I'm OK!

When my niece, Isabella, was a toddler and used to fall down all the time, she would jump right up, and yell as loud as she could, "I'm OK!"

And it cracked us up. Every single time.

I've been sick as a dog* since last Wednesday, but I'll be back tomorrow. I felt better today but had to spend it catching up with all the errands and jobs that I've been putting off all week long while lying on the sofa. So now I'm exhausted.

*Which I don't understand, because I have a dog and he never ever has a sore throat and stuffed-up sinuses.

On Breaking the Rules

When she got in the car, she looked at me with despair and said, "I got a 'Think Sheet' today." I didn't know what a "Think Sheet" was, but the horror in her eyes led me to believe that it wasn't a Good Thing.

"What happened?"

"I was Bad."

And so the story goes: She didn't feel good at lunch so she didn't want anything to eat. But she did have some gum in her pocket, so she chewed on that but spit it out before returning to class. Where the real trouble began was that she shared it with her friends, Trouble & Sporty, neither of whom spit hers out before returning to class and then got busted faster than you can say, "Bad idea." While up collecting their "Think Sheets" from Ms. K, one of them told on Mac who then was awarded her very own "Think Sheet" to facilitate the pondering of the error of her ways. She was upset that she got in trouble, but more upset that one of her friends snitched on her before she had the chance to fess up herself.

So, in my true Alternative Parenting Style, I took a deep breath, pursed my lips, looked at her, and said, "Well, if the rule is that there is no gum in school, then you shouldn't take gum to school. But as far as this little infraction goes... I don't really care."

And she got a little teary and looked at me with relief in her eyes, and I continued, "It's not like you were stealing. Or vandalizing the school. Or cheating. None of those things are ok. But chewing gum? It's not a big deal."

"But what if the teacher wants to talk with you about it?"

"Well, I doubt she will, but if she does, I'll tell her that I understand you broke a rule, but I just really don't care."

And she started to laugh. And she was ok until about 30 minutes later:

"Mom, remember that time in 4th grade when we got in trouble for talking during class?"

"Yes."

"Well, they said then, that if we ever got in trouble again, it would go on our Permanent Record."

And my mouth dropped open, and I paused a moment to let the enormity of the situation sink in before I asked, "Mackenzie. Do you know what that means?"

And her eyes got wide with fear, "No. What?"

"Absolutely nothing. Your teacher totally made that up." And we both started cracking up. And she felt better. She filled out her "Think Sheet," turned it in the next day, and life as we know it has continued on, even though Mac had gum at lunch.

Brandi's Gift Guide

You know how hard it is to buy the man in your life a present? You should get him this.

Christmas Flamingos

Really, bottom line, I haven't had much to say. I've had a lot on my mind, making the Blogging thing seem a little banal (which, let's face it, it is). But I have saved up a few tidbits to share with everyone in Internetland:

A) I have a weird v-configuration between my bottom teeth which allows for the teeniest, tiniest tastebud on the tip of my tongue to get caught between them. Then I pull. It hurts like a MoFo. Then it's all swollen, making it that much more likely to happen again. And again. And again. It's starting to make me cranky.

2) This is the paper tag that came off Mac's skein of green eyelash yarn:



I do not understand how ANYONE at that company could fail to realize that their yarn-holder-togetherer looks like an erect penis.

C) I finally broke down and gave Dog a bath on Saturday. He was about 3 weeks past odiferous.

Dog before bath:

"You can't see me..."

Dog after bath:



D) Our Christmas tree is up in the living room, but this is what makes me terrifically happy:



And lastly) This one counts as a twofer. It's my "Self-Portrait Saturday," combined with a photo of the super-soft scarf that I knitted myself:

Teenagers Think They're So Smart

Dillon: “Hey, you want some chips and salsa?”

Me: “I’ll have some if you’re having some.”

“Well, I put some on my sandwich.”

“So… you want me to eat some, thereby mitigating any responsibility you might incur for the salsa’s return to the fridge.”

“Pretty much.”

Preoccupation

I've been preoccupied. And occupied. And even a little apathetic.

I did have a few "Things I Learned This Weekend", but I didn't write them down and now I forget what they were.

Except this one:

K-Y Warming Liquid does not make your hair silky and shiny in the same manner as Bain de Terre Recovery Compex.

Unfortunately, they look very similar in your bathroom drawer.

Journal Update

For those who haven't already noticed, Betty is finished with her portion of The Journal (including Don't-Forget-To-Fuck-With-Paige DNA) and it will soon be on its way to LeahPeah.

And I've added Melyssa to the end of the Ultimate Mailing Matrix so she can join in the fun.

Yay!!!

Things I Learned This Weekend

1) The human head does, in fact, weigh 8 pounds. (Or a little over 8, if you're a kid with a jumbo melon, like Mackenzie. Don't go feeling sorry for her, either, that I would say that. If her head came out your vagina you would have an opinion too.) Evidence:

Dog has never seen this behavior before and does not understand:


Observe how it actually says "NINE Pounds":

2) When you tell your kids they can't do anything on Saturday until the house is all cleaned up, you will get two little tornadoes of washing, dusting, vacuuming, mopping, even clothes-folding like you've never seen before. Thanks, kids!

C) When the girls (Singing-Lisa and I) start winning at Hand & Foot, we never stop and will stomp the boys into pulpy little piles of flesh and bone. Because we are AWESOME! Girls rule and boys drool!

4) The day after all the leaves are blown off your lawn is the day that the wind picks up and every single oak in your yard drops every single leaf right back on it. (But I am not bitching, I am just saying. It's a fact.)

5) If you want to make some excellent Crawfish Etouffee, you should talk to Emeril. He knows what he's talking about. I did change it a bit because I cannot follow directions. First of all, I doubled this recipe. I added some garlic, salt & pepper, and some chipotle red pepper flakes. I didn't make it too spicy so Mac could enjoy it, and just put some Tabasco on the table. I served it over Basmati rice. There is none left.

6) The Wizard of Oz never gets old. It was on TBS last night and I may or may not have watched it one-and-a-half times back-to-back.

7) Mackenzie likes The Colbert Report. (I didn't technically learn this until just now, but I think it's just a good thing to know.)

Crazy Wrangling

I told a friend I was not going to give these 3 whack-jobs anymore of my energy, but I'm sorry. I thought about it and decided that you, The Internet, deserve to share in the extent of my pain:

First, Mr. Potbelly came in. He first came in on Monday, and wanted to know who was responsible for not removing the leaves on his lawn. He contended that 2/3 of the property was entirely cleaned of leafy debris. Everywhere, except for his lawn. I told him that the "Leaf Collection" hadn't actually begun and wasn't scheduled to begin until the 13th, that the cleaner lawns he saw were from blowing and mowing, and I started to disagree with him that his lawn was the only one with leaves, when it occurred to me that while I don't believe this to be true, I didn't actually inspect the entire neighborhood that day and therefore I would be making an uninformed statement. But I did assure him that I would do my best to find out what was happening.

On the way home that afternoon, I looked. There were approximately 70 gajillion leaves between my office and my house, also known as the "2/3 of the property that was deviod of leaves." Big. Fat. Liar!

He came back on Wednesday to ask if I'd found anything out. I explained to him how I had talked to the Landscapers and exactly what I had told him on Monday still stood. He argued with me. I told him, "Look. I talked to the supervisor last night. The bottom line is that I can't explain why you think other yards are cleaner than yours; the fact remains that they aren't doing leaf collection until next Monday."

(PLEASE REALIZE, INTERNET, THAT FALL IS ONLY HALF OVER AND THEY'RE COMPLAINING THAT THERE ARE LEAVES ON THE GROUND!!!) I'm sorry for yelling at you. I am just very frustrated. Pass the tequila, please.

An hour later: Ms. Space Cadet called. When I answered the phone, she let loose a tsunami of words that were meant to state her case, even though I had No Idea who she was and why she may need to defend herself to me. After I got her name, address and complaint, which was an Architectural Violation, I asked her to slow down and gave her the Very Simple answer to her problem: "Your shed in not in compliance because the end of it that faces the street is painted 2 different colors. It needs to be EITHER the color of your side OR the color of your neighbors side. If you have leftover paint, take 5 minutes, go outside, and paint it all one color. Then all of this will all go away."

And then she proceeded to argue with me for 10 minutes about why this was wrong and how she should not be expected to do it. Finally, since there was no more I could do for her, I gave her the instructions to appeal the violation, at which point she said (and I shit you not), "Hey! What if I just get a roller and go out and paint it all my green color? Then it will be ok, right?"

Yes. She actually said those words.

My last call of the day was from "Roger, Angry Man with a Small Penis": He said he was calling from the company that managed the rental property on Blah-Blah Boulevard. He wanted to know what the Architectural Violation on the gate at that address was all about because it was functional. I told him what while it may be 'functional' it was not in compliance with the Association By-Laws because it hadn't been maintained, and was, in fact, ugly. He thought that by increasing his volume and telling me again that the gate was FINE, I would change my mind and agree with him. He was wrong. I gave him the same story I gave Ms. Space Cadet, "If you would like to appeal the decision, send me an email and I will forward it to the Architectural Committee."

He really didn't like that answer. At which point he got rude enough that I should have hung up. But I didn't. Instead, I listened long enough to realize that he was not who he said he was.

"WAIT. If you are not the Owner, and not the Property Manager, who are you?" (Which, in retrospect, may have come out all nasty-like.)

Folks, he was the Contractor. I was on the phone, arguing with a contractor about the gate on a house! "I'm sorry, your Contractor title does not trump my Architectural Committee." I told him to have the Real Property Manager call me and hung up on him.

And THAT was yesterday.

And I went back today.

And YES, I do think I deserve a medal.

Outnumbered Mom

Have you met my sister Alison?

She is my beautiful baby sister, almost 4 years younger. She lives in Indiana, in our hometown, with her husband and 3 baby girls. She is a stay-at-home mom, an exerciser and a scrapbooker, a volunteer and a coffee-cluber. She is a chef and a laundress, a princess wrangler and a financial planner.













She is funny and sassy; she is curious, energetic, and adventurous. She is thoughtful and caring and compassionate. She makes dinners for friends who have babies and will give you clothes and toys, and go buy necessities at Target if you lose your house, along with your wordly possesions in a fire.

When we're together, we make margaritas and gourmet meals. We create jewelry at my mom's kitchen table and share ideas. We cry over Practical Magic and Steel Magnolias, or laugh with The Birdcage. We go to Super-Target, stopping at the Starbucks in the front of the store before wandering around, finding all sorts of great stuff we don't need. We take our girls to the "Library Store" and let them shop while we hit the starbucks counter (see a theme here?).













We drive to Indianapolis and wander the streets of downtown with our Aunt Jacque, stopping at the mall and ... you guessed it! Starbucks.

This super-fun sister of mine decided we don't talk enough because I don't like the phone (for real -she said that- just ask her). But I DO like the computer, and they just added another computer to their house. So. She created a blog called Outnumbered Mom just so we could have contact on a daily basis.

You should go meet her. I think you'll like her.

Her Catch-22

Mac: "You know how they say that the human head weighs 8 pounds?"

Me: "Yes."

"I've always wanted to get down on my knees and weigh it... but then I couldn't see."

Halloween

Usually, Halloween night at my house is chaotic at best. We wait too long to get ready and then rush around to try and meet up with friends, I wait too long to order the pizza and either we don't get to eat it or we have to choke a piece or two down before running out the door. The doorbell rings like crazy, turning the dog into a snarling, growling, maniac, and T mysteriously disappears leaving me to fend for myself against the masked masses.

Tonight was different.

We were ready early, I dropped Mac off at a friend's house, T ordered the pizza later, and the dog barely let out a peep when kids knocked on the door.

I IM'ed with Candi and emailed back and forth with T downstairs, I made myself a drink, and watched House. And Blogged. What a lovely Halloween.




Here is my little PuNk RocKeR and Steve Irwin.

Things I Learned This Weekend

A) When you order Chinese on Friday night, you should expect your house to still smell like Chinese when you wake up Saturday morning. (Ewww.)

2) When you see a girlfriend you haven't seen in 2 years and you've missed her so, so much... you will probably start to cry. (ps - I saw Candi on Sunday!)

2.5) Babies you haven't seen in two years turn into children. And then they don't remember you. :( (Biza)

C) Hwy 5 in Southern MD needs more Golden Arches. I'm just sayin.

*There was probably more than this, but DAMN, it's Monday night and I can't remember any more.

Mackenzie

At the request of Omm, I am adding the kid's eyes too...

Dillon

At the request of Omm, I am adding the kid's eyes too...

Self-Portrait Saturday

Can We Go To Bed Yet?

Taiko circa 2:30 this morning when I couldn't sleep. He really prefers to sleep in his own bed in our room but won't go up if I'm not there. He has separation issues.

Playing With Wordgirl

Yesterday, Wordgirl called us all out to post photos of our front doors, in recognition of "Show Me Your Front Door Day" but I didn't read yesterday and as such, didn't know I was supposed to show her my front door. But today I did, and while my OCD really wanted me to sweep the stoop, trim the flowers and buy some pumpkins before I did so, I refrained and took a picture showing exactly what it looks like at this moment in time (though if I could have reached the Flag, I would have untwisted it - I couldn't).

Here it is (it's a little dark because it was, in fact, getting dark out):



And the Other Side:



The trim around the door was just replaced last night. It will be painted soon, but not now. I'm busy blogging.

What you see when you walk in the door: (Evidence for Annie that my Entrance Tansu is still there for her junk...)

Come To Find Out...

..that apparently, I'm "scary". Or so thinks Dillon's girlfriend. Evidently, I am the second scariest person she knows.

Which begs the question:

Who's the first scariest person she knows? Elmo?

Apparently, I give her "a look".

I've known about this for a few weeks now, and have truly tried to not look at her in any sort of suspect manner when she comes over, but it seems I have been unsuccessful. She was here yesterday and after she left, she told Dillon that I was doing it again. Which is funny, because I've consciously tried not to be fearsome or disapproving. I think I'm a fun, fun girl! I crack myself up!

So I got to thinking:

Just maybe as Super-Fun Girl (Pass the Tequila, Please) Paige aka Brandi, I'm not-at-all scary to my friends and family but perhaps to an almost-adult son's girlfriend, I represent the potential (dreaded) mother-in-law with all of the disapproving glances, judgmental attitudes and unjustified prejudices included in one all-inclusive, drama-rich, scary-as-hell package.

Is perceived stand-off-ishness and disapproval of a girlfriend an inevitable by-product of being the mother of a son? An unconscious manifestation of the threat (real or not) of a son's Oedipus Complex? Are mothers and daughters-in-law doomed to forever compete for a son's loyalty? One of those circle-of-life deals that suck us in generation after generation?

I don't know. But I do know one thing:

I AM NOT SCARY, DAMNIT!

Things I Learned This Weekend

1) It is REALLY, really hard to take your own photo! Especially if you have freakishly short arms (and legs, FYI) and you can barely get the camera far enough away to get your giant head in the shot. (Not to mention eliminating potential under-chin fat.) Behold:



2) My kids are incredibly patient to put up with what we call "Mamarazzi". They just smile and pose as long as I am taking their photos. Or, they are truly just total hams.

3) Turns out, Halloween is in ...like... a week.

4) This Mexican Chocolate Cake is not only delicious, it'll make you sick at the end of a huge meal:



5) No matter how many times you* remind yourself you need coffee at the store, if you don't write it down you Will Not Buy It. (And then you'll be cranky as hell the next morning.)

6) My baby boy is (disregarding the purple mohawk) almost grown up:



7) Flickr! is not nearly as difficult as I was trying to make it for the past two years. I sat down Saturday, dedicated half-a-braincell into figuring it out, and voila! 100 photos uploaded. (Annie. I'm talking to you.)

*Ok. Maybe not you, but certainly me. Every Single Time!

This Post Brought to You By the Word 'Super'

I do this thing.

It all started when I bought a super-fun Superman t-shirt last fall. At first, I wore it to work (where I have a super-casual dress code - I mean it's just me in there, I can pretty much do what I want) as a joke on the days that I expected it to be Hell On Earth (which begs the question - "Did I wear it every goddamn day?"). Then slowly, slowly, it morphed into being the shirt I actively sought out of my closet when I started out having a bad day - when I needed something to give me strength to get through the day.



I wore it yesterday. It seems so bizarre that something as silly as a t-shirt could give me such a psychological boost. But it works! It does! It's Super!

You should get one.

What Was

Most of you didn't know Mackenzie as a little girl.

She used to follow me around the house as I did laundry, cooked dinner, even vacuumed while chattering at me all the while. Eventually, I started tuning her out and inserting "Uh-Huh" and "Oh my gosh!" at well-timed intervals while compiling my grocery list in my head or singing along to Sheryl Crow.

But now, every time I see this commercial, it makes my heart hurt just a little bit for the animated little girl that's gone and the censored tween who replaced her. It makes me wish I had stopped and listened to Every Single Word she said.

Blog Spawn Update

Betty has the Journal.

Do it, Girl!

Photo Stall

This is my gorgeous daughter wearing my dress (which clearly doesn't fit me any longer). She went to a Murder Mystery Party Saturday night and played the part of a young lady whose father traveled extensively during the 1800's. All the other girls were wearing their dresses from Colonial Days and I had a moment of panic there while I realized that while the entirety of the US celebrated Colonial Days in 4th or 5th grade (I don't even know), we were overseas, obliviously ignoring our American Heritage and now find ourselves without a Colonial-Style dress to our names. Luckily, the mom of the Birthday Girl realized this and thoughtfully wrote our
travels into the script. Mackenzie wore my navy-dyed pumps from my sister's wedding, and my mom, Omm, sent Mac her opera gloves to complete the outfit. She was stunning. Clearly.




I think this was my last rose of the year.






Taiko's still moving a bit hesitantly, not jumping up on the sofa and taking the stairs slowly, and resting quite a bit. I haven't heard him cry for a couple days and I haven't given him any pain meds at all. He keeps curling up on any soft surface that he can find and crashing out.

And these goofy critters appeared on top of the TV cabinet last week.
I guess Halloween's on its way.

Mother-Daughter Bonding

What started out as me sitting on the floor, leaned up against the sofa, folding laundry evolved into Mac sitting behind me playing with my super-straight slippery hair - braiding, flipping, combing - lamenting, "I wish I could run my hands through my hair." As she lulled me into a state of relaxation, I was stunned by one of my hairs being yanked out from the root. She handed it to me. Gray.

And then another one.

And then another one.

And then she parted my hair on the other side and exclaimed, "Oh, I think I found where they're hiding out!"

About 20 total. My gray is gone, but now I'm sporting a hellacious headache.

Word Association Composition

Tagged by Nicole:

Let the Word Association begin!

Fret: My new expertise. I've been fretting about moving. I've been fretting about my job. I've been fretting about T, the kids, the dog. I need to stop and just Be. The fretting is causing an upset stomach and sleepless nights and my Rosacea to explode. It's causing a headache since August and feelings of Apathy. I'm starting to climb out (again), but it's a long, exhausting ascention.

Faith: Faith. This is a hard word for me. My Faith is less about a fundamental belief in the word of God and is more about my belief that everything happens for a reason. It's a belief in Karma. Optimism. Hope. Pollyanna was a girl with Faith.

Fractious: Homeowners. Seriously. They really need to lighten up.

Football: I got nothin' here. No feelings one way or the other. Wait. Maybe college. College ball games. That was nice. And high school. Friday nights with my friends. So they still do football?

Tagging Annie, Jes (as if she has time for this!), Betty & Brenda.

Your words are: Creativity, Ambition, Sensual, and Seasons. Go forth and compose.

Vet - Just the Facts

• Dog couldn't stand on his leg for a while yesterday, then started limping, couldn't stand on his hind legs last night or jump onto the sofa and the one time he tried, he let out a pitiful doggie yelp and then proceeded to whimper for 2 minutes (or what felt like two minutes). I took him and laid him on the sofa but then he tried to follow me into the kitchen: "Must keep Mommy in visual at all times." (So I told the kids they had to do the dishes because I had to sit on the couch with Dog.)
  
• Dog wouldn't walk up or down stairs this morning and looked all 'droopy'. I was denied by the military vet for all care except for basic care/immunizations, so I had to find a civilian vet at 8:30am (thank you, Beth!).
  
• Got in at 9:05 so I gathered up his leash and asked him, "Do you want to go for a ride in the car?" At which point he started turning in circles and running to and from the door and stood proudly in the back seat all the way there. And then continued to practically prance on his leash while I made excuses for myself a la "He really wasn't acting like this at home! He's been practically lame for the past 2 days!" She made me feel better when she said it was just his adrenaline giving him a boost. When I got him home he would start acting hurt again. She was right.
• But only after I paid the $360 ransom they held over his head. For the visit, a blood test, stool sample, and 4 different meds.
• Bottom line: (But damn, it takes me a while to get to the bottom line sometimes.) She doesn't know what's wrong with him. He may have torn his ACL, twisted his leg, banged his hip on the wall running around... it's injured, but it doesn't appear to be broken. She gave us pain meds and anti-inflammatory meds (with some antibiotics thrown in for his Skin Ick.) We are to keep him on complete bedrest (read "crated") for 2 weeks, only getting up to go potty on a leash, without walking anywhere (especially up or down the 2 flights of hardwood stairs we have - Yay, me. T has already stated, "I will not carry that dog up or down any stairs."). Then after the two weeks, if he's not any better, we need to start considering other diseases/disorders. The problem with the crate plan is that Taiko is MY dog. If I get up to go in the kitchen, he does too. If I go upstairs, so does he. If I go to the bathroom, he sits outside the door. He won't come in anymore on the off chance that what I really want to do is lure him into the bath. He will DIE if I put him into a crate for 14 days and proceed to traipse around the 3 floors of this house. Or, as Dillon so succinctly put it, "Dang, that plan will cause serious psychological damage, worse than his leg." So. For one week, I am going to try to convince him to stay most of the time, carry him with me some of the time, and baby-gate him into the basement when I leave for work in the morning. Then I'll revisit the "Crate Plan".*
  

*My God! That was the Worst Example of a "Bottom Line" ever! Can I not just shut up? Did I not understand the title of this post?

Word Shortage

My friends who know me in real life* know that I am rarely without words. This weekend I lost my voice. I just couldn't think of a single thing to tell you guys. But since then, enough has happened that I can ease my self back into my monologue by just hitting you with the highlights (Lucky YOU!):

There's something wrong with my dog-baby. He's been twitching his back legs while sleeping for the past couple of weeks and today, when I got home from work, he got stuck coming down to see me on the second floor staircase holding up his rear right leg. (Perhaps completely unrelated symptoms but worth mentioning.) After a while, he started walking on it again, but he's walking a little funny and laying around and clearly doesn't feel so hot as he didn't come running a while ago when I opened a bag of chips. "Call the Vet", right? He's on base and my ID expired yesterday. (Hope those kids don't break anything...) But really, I'll call in the morning. T can take me.

D has detention tomorrow morning at 6am for writing himself a note last week when he overslept and we all left the house not realizing he was still in bed. Two days later I wrote him a note, they compared notes...Viola! Busted.

I have Rosacea. I'm somewhere between the Middle and Advanced Stage, eyes Early Stage (I don't have that thick-skin-nose-problem, thank GOD). I've actually probably had it for years, but it launched a sneak attack last Tuesday whereby my cheeks turned into two burning scaly raised patches of nastiness and all my pores filled with pus* prompting me to call Right Now, as opposed to Sometime The Week After Next...Maybe like I usually do. I got into the doctor (Who I LOVED, BTW!) the next day. She took one look at me and immediately commenced all the prescription writing. I walked out of the clinic with a grocery-bag-o-meds, but here it is 5 days later and my face looks 90% better.

*Notice how I used "pus" as a noun here and not as an adjective, as in "pussy".

Omm sent more Laugh Out Loud mail. I'll get to those later.

And now I'm out of words again.

*UPDATED to include Betty, Bridget & Bec. Girlfriend Betty called me out for leaving her off the Real Life Friends list. My most humble apologies.

Using Every Available Opportunity to Mess With Your Kids

Me, after listening to Mac's story about how she was playing with the candle, causing the flame to shoot up after dripping wax onto the open flame: "Nice, you little Pyromaniac."

"I'm not a Firemaniac."

"No, a Pyromaniac."

"What's that?"

"A Firemaniac."

And that frustrated little scream you hear, means I need to add an extra fifty bucks to her Therapy Fund this month.

The Post That Will Likely End All Further Correspondence

Last August, while visiting my Aunt Jacque in Indianapolis, Jacque and my mom were talking and giggling late into the night. Their conversation turned toward listing the things they'd like to do or see before they die. My mom mentioned that she's always wanted to go to the Opera, and how that was near the top of her wish list. And what do you think my Aunt Jacque got her for her birthday?

Opera tickets.

For the two of them to see Carmen last Sunday.

Mom was so excited when the playbill announcing their date arrived! She read it and celebrated her great fortune and her sister's thoughtfulness... right up until the moment she looked at my dad and cried in dismay, "Ohhhhh, it's in French! I thought it would be in Italian!"

I wasn't there, but in the retelling of this story, I came to understand that Dad looked right at her, with tears of laughter filling his eyes, and hilarity shaking his body, and said, "What difference does it make? You can't understand either!"

And while Dad sat there in hysterics, laughing harder every time he thought of her distress, Mom lost it as well, and through their laughter she had to concede that Dad was correct, as she neither understood French, nor Italian.

I supposed she had a good time. We haven't talked in a few days.

And then today, another one of her Famous Postcards arrived in the mail:

"Hi Paige Suzanne!

The opera was fantastic and Carmen was a slut!!

Center stage 6 rows back.

xoOmm"

Yup! She had a good time. :)

When Kids Take Control of the Answering Machine

If you call me tonight, and my Tater's new telephone* rings, and I fail to pick up (which frequently happens, due to an inexcusable fear of the telephone which causes me to screen and quiver in loathing every time it rings), what you will hear is Mackenzie saying, "You've reached the M**** residence. Please leave a message after the Wookie."

And then you'll hear Dillon make an awesomely realistic (assuming Wookies are Real) Wookie sound, signaling the moment you should start talking.

Unfortunately, it will be hard, what with all the hysterics.

*Because. Seriously. Tater... and the Electronics... a more passionate relationship was never had.

I Did Not Teach Her That...

Tater, on taking Mackenzie to the wholly inappropriate movie Crank while I was in NY with Annie:

"Before we go to another movie like that, remind me to have a talk with you about The Birds and the Bees."

"Oh, I know all about The Birds and the Bees... and Snakes in Caves."

Like A Spa

Guess what I did today for the first time since the beginning of August!

I took a shower in my *New* Master Bath Shower! It took a while but I don't want to talk about that. (Remember back on August 31 when I naively asked "maybe another week")?...



Huh. I just noticed this photo doesn't include the shower door. I should ask T to take an updated photo...

Updated Photo:

Playing With Betty

Ha! Betty, it was touch and go there for a while, but I'm not nearly as 'bad' as I thought I was!

You Are 24% Pure

You've either done it, thought about it, or at least heard about it. Luckily, there's a few things left for you to try!

How Pure Are You?

And, for good measure, I only happen to be 44% Evil...

Mom

Do you have a mom?

If you don't, you should totally get one. They buy you stuff when you are grown up and you don't need it and can actually afford it yourself, simply because they have a coupon and see a duvet they think you'll like. Moms send you goofy postcards and then don't get mad when you post it on the internet for everyone to see. Moms drive 10 hours one way for the weekend just to see their granddaughters dive and swim when the outside temperature is 100 degrees.

Moms take you to the pool on their days off when they would rather be working in their garden. They sit on hard bleachers and endure hours of other people's kids only to see you perform 5 minutes of your own sport, and not very well, at that. They stay up late helping you with your homework after you've procrastinated too long, without saying a word. Moms let you have 15 girls over for a birthday sleepover because that's what you want.

Moms are great listeners and always think that you are the smartest kid around. They laugh at all your jokes and think everything you do is Genius. They believe you are the most beautiful kid in the world, even when your ears stick out or you have a big zit on the end of your nose or your arms and legs are freakishly short.

Moms cry with you when your world comes crashing down and stand by to help you build yourself back up. They stand behind you and support you when you aren't strong enough to stand on your own. They will push themselves beyond limits to help you when you are too worn to help yourself.

Today is my mom's birthday.

It's also the day I stop and recognize what an amazing mom she's been, how fortunate I am, and how lucky her grandchildren are to know her.

Kissing Another 10 Years Goodbye

Woke up this morning to find this...


about 6 inches from my face.

It's a Spider Cricket (or a Camel Cricket or a Cave Cricket, depending on who you ask - or a Jurassic Cricket if you ask me. I wouldn't though because I make stuff up).

It's approximately 7 inches long and weighs 12 lbs with a stinger in the back and fangs in the front armed with deadly venom. It will eat your face off in the night or jump right in your eye if you're awake and poke it with it's fangs to suck out your Eyeball Jelly.

(Or, if you're interested in a more truthful if dull description, you could ask the North Carolina State University what they think.)

This is a creature that scares the bejeezus out of me. They are impossible to remove from my house because they have hydraulicly loaded springs in their legs and they jump about 14 feet when I try to approach them with a Kleenex mushed up in my clawlike fist. I can't smoosh them because they are so big that the amount of goop they would leave on my floor would look like a CSI crime scene for years to come. I can only talk nicely to them and hope that when I turn on the lights that they freak out and jump back behind the washing machine where they belong and we can continue to live copaseticly for ever and ever or until I move out and my unsuspecting renters move in and he becomes their problem.

Not really...

I'll leave them a note telling them his name is Conan.

Annie, Visited

Have you met Annie?

If not, then you should. She's one of those friends you can go without seeing for months or even years, but once together again, it's like you just talked yesterday. She's an amazing communicator - handy since I am, without a doubt, pathetic. She calls when I don't, she sends cards like clockwork, she cracks me up, and makes a beautiful baby to boot.

I stayed with her at her parent's house where I felt at home from the moment I walked in the door. It may have had something to do with the thousands of stories she's told me about her family, or it may have been how her dad looks like a big old bear (much like mine), and her mom treated me like a daughter from the second I walked in the door. I met her extended family and friends and came to the realization pretty early on that if you want to be heard around there, you gotta speak up; unbelievably, Annie's the quiet one. I met Cousin Timmy, who I knew from the second he walked in the door; Loretta, who I felt like I already knew; her favorite teacher, Barbara; and a slew of aunts and uncles, each more entertaining than the last.

I played with the beautiful and laugh-a-minute Sam, who didn't mind putting his arms up for me if Mom and Grandma were unavailable - God, what a charmer.

We went shoe shopping (Hi, DSW, it's me again. I love you.), and out for beers; I had my first cannoli (to the shock of the entire population of Long Island) - Yum; talked to more firemen than I've ever known in my life - Double Yum, saw the NYC skyline with my very own eyes, saw where she and Pat met and where they married, and stayed up talking with my girlfriend until the early morning hours, just like the old days - but without the hangover.

(And, no, we did not share a bed to those of you with a fratastic imagination.)

When I left, her mom hugged me and invited me back "even if Annie's not there". And that was the highest compliment she could have paid me.

Really. I Can't Play Right Now

I'm flying to New York in the morning to hang with the Incomparable Annie.

I'll be back on Monday.

Laters!

I'll Do It My Way, Thanks

There are no words.

Don't You Name Stuff?

I have a car named Lucy,
A purse named Kermit,
Pumpkin is another one.
A Sago Palm called Spike,
My computer is Chloe,
And the cricket who lives in my office is Cristophe.

Sex Ed by Brandi

Apparently, Fifth Grade is the American standard for Sexual Enlightenment a la the Public School System.

The sex talk has changed since this 39-year-old was subject to its absurdity circa 1977; this is what Mac learned last year.

Not much was news to her. Our house has been fairly open during these formative years. If the kids had questions, we answered them in the most truthful-without-being-graphic way we could and left the door open for clarification as they matured. Sexuality is something discussed in general conversation, read in books, and even dropped into jokes in our house. I didn't want "sex" to be that taboo subject that was discussed only Mother-to-Daughter and Father-to-Son, a top secret production behind closed doors. I figured the more casually we discussed it, the more easily they would see us as sexual beings and in turn, the more comfortable they would be asking us questions.

In our home, we have tended toward the liberal side when choosing appropriate media for them to read, watch, and hear. They both saw rated R movies (some undeniably inappropriate) years before many of their peers, though we were not completely without standards there. Mac still hasn't seen American Pie or 40-Year-Old Virgin, but has watched Rent, The Handmaid's Tale, and all ten seasons of Friends. Rent opened the door to discuss homosexuality, HIV-AIDS, IV drug use, after The Handmaid's Tale we discussed how awful it must be to not have exclusive rights to your own body, and as for Friends, when Joey talked about condoms, so did we.

She just finished reading the classic Love Story, she has read Luna, about a transgendered boy coming to terms with his sexuality and his father, and Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants, which deals with a group of high school girlfriends and love and loss and sex too early.

I believe that because we chose to treat sexuality as Regular and just a Fact Of Life, my children developed a sense of maturity that pre-empted much of the embarrassment, giggling and fascination with All Things Sexual that I have witnessed in their peers.

I understand a danger some adults see in treating sexuality with such a flippant attitude. Some may fear that this will cause young people to treat sex, the act, more casually and become sexually active earlier than they may have otherwise. And, in fact, news reports seem to back up this very claim. I have found this to not be the case in my family. While we treat sexuality itself casually, we do not overlook the consequences of teen sex and the importance of treating your body with respect. We are very serious about that. And they seem to understand and share our views.

It's a fact among the Tween Set that having to discuss the inevitable side effects of puberty with any adult is a painful endeavor, only slightly more horrifying than that dream where you arrive at school only to look down and see that you forgot to get dressed, and when you look up the coolest boy on campus is standing right in front of you, staring at your pink flowered panties. Utter the word menstruation to an 11-year-old and watch her cringe in despair and roll her eyes full of loathing: "I mean, for real, like I totally know all that stuff and, like, that dorky teacher from last year already gave us a pamphlet on it. What do you want to talk about anyway?" It's a losing battle. And, quite frankly, the school's probably done a better job teaching them the basics than we could anyway (Do you have labeled posters of the female reproductive system and outdated films of Mary Jane learning to strap on a sanitary belt?). What I have done, is casually brought it up over the years, made literature available (among them, the very cliche Are You There God, It's Me, Margaret), talked, in an offhanded way, about my own experience ("Dang, these cramps today! I can barely stand up." or "Huh, this period's not too bad. Last month was so heavy I almost bought some Depends!"), and never, ever have I made her self-conscious by teasing her about her growing "boobies" or needing to shave.

By no means do I think that my way is the Best Way or even the Right Way. But I do know that it was the way that we were most comfortable with, and I think Dillon and Mackenzie would agree that it was the Right Way For Us.

Sunshine at 10pm

At 8:30 last night I fell asleep on the sofa while reading the Amazing Panda Adventure. I guess I was tired.

When I woke up at 10:00 to go to bed, a cleaned-up pineapple juice can full of flowers from my garden was resting on my kitchen counter.

I wondered who had left them, but just for a moment. This random act of kindness had Mackenzie written all over it.

While I was asleep, she crept out to the garden, cut them, arranged them, and left them for a surprise. (Now, I realize I'm always going on about how great my kids are, but a) this is my blog and 2) you keep coming back, so really, it's more your problem than mine.)

Anyway, I have no idea how this girl became so considerate. She is sweet, and helpful,* and just downright thoughtful.

*Oh man, now I'm a little stressed about that comma. Do I include it? Do I omit it? I can really go either way - most British omit, most Americans include. It does look a little extraneous to me - I mean, if I leave it out, it won't change the structure of the sentence and you'll still know exactly what I'm talking about, but my instinct is to leave it. I'll leave it.

And apparently, I'm so simple that a tiny can of flowers will spontaneously turn a crappy day beautiful.

Things I Learned This Weekend

1) When you put a cheap temporary tattoo on the back of your neck (it was the symbol for Leo), it will turn all gummy and then your long hair will get stuck in it and it will pull (and hurt like a BAMF*) every time you scratch the back of your neck.

*Really. You should listen to Dane Cook. He's cracks me up. (Of course, I'm easily amused. So. If you happen to listen to him and you don't like him, I don't want to hear about it. Also. Don't listen to him if you don't like dirty jokes. Or if you have no sense of humour**.)

**The extra "u" is for Val, Sarah, Andromeda, and MIL. Just trying to make you feel at home.

2) When you are facing away from the counter at the new used-bookstore Mac and I stumbled upon Saturday, it is likely that you will get hit in the back of the head. And when you turn around, it will be a black cat named Ranger leaning in for the requisite scratch.

3) When you spend the afternoon cooking and you want to pull your curly hair up off your neck but you're too busy lazy to go upstairs for a ponytailer, 2 corn-pokeys will work just as well. (I took a picture, but it's 1am and I'm in bed and you'll just have to remain on those pins and needles until I upload it tomorrow.)




4) "One size fits all" Capezio children's tights do not, in fact, fit "all", even though the girl at the dance supplies store assured me they would. Even after I pointed out that the photo on the packaging was of a four-year-old girl. and I had, standing right next to me, an eleven-year-old girl who was very clearly much bigger than the advertized four-year-old girl. In fact, they barely fit one of Mac's very slender, regular-sized-legs. We will be going back for the adult tights tomorrow.

5) Taiko has some sort of creeping crud. (Dianne & Ang, remember that mystery skin ailment he had about 5 years ago right after a trip home? It's back, interestingly, right after a trip home. Coincidence?) It was never properly diagnosed, but I was also dealing with a Japanese Vet. I'm entirely confident of his Veterinary abilities in Japanese, but am somewhat skeptical of his ESL Vet abilities. Not to mention, what if Tike's rash was singularly an American ailment?

(Hi, my name is Paige and I'm Easily Distracted.)

6) Left to her own devices, Mac will put off weekend homework until 8:30pm Sunday night. Which leads me off on another tangent: WHY, please tell me, my teacher-readers, do teachers assign, for 6th graders, "decorating-your-homemade-book-cover" as homework? She had to decorate both her Math Notebook and the cover she made for her Social Studies Notebook. I'm sorry, but as a busy mom, this is a SUPREME waste of time to me! If it's about identifying her books, I've got a Sharpie and about 37 extra seconds in which to write M-a-c-k-e-n-z-i-e on them. Then she will easily recognize her notebooks and be free to clean her room, help me cook dinner or, more importantly, write that Essay titled "About Me" that her homeroom teacher assigned.

What's In Your Bag?

So I got to thinking...

Who carries a million dollars in jewelry (and an inhaler) around in her tote bag?

But then, I got to thinking, being as I'm Poor (and not Rich like Lindsay Lohan), how would I know how Rich Girls transport their ridiculously expensive jewelry? Is there some sort of super-secure-valuables-transportation service out there that she was too irresponsible to enlist to deliver her big-ticket items safely to her door?

I don't know.

But then, I got to thinking, "Huh. If someone happened to jack my bag right now, what would they get?"

Join me, if you will:



Starting from the red checkbook going clockwise:

Red Checkbook - $10
Orbit Sweetmint Gum (recommended by Bridge) - 75 cents-ish
Doublemint Twins Mints - 75 cents-ish
I enjoy minty-fresh breath.
Woven Hippie Zip Bag to hold Club Cards (you know - CVS, Safeway, Costco, Petsmart...) - $5
Ginormous Key Fob compliments of Radley Acura - Free (gift with $42,000.00 purchase)
Reading glasses & case - $320
2 Tubes CO Bigelow Lip Gloss - $15
Tube of The Healing Garden Green Tea Body Lotion - Free if you steal it from your mom
2 Ponytail Holders - 20 cents-ish
Hair Clip- 50 cents-ish
Pink Razr Phone -$333
Liz Claiborne Sunglasses - $30
Kenneth Cole Wallet + $4.62 - $34.62
Green Target Purse - $15

Paige = $764.82 (which is way more than I expected was in there, bytheway)

Lindsay = $1,000,000.00+

I can probably cross hiring the bodyguards off my To Do List.

---

And BACK! By POPULAR DEMAND! Or maybe by polite request by New Brooke:

All of the above contents tucked back into Kermit (yes, I not only named my car Lucy, I named my purse Kermit). Realize, though, that when I go anywhere, the keys are in Lucy and the sunglasses are on my head. And the checkbook usually isn't in there (who carries a checkbook anymore?) but I had to take it to register Mackenzie for ballet (apparently ballet studios don't take debit cards).

Proof:



And now all I can think of is that "How many clowns can you fit in a VW Beetle" trick...

He Makes Me Laugh

Because it has a picture of pandas on the front of it (really, who doesn't love pandas), Dillon picked up my copy of "Eats, Shoots & Leaves" to check out what amazing panda adventure was tucked between the covers. He was sorely disappointed and more than a little bit indignant when he saw it was a book about punctuation:

"Who does that? Writes a book about punctuation and then puts pandas on the cover to entice unsuspecting animal-lovers to pick it up expecting a story about pandas?..... For that matter, who writes a book about punctuation?!...."

Then he thought about it a second longer and looked right at me, the disgust visible on his face, "Who reads a book about punctuation?! God!"

And he wandered off, lamenting the publisher who seduced him with a panda, but disillusioned him with commas.

Everyone Who Is Wondering How I Ended Up In A Gay Bar Sunday Night, Keep Reading. You Others, Move Along.

So. I have this friend, J. J is gay and, dare I say, more effeminate than I. He lives here in my neighborhood and we got to be friends when I started working at the Homeowners Association and he came in to pay his dues (instead of spending the 39 cents to mail it like the cheap bastard he is). Anyway, I immediately liked him and we started talking. First about "where are you from", then "what's your partner like", and then, eventually about Brazilian Waxes. He says he gives a mean Brazilian Wax. I'll have to take his word for it. Not because I'm afraid for him to see my Hoo-Ha, but because the Brazilian Wax scares the bejeezus out of me and I am a wussy-girl.

Eventually, it became May and I mentioned how I needed to go shopping because I wanted to buy a new dress for Bronwyn's Retirement Ceremony, at which point, he said, "Hey! Why don't you come over and you can pick out one of my dresses!"

I was rendered speechless. For longer than socially acceptable.

Finally, I spit out, "Why do you have dresses?"

"Because I'm a Drag Queen."

I think I giggled a little bit and got lost in my own thoughts imagining him all dolled up in feathers and organza, high heels and red lipstick. That cracked me up again and the giggling persisted.

When I came out of my reverie, I did not take him up on the offer of coming to look at his dresses. Not because I didn't think he'd have anything appropriate (his wardrobe includes Ann Taylor), but because of the possibility for life-altering shame if J's clothes happen to be too small for me. My delicate psyche could not handle that circumstance.

Finally, last Friday, it occured to me to ask J when his next show was. Conveniently enough, it was Sunday night and a Holiday to boot! Drag shows, drinking, AND sleeping in on a Monday! Labor Day Nirvana!

So that's what we did.

And she was awesome.

Things I Learned This Weekend

1. Dillon looks funny with a mohawk. Behold:

Exhibit A, Friday:


Exhibit 2, Sunday:
Yes. It's purple.

2. It doesn't take nearly as long as you think it will to file that 6" stack of papers you've been ignoring for 6 months.

3. When you find yourself without Diet Ginger Ale, your Crown Royal will go down just as well with Diet Sprite.

4. When you (meaning Tater) make a mistake measuring for the tiles in your new shower and have to go to Lowe's to buy trim tile to account for the discrepancy, it will actually make the shower more interesting (and, incidently, tie in the darker floor tiles a little better) but, it'll cost you about $300.



5. When you decide to stop working in the back patio and head to the pool where your daughter and a friend are enjoying the last day of summer, the Sun that has been pounding down on you and turning your backyard retreat into a brick oven will bail, leaving you with cloudy skies and cooler temps.

6. When you get dressed to go to a drag show at a gay country and western bar, it doesn't really matter what you wear because no one will be looking at you anyway.

Blog Spawn Update

Annie has finished up her pages despite a sick baby, a sore throat, and a (super-sorry-to-have-missed-it) backyard BBQ.

And I got word yesterday that Brooke has the Traveling Journal!

Brooke, you and the Beanie take your time and have fun! Just do your thing.

September Looks Promising

At work, first thing this morning, I returned a phonecall to Mrs. N. She picked up the phone, "Good Morning, Sunshine!"

"Uhhhhh, Mrs. N, this is Paige."

"OH! I thought you were my sister! But Good Morning, Sunshine to you anyway!"

And we laughed and I told her thank you as I really needed that today.

@@@@@@

A few hours later I answered the phone, "C*********, this is Paige."

"Why aren't you at lunch?"

"I don't get a lunch."

"If you'll come work for me you can have a lunch."

For everyone keeping count, that's Roofer #2 that's trying to steal me away from my $14/hr ride down the River Styx.

@@@@@@

Last night, Mac and I were reading on her bed. Tater was in bed early as he's on the early shift this week. Dillon was in the basement playing X-Box with friends.

I wondered where the dog was. He rarely wanders more than 10 feet from me but I just assumed the boys must have raided the pantry and he was hoping for some people food if he loitered around them long enough.

About 30 minutes later, I was completely engrossed in my book when I heard that doggie yelp - not a bark, but a yelp that says, "Hey, you forgot me in the backyard! (Or wherever)" But it was coming from the house. I started calling for him - in the bathroom, kitchen, dining room, living room - and I heard another yelp. I followed the sound down another flight of stairs and heard him scratching at the laundry room door. I opened it and wagging his entire body out of the complete darkness, he was so happy to see me. The poor guy had patiently waited for me to find him, sitting, without a doubt, right behind the door for the half-an-hour before he decided we were idiots and needed a clue that our pet was stranded in the basement.

But he still loved us and jumped up on Mac's bed, licking her face and wagging his tail, grateful to be rescued while we almost fell off the bed laughing at his unfortunate doggie luck.

@@@@@@

My bathroom has tile (some, anyway):

Before
Last Week
Now

...Maybe another week???

Sticking with the upbeat theme, I am not posting any photos of my bedroom. It has an unacceptable amount of Home Depot products in it.