

Well, ok. But you know it is always like this on this morning for some reason, so there might be that possibility that you can't run again. But we can certainly sign you up.

WHY!?!?! It isn't fair that it is raining. Why does it have to rain today, when I was looking forward to running in the race? WHY!?!?!?!!

Because it is all your fault, Queen. You make it rain.

Friday, August 18, 2006

We, the People, in order to form a more perfect union ... establish justice and ensure freedom of choice when school supply shopping

Ok. School supplies. Love to shop for them because I am a self proclaimed office supply junkie. Love to see what new pens are on the market. Love to see the neat little Post-Its. Just love it all.

However, I lose my patience when I am restricted in my freedom of choice when it comes to arming my children with the best of the best in office and school supplies.

For example, here is Queen Bee's Second Grade School Supply List:

Two boxes of 24 regular color crayons Ok. Fine and Dandy until you get the Queen, standing by your side, saying "but I NEED to have the 64 pack with the built in sharpener ... because Courtney has SIX boxes of them!"

Three 4-oz. bottles of Elmer's white glue (not school glue) I think it took me until this morning to realize that there is, indeed, a difference between the types of glue offered. But do you know why it HAS to be the blue label kind? Because the teacher says the school glue is "too runny." While I believe this to be a legitimate excuse and complaint, she needs to TELL the parents this in her list; I learned this from my 7 1/2 year old who kept telling me "NO MOMMY! NOT THAT KIND!!!!!" and having what equated to a nuclear meltdown in the aisle.

Pencil eraser Pretty self-explanatory, but I don't recall seeing too many individual erasers for sale. It was always a two or three pack.

10-20 yellow # 2 pencils Ok fine. I have a box of 12.

Colored pencils (Crayola are the best, others break) Well, sure Crayola are the best. Crayola is ALWAYS the best. But if I want to buy Rose Art colored pencils because they are $ 1 cheaper, then too bad. Let them break.

Fiskar scissors Ummm... gonna get what we have, lady.

One bottom pocket folder As opposed to top pocket? Well, it all depends on how you hold the folder.

Paint shirt No problem. Really.

Large box of tissues Ok. This is where I start (and end) to have a problem. My child has a small nose. My child has not gone through a large box of tissues in her LIFE! I mean... seriously. WHY am I supplying tissues for those kids who have those nasty, runny noses about all school-year long? I guarantee you that that box of tissues does not remain at the Queen's table.

Gym shoes No problem on those, either. We always have the best of intentions in having one pair at school at all times, but Queen is a shoe geek, and she wants to wear them home.

Box of gallon freezer bags The teacher uses these to send home assignments in. But it baffles me that every child allegedly brings in a box of 10-20 of them. That makes about 200-400 bags for a class of about 20. Why, then, does she have the gnarliest looking bags? I throw them away and send a new one when it gets nasty looking.

This list pales in comparison to what the Door Man will have to supply. I guess I just have a hard time with that communal school supply mentality. If someone is going to be strapped for cash to supply their child, then the school needs to look into other alternatives ... like getting a church to make donations or something. Don't make the parents of the classmates pick up the slack.

Thursday, August 17, 2006

TT # 6

Dude. When Ace told me that Battlestar Galactica was being remade, and that Mary McDonnell was going to be in it, as well as Edward James Olmos, I didn't think I would watch one lick of it, because I grew up in the 70s, man. I was there for the original Star Wars. I was there for Buck Rogers (and man, did I ever have a crush on Gil Gerard ... until I learned that he wasn't such a nice husband when he was married to Connie Seleca). And I was most definitely there for the original BG series. Sure, it was cheesy. It was poorly acted. But it had Dirk Benedict. And Muffit. I LOVED Muffit. I wanted one. I even had a latch-hook pillow with Muffit on the front of it. I lovingly made that thing, and would pretend it was a real daggit. Did I mention that I was a sci fi geek from the start, or are you getting that already?

The late 70s/early 80s was a hey-day of sci fi. And I was in my element.

.So when the Sci Fi Channel was throwing around discussions of re-making my childhood favorite, I was skeptical, and swore I would not watch it. However, I tuned in, became totally addicted, and now cannot wait for October 6 to roll around!

Thirteen Reasons Why the Knitting Maniac Loves the New Battlestar Galactica

1. I was skeptical when Starbuck had boobs. I didn't think they should have "messed" around with the gender of the original characters. But, Starbuck is a bad-ass, strong, and defiant woman.... my kinda gal.

2. The Cylons attempted annhilation of the human race. They used nukes, man. They made it so the humans could not return to their home planets. The original series just had them shooting their laser beams, knocking out buildings and what-not. This makes it more permanent and in your face.

3. There is this one point in the pilot where Laura Roslin (Mary McDonnell) was talking with a little girl on one of the ships that was not equipped with hyperdrive. Or jump warp whatever. When the Cylons caught up with that part of the fleet, they had to make the decision to jump to another quadrant, leaving behind the little girl's ship. The image of her sitting in an atrium area while the Cylons were attacking...

4. 33. You fans know what that is.

5. This series has explained Baltar. In the original, Baltar was immediately with the Cylons. No explanations whatsoever. Just boom ... and there is a human amongst the machines.

6. Seeing Baltar have his conversations with Six. I just love Baltar, even though he is the traitor.

7. Ok ... yeah. EJO ... he has had a shady past with his step-daughter. Really just some nasty allegations. But there is just something SEXY about him...

8. The Human version of the Cylons. That is what made the first episodes so cool: you had no idea who was going to be a Cylon, and neither did the humans who were surrounded by them. When we found out that Sharon was a Cylon ... man.

9. The theme song. I just love it. And I loved how they worked the original theme song into the last episode of last year. That was mega cool.

10. October 6 isn't as far away today as it was in February when they aired the last episode of the season, and I was throwing cloth diapers at the television, screaming obscenities.

11. The mechanical Cylons. They are BAAAD. They look BAAD. They act BAAD.

12. Apollo's six pack. Enough said.

13. It makes Friday nights fun!

Wednesday, August 16, 2006

My new tenant! Give her some love

I have a new tenant! She is on day two of her new job, and it sounds like it is going well for her! Stop over at her blog, say hi, and encourage her to get her baby shower presents finished up ... because I want to see what they look like!

Stop on by ... you know where the link is.

A glimpse of the competition yet to come

When Queen Bee was growing up, we swore there could be no brighter kid on the planet. However, she did constantly refer to herself by our last name, and not her first. But it was very endearing.

When she entered Kindergarten, she was reading to her class (when her nerves didn't get to her, that is). She tested at a high level in reading, and she believed in herself. She believed that she was the "best" reader ever.

Her first grade teacher took her down a few notches the first time we met her. After the teacher was through insulting me ... that is another story for another entry ... she asked the Queen what she loved most about Kindergarten. Of course, it was reading and art. I am very tight-lipped when it comes to the kids' accomplishments (except for when Queen won that art contest out of all the K-5 graders, and won $ 100 for it ... she was SOOOO proud), so I didn't offer up much when Queen started talking about how she was a really good reader. It is the competitive spirit in her. She takes after her father.

Once Queen told her teacher that she was reading at X level, her teacher said "well... like I always told my daughter (her only child, and a golden one at that), no matter how well you read, there will always be somebody who reads better than you."

Yes. That is true. That is a hard lesson we learn in life. When I graduated from my SMALL SMALL high school as salutatorian, I thought I knew everything. I thought I was smart. I thought I was the ONLY one who "got it." But I wasn't. I landed in a sea of similar and better fish, and learned to swim.

So I think that was the message Queen's teacher was trying to convey to her ... Now, when the teacher DID witness that Queen was a darn good reader, she was amazed and pleasantly surprised.

The Door Man is reading now. He can read books like "Green Eggs and Ham" and "One Fish, Two Fish, Red Fish, Blue Fish" and "Are You My Mother." He is a bright dude, too but he has some eyesight issues that kind of hinder him a little. And, let's face it. He's a BOY. He works differently. The Queen does not view him as stiff competition. But he will be underestimated. Mark my words.

But let's move on to the smallest of the family. The Monkey is BRIGHT. She is smart. She is cunning. She does things that I would never have seen Queen do when she was her age. Sure, I attribute it some to her older siblings. However, I do believe that this child is pretty bright.

This morning, I witnessed the rearing of the green eyed monster in Queen when it comes to the Monkey.

This morning is library morning. That means, we spend the early part of the morning, frantically searching for that ONE item that nobody can seem to find. Today, it is a DVD. I can't find it anywhere, so I decided to put on my waders, and go into the older kids' room. It is a hole in there, and it is all because the Queen treats it that way. It maddens me to no end. But that is also another subject for another time.

I started to box up books that have reproduced in their room. I came across a brain teaser puzzle that Queen had gotten over the summer. Really, it is a little too young for her, but she wanted it, so she bought it with her hard-earned garage sale money. It is one of those puzzles with different shaped blocks, and you have to put them together to make a square. She has done it a number of times, and so has the Door Man, but only because he admitted that he looked at the picture on the back of the puzzle. But that's ok. He still is learning.

This morning, the Monkey (who has solved this puzzle before, and not by looking at the picture) wanted to play with it. I wasn't paying too much attention, and then I heard a shriek from the Monkey. I looked over, and Queen had stuck her foot down on top of the puzzle, and kicked it about so it messed up. Translation: the Monkey was getting ready to solve it, and Queen couldn't stand that!

I had a discussion with Queen, telling her that she isn't a one-man show. I told her that she is going to have to deal with her siblings being as bright, or maybe even brighter than she is. I told her that we all have our special things ... I can sing, and Daddy can, too, but not as well as me. Daddy is a wiz when it comes to math; I can't add my way out of a paper bag. But the most important thing that I wanted Queen to take away from this whole conversation was that, no matter where our talents are, we are all people, and none of us are perfect.

To her I am sure that sounded like "blah blah blah blah blah blah blah your sister is better than you at the puzzle blah blah blah blah blah."

Ah yes.... and they are only 7 and 3. I can't wait until a 10 is added to those ages....

Tuesday, August 15, 2006

Yesterday, the Door Man and the Chandelier Monkey were playing together for quite some time. They disappeared into the kitchen, and I heard the tell-tale sign of mischief: the refrigerator door opening and shutting. Then some discussion. And then some crying from the Monkey. The crying had the Doppler effect as it started in the kitchen, rounded one corner of the hallway, and the second corner, and then into my room.

I looked at her shirtless torso, milk drops on her chest and mouth, and didn't even have to ask what had happened. However, she felt the need to express her concern in three-year-old speak.

"Milk in cup ... and then I spill ... all over my shirt!"

"I can see that, honey. It is ok. We will take care of it."

The Door Man appeared, and said "I can dress her, Mommy."

At first, I thought it was the voice of guilt. But then I realized it was just the genuine concern of an older brother, wanting to make his younger sister feel comfortable and safe again.

The Man took the Monkey by the hand, led her to the hallway where Daddy had deposited some clean clothes just hours before, and picked out a pair of shorts and a shirt.

The Man was proud of himself, and the Monkey was proud of the Man for taking such good care of her.

Monday, August 14, 2006

Some serious thoughts

Believe it or not, I do have some serious thoughts. They are normally provocated by something that happens close to me, or closer to me than I feel comfortable with.

A few weeks ago, a good friend of mine, Robin, had to deal with two funerals in one week. One was a suicide and the other was the result of a car accident. Both of these people were our age (30-mid 30s). Not that I knew these two gentlemen, but I do know Robin, and it was hard to hear about their deaths.

Recently, a fellow work at home mom (WAHM) found out that she had a mass in her lungs that has turned out to be cancerous. She has since found out that that cancer has moved to her brain and other regions of her body. I did some Googling last night to see that 4 out of 5 people who are diagnosed with lung cancer die within one year. This mom has not smoked one cigarette in her life. She has seven children. My heart is breaking for her, and it saddens me.

I have been reading the blog of a local girl who was diagnosed with Stage IV neuroblastoma. She has been through so many treatments, and recent scans have shown that there is progressive growth in her brain and liver. She is on a study that is pretty risky right now, swallowing her chemo in pills. And just the sheer amount of pills she has to take in one sitting ... it totally boggles my mind. She was taking it in Slim Fast shakes, but she couldn't stomach that (I don't know how she could), so she moved on to having her dad put the chemo in capsules. I look at her pictures, knowing that she is nearing the point in time when the statistics say she should no longer be on this earth.

A dear close friend of mine died from an aneurism just one week after the birth of her second child.

This all just breaks my heart. How can something that starts off so beautifully, feeling kicks of our babies in our wombs, listening to the heartbeat and never tiring of hearing that sound at our checkups, to having to deal with cancer and suicide and untimely death?

I could never imagine the plight of having to bury a child of mine. I cannot imagine how the parents of the child with neuroblastoma make it through their days, just thanking God that they have ONE more day with their child.

I know that nothing in this life is guaranteed. At a moment's notice, a life can be taken.

It makes me realize that to focus on the stupid things ... the things that make me mad for no apparent reason ... is just a waste of my energy and my time.

Because I think of this WAHM, newly-diagnosed with the most aggressive and deadliest type of cancer, and it makes me stop and think ... and be thankful. And wish that cancer would forever be taken away from this planet.

Saturday, August 12, 2006

A free tube in every bowl

Sue's post at Great Lakes State of Mind about how she had to affix a note to the 32-gallon trash can that had seen its better days in order for the trash collectors to haul it off with that day's trash reminded me of the time when we gave someone a free toilet.

When we lived in Kentucky, it never ceased to amaze me the fact that an item could be left on the curb and it would be gone the next day.

Don't need that high chair anymore? Throw it down on the curb. Because seriously, that is where my MIL acquired the high chair she used at her house for the kids. She DID bypass the Diaper Genie, and for that I will be forever thankful.

Got a new couch? Just throw the old one down on the street.

We would drive by people shopping out in the crap on the curb. And it wasn't that these were impoverished people. My MIL is far from impoverished. It is just a way of life, I guess.

So when I was getting ready one morning and I dropped a tube of Bath and Body Works body creme (they used to put them in hugely-large tubes) in our toilet, and said tube went into the crook of the outlet pipe but didn't make it to the far side of the moon, we joined the ranks of "the people who put their crap out on the curb."

My FIL came over to see if he could fix it, but he couldn't. His description was that it was "right stuck." And it was ... right stuck there in the outlet pipe.

He took off for a home improvement store, bought a new "terlet," and installed it that day. He asked what I wanted done with the old one, and I told him to just set it out on the curb, and we could decide what to do with it later.

The next morning, that toilet was gone.

I should have put a sign on it that read: Free tube of lotion; barely used. Toilet isn't worth crap.

But I am most positive that the lucky person who "scored" themselves that toilet quickly found that out.

Friday, August 11, 2006

The answers to the burning TT questions

No, I did not knit the object of # 5. I am not sure what I would DO with it after it was knit, and knowing my children, they would sit there and ask me at every stitch "what are you making, Mommy?" However, I have knit a Boobie Ball. Yes. It is what you think it is. An online friend of mine is a LLL leader, and she wanted to test out her pattern before she started making them for a conference. So I made two of them. They are rather cute ... in a breast-y sort of way.

If you believe that coordination has ANYthing to do with knitting, you should give it a try again. I am the world's most UNcoordinated individual. I can walk into walls that have been there for 20 years and still swear it wasn't there the last time I walked through an area. I can trip on a non-existent crack in the sidewalk. I trip up stairs. Ok ... maybe my WALKING isn't coordinated. But you get the drift.

To all you crocheters .... hats off to you, dudes. Seriously. That is one thing I cannot wrap my brain around. And I used to think that if you can knit, you can't crochet, and vice versa. A lot of people I would talk to would verify that thought. However, I have met people who can do both, and do both very successfully.

And yes, I really did teach myself how to knit from a book. Ace had to teach me how to cast on with the slingshot method (I had a video for that and I wasn't "getting" it .. but he was). And I did have to go to a local yarn store (LYS, in knitspeak) for the owner to show me that I was wrapping my stitches around incorrectly. So I guess everything wasn't learned from the book. But a majority of it was.

Robin, if you would like a purse, you just tell me what colors and I will make you one.

And if you want to see more pictures of things I've made, and yarns I've dyed ... here you go:

Wednesday, August 09, 2006

TT # 5

I LOVE to knit. I taught myself how to knit from a book called (a propos) I Taught Myself How to Knit. It came with a pair of size 8 needles, and a few nicknacks. Since then, I have been knitting like a .... well .... knitting maniac. I own a little online knitting business, and I am starting to actually venture out into knitting for personal pleasure. I just love it.

So .... here are.....

Thirteen Reasons Why Knitting Rocks

1. It is portable. Show me a scrapbooker who can take her craft to the bathroom to sit on the toilet for a bit, and I will show you a man with seven noses.

2. In what other craft can you talk about balls all day long, and not ever once get a dirty look? (balls of YARN ... get your mind out of the gutter)

3. You get to make fun things like this:

4. It isn't your grandma's afghans anymore, baby!

5. Seriously... what other craft can make this and get away with it (warning: if you offend easily, don't look!)

6. Needles CAN be used in self-defense situations.

7. You can honestly knit DURING a sermon. Just ask me. You just keep it in your purse, and you reach in and just start knitting away. It is easy.

8. People are always interested in what you are making, so it is an excellent conversation starter. Think about it: take some knitting to a bar, look like you know what you are doing, and you never know the people you will meet.

9. It teaches your children patience. "Mommy ... can we go outside now?" "Just a minute honey. Let me finish this one last row."

10. Knitting and driving: it should become an Olympic sport.

11. Yarn ... it seriously can be stored ANYwhere. So you can just keep on buying it.

12. Ribbing has nothing to do with a prophylactic.

and the 13th reason why Knitting Rocks:

Who COULDN'T love this! THAT is knitting nirvana right there! (and not to toot my own horn ... but I dyed all of that yarn)

The King of Beers

When my niece was about 8 or 9 years old, Free Willy had been released on the unsuspecting public.

If you haven't had a chance to watch this movie, the basic premise is this: boy befriends killer whale in captivity; killer whale in question is going to be killed by the aquarium owners; boy takes matters into his own hands; boy releases killer whale into open waters, which I am sure is a much better ending ... unless you really think about a whale, whose species is known to live in pods and to hunt together, being released into the wild ocean where he will most surely not survive ... but don't think too much about it.

Free Willy opened the eyes of my niece to the issue of wild animals in captivity. But not just any animal. Just the marine animals. Immediately, she decided to take on corporate America: Anheuser-Busch, the owner of Sea World.

Writing a rather inflammatory letter that only a 9 year old could craft, using large words like "dummies" and "hate," my niece sent her letter, demanding that Anheuser-Busch force Sea World to release its killer whales.

She waited for weeks for their response. Finally, a letter appeared, and my niece frantically ripped it open.

Inside the envelope was a nicely-worded letter that basically told her thanks, but no thanks. We treat our whales with respect and honor and dignity. But hey kid, for your trouble, here are ...

Four complimentary passes to Sea World! My niece was enraged. She sent the tickets back to them, telling them that she did not want them.

And just now watching the Shamu cam, I think she had it all right.

I told my sister they would have been better off sending her a coupon for a free 12-pack of beer.

Tuesday, August 08, 2006

The votes are in .....

and I won second place in the Pass the Torch Contest! Thanks to everyone who stopped by my little blog and read my entry. And thanks to my voters!

Sunday, August 06, 2006

All right, my readers .... GO VOTE!

I have entered the Pass the Torch Contest. Kelly has an awesome site, talking about empowering the youth of today to become the leaders of tomorrow. You will see my post below with the Pass the Torch button. Click on the button, and it will take you to a mini poll. Vote for me!!!! Please?! With sugar on top!

The title of the post, in case you don't want to look too far is A Servant's Heart.

So ... go ... go now. Vote. Polling ends Tuesday night! To go vote, click
HERE

A Servant's Heart

Whenever I speak of the Queen, I paint pictures of a girl who is known for her theatrics. She is known as the Drama Queen around this house, feigning near death when she stubs her toe.

However, underneath that outward persona lies a heart that is easily broken.

There was a little squirrel who made himself fat on a seed bell that the Queen had placed out on our tree. She loved to watch that little guy eat his way through that bell. She would marvel at how fast he would eat, and how much seed he would drop on the ground.

This squirrel was known to hide out in our garage, and then make a dash for the bell whenever he had the chance. He grew quite fat, and he really was a sweet little guy.

Coming home from my parents' house after our Fourth of July get together this year, we rounded the corner and there, in the middle of the street, was her squirrel. She immediately knew it was hers by the amount of fat that was on this little guy's body. He had probably been killed by a car minutes before we came home.

Queen had her face pressed up against the glass of the van's window, and she said "Oh no.... I hope that isn't my squirrel. Oh Mommy ... that IS my squirrel." Tears started streaming down her face as the reality sunk in that her little buddy was now gone.

"Mommy ... where do squirrels go? Do they go to heaven?"

Being taken off guard by the fact that we had death right there in our faces and were having to deal with it right then, I told her that I was sure there was a special place in heaven for all the little squirrels who had been hit by cars.

As soon as we pulled into the driveway, Queen knew she couldn't stand to see the squirrel's body in the road any longer, so she asked Ace if he could bury the squirrel. Ace really didn't want to, but Queen insisted, big tears in her eyes.

Ace retrieved the shovel from the garage and Queen chose the place where she wanted her squirrel laid to rest. Ace dug a hole, and Queen took a trowel and dug up a marigold that we had planted in a pot just days before. She asked Ace to plant the flower over the squirrel, just so he could have something beautiful to mark his short presence in this world.

I have placed this blog entry in the Pass the Torch Contest.

To read the rules of this contest, click on the button below!

Saturday, August 05, 2006

Yeehaw!!!

Tomorrow, Ace takes off for the Brickyard with a friend. This is Ace's date for the week. Right now, he is on his way to pick up a "seat with a back" from my brother in law. We are most certain that it is camoflaged, because my BIL is big hunter/fisher/gatherer type of man. Who lives with my totally vegan sister. Yeah. Don't ask.

Ace has been practicing his hooping and hollering. He's been practicing his redneck accent. He has the crotch adjustment and farmer's kleenex method down pat. So watch out, NASCAR fans, Ace will be in Indy tomorrow!

And this got me to thinking. How much redneck do you have in you.

You have the local taxidermist on speed dial. This is my BIL. In fact, my BIL is doing his own taxidermy now.

The biggest city you've ever been to is Wal-Mart. I will be the first to admit: I love me some Wal Mart. You don't have to worry about yelling for your spouse across the store. You just have to be careful that you call him by his Christian name.

Your father executes the "pull my finger" trick during Christmas dinner. Dudes ... this is SOOOO my Dad. And now the Door Man has been initiated into the finger pulling hall of fame.

Down where you come from reruns of Hee Haw are called documentaries. Yeah. Both Ace and I watched Hee Haw. All the time.

But the biggest sign that you might be a redneck is this story from our local newspaper, which was covering the regional Antique Machinery Show (names removed to protect the rednecks).

But if you want a real orange experience, be in the fairground's north grandstand at 5:30 p.m. today. That's when YYYY YYYY and XXX XXXXX will be married in a ceremony that features the traditional wedding color of ... orange (this is the color of Allis-Chalmers, a tractor). The wedding will include groomsmen riding in on tractors, ring bearers riding on a homemade wagon, and the wedding couple exiting the ceremony on a customized two-seat 1934 WC model A-C tractor.

Friday, August 04, 2006

The answer to the $ 900 question

Because it generated so much interest, and so many questions, I thought I would answer the $ 900 question: we turned the money in to the police, waited 30 days, and called on the 30th day. The money had not been claimed, so we both went down to the station after work and picked that money up! I am sure we went out to eat with it, and then bought silly, frivolous things because that is what young marrieds do when they have $ 900 to spend. We had a ticket to ride, baby!

The reason I asked him to pull the money back out of the bank was more of a CYA move than anything. I had all these visions of the original money having been elicit drug money, and that the numbers had already been marked down by the Government. I had these visions of us, being at our respective places of work, and the Feds busting through the cubicles, looking for us.

But then, even after we had pulled the amount out, I had these visions of that money still being traced to us, because of course, the bank wasn't going to give us THAT exact money back. I just knew that we were in the middle of a Government sting operation, and it was out of our control.

But of course, I do not openly admit my paranoia to just anyone ... just the entire Internet community. Because in our small circle of friends and family, I was the altrustic one... the one who said "we REALLY should take the high road, just in case someone is really looking for that money."

Poor Ace was left holding the money bag, looking like the greedy one. And he wasn't.

But don't tell any of my friends.... we don't need their image of me, the Saint, turned into the image of me, the Conspiracy Theorist.

Thursday, August 03, 2006

TT # 4

Thirteen Things About Ace, My Helpful Hardware Man
1. He is a wonderful father.

2. He is an even better husband.

3. He ran off sweepstakes entry forms from Target to win a Nintendo 64, and he would stop by and stuff the box FULL of his entries. Guess who won that game system?

4. He once gobbled like a turkey to get a free rental ... a porno.

5. He knows even MORE Star Wars trivia than I do.

6. He was "seeing" someone else when we started to see one another. Her name was Rochelle.

7. His nickname in one dorm was "The Cassanova."

8. He gets queasy at the sight of blood, especially his own. He passed out one time when they were drawing TWO VIALS from his arm to check his cholesterol.

9. He found $ 900 under a dumpster with a note that stated "whoever finds this, do with it as you want." He promptly deposited it in our checking account and then grudgingly withdrew it when I insisted that it go to the police for 30 days.

10. On our first date, he went to the front of the movie theater and started acting out the movie, even though he had never seen it.

11. He came up to me and introduced himself as "the guy who sits behind you in Macroeconomics" ... in a class of 150 or so.

12. He is a HUGE packrat. He kept his Atari from GRADE SCHOOL, even though it was broken because "you just never know when I might be able to fix it."

13. He went dumpster diving for said Atari when I threw it away the first time.

Wednesday, August 02, 2006

It's a Conspiracy, I Tell Ya!

So ... our air conditioner problem. It has now turned into a conspiracy.

There is no air compressor to be found that will fit my unit.

Do you know why?

The federal government has come out with this. Do you know what that translates into?

Someone in Congress is in charge of these buttons. These buttons are hooked up to all of the air conditioner units that were installed prior to January 1, 2006. Throughout the year, this person, who is in charge of these buttons, punches a new button every hour. Those buttons then send a signal to all of those air units in the United States that tells the compressors to malfunction. In some sort of way.

The translation is this: there is no air compressor for my unit because they don't MAKE that air compressor anymore. We need the SEER 13, which is almost impossible to find on its own.

This then allows for HVAC people, who I swear are in Congress' pocket, to profit when they say things like "well, we can TRY to get you the compressor but I can't guarantee when it will come in. It could be weeks, it could be months. But it will be about 1/2 of what it will cost to put in a new unit, and then you don't have a warantee."

Why a conspiracy? Because I find it highly unlikely that my sister's air compressor went out in HER unit this past weekend.

Tuesday, August 01, 2006

Hellishly Hot

What the hell? Why does it have to be SOOOOO damn hot outside? 100 degrees today. Humidity of 1005 percent. I mean... criminy (that is pronounced crymany). Yeah... it is a family phrase.

So nothing adds to the heat of the day than a ....

FREAKING DEAD AIR CONDITIONER!!!!!

Oh yeah. You read that right. DEAD. Deader than a nit. Deader than Elvis. Deader than Ghandi. Deader than Mother Theresa. You get the drift.

I was walking around the house this afternoon, thinking to myself "self.. it sure is hotter than hell in here. Let's go make sure the air is on."

83 FREAKING DEGREES in my house. And getting warmer.

The blower was running, but the unit was just sitting there, not doing a damndiddlydoo thing. That is when Mama starts talkin' smack! I started cussing like a sailor, and Queen's eyes became saucers. I am pretty sure I saw the Door Man, taking notes.

Called a repairman. Said he can come over tomorrow morning and get the part number for the compressor, because he can just tell that is the problem. See... the unit. It makes this buzzing sound. Kinda like it wants to work, but it has decided that working is just too much work.

So.... I have the window unit in our room running full-tilt, and fans in the hallway pulling the cooler air from our room into the hallway and into the kids' rooms. Queen is asleep on the floor in front of the fan.

And I have to admit... it did force me to take my children to the .... gasp... oh gosh I hate to admite this... the PUBLIC POOL! Where promptly 10 minutes after we got there, they had to evacuate because someone puked in the pool. Nice. I think "puking in the pool" is codename for "high school lifeguards don't want to work yet so let's go have a powow over at the yellow slide of death and make everyone sit in the grass and explain to their children why they can't get in the pool yet" because I certainly witnessed no puking at all.

At least that is what I am telling myself because I had just gone under the water at about the time they blew their whistles.

Gah. Bleck.

Back to that air compressor...

I'm a mom of three peeps ... Queen Bee, The Door Man, and the Chandelier Monkey, and wife to Ace, the Helpful Hardware Man. I created this space to get away from the people known as my inlaws, and because life with three kids and a hubby is all Unexplored Territory.

The nine-year-old who seems to be growing older every minute, has an opinion and a comment for everything, and has a true servant's heart.

The seven-year-old who loves the organization of things, will someday be someone's therapist because of his kind soul, and will more than likely be living with us until he is 40 years old.

The five-year-old with the 13-year-old attitude, who has a dictator's personality, asks you to watch her all the time and say "hold on" to keep your attention, and will someday come home on the back of some dude's motorcycle with 10 tatts and a body piercing or two.

The man of the house, the fixer of things, the winner of prizes, and the only person in his family to escape the South.