Pretty disappointed in certain people in my life. Not even trying to understand "their side". I asked for one simple thing. Something that would take 5 minutes a week, but seems that person just cannot see past the end of his nose......
You know what I love about my house? The trees in the backyard.
Technically, the trees aren't part of the house, but work with me here.
There are a few big oaks surrounded by a few dogwoods, those green tulipy trees, maybe a birch.
It rained last night, so the ground is very wet, there is always a heavy layer of leaves so water gets stuck up there. There are some low lying bushes. We have a cat, TC buried up there. The wind is kicking up, making the skinnier trees bend back and forth, leaves twisting side to side. Some of the trees are covered in moss. I think I heard once that moss on a tree is a sign of a sick tree. I hope not.
My yard is good for growing rocks, but not much else. Bunch of broken, weathered quartzite, schist, and rusted garnets. We have moss, lichen, and a plethora of fungi in the corner where our efforts to get grass to grow were in vain.
Hubby has fought the good fight in trying to make our back yard habitable, putting in ponds, shrubbery, and flowers along the edges. We do have some grass in the middle now.
I love those trees though....
My darling husband is a district manager for a famous chain of restaurant's around here. Some of the waitresses have reached a certain (expiration) point where they number of tattoos they have starts to exceed the number of teeth..One of the guys there refers to them as TNT- "Toothless and Tattooed".
Keep that in mind...
Last night at dinner I was telling the girls that I had a tooth that I would either need a root canal for or get it pulled. Since it's in the very back of my mouth and will cost me about $900 for the root canal, I'm leaning towards just getting the damn thing pulled. That's more than I paid for my first car. (Damn, that makes me old....)
So Pete the Eleven says, "Great, then you'll be a Toothless Wonder!"
Great.
All you married folk (and some of you Heathens) know the joy of undressing your Beloved and being undressed in return. Do it right, and the Time Stops. The first time is magical, but even after many years, the same sense of excitement and urgency exists. The joys of First and Second Base! Even now, it's fun to drag it out, to play....
So imagine my husband's horror when Pete the Eleven turns her back to him and says, "Daddy, will you unhook my bra?"
There goes my Mother of the Year Award again! Re-Pete had a fever night before last so we stayed home, and since Pete had been sneezing something like 25 times an hour, I decided to keep her home too. Hubba talked me into going to the doctor. For a cold, I thought? What a waste of a co-pay and the doc's time. But to make him happy I took them both. But really thought I was wasting time and money.
Turns out, Pete has Strep and Re-Pete has the virus that causes Croup (at her age she is unlikely to get croup, it's more likely she would get laryngitis, as evidenced by her hoarseness). Damn. I'm glad there's at least one of us with our parent radar on this week. Thanks, honey.
Pete the Amazing is growing into her elevenness. She's not really a baby anymore, wants to be treated differently. Boss people around, set her own rules. She's really smart and knows how to get things done. She also has quite a mouth on her lately. She told me I was lazy the other day. What is it about mothers and daughters that makes them butt heads so much? Or makes us such buttheads? I know it's just a growing process and I need to step back and let it happen, but Man! it's hard. I'm sure I could be nicer to her and she could be nicer to me. I can only hope it's easier with her than it was with her brother...I know, yeah, right.
Well, at least she's not interested in dressing like a whore in super tight pants and tiny shirts. Not that I would allow that, but at least I am not having to fight that fight right now.
Re-Pete, my youngest, is in kindergarten now. Last year, after her very first day of pre-K, she came home with a new habit. Behold:
She just loves lining things up. Notice the books on the shelf- lined up to her liking.First, on top of the Santa picture, we have her little Pet Shop puppy. Followed by bells, interjected with silly putty in situ, and a few other odd things.
Behind her art work, you'll see a great book, Postcards from Mars, a picture of Moi and Re-Pete with the rest of the family hidden. That was our second trip to Disney.
Then there is a picture of Pete, on a boogie board. For her birthday that year, we had an island party theme. We took a blue tarp and rigged it up to look like a Wave. Then we took pictures of all the kids "surfing". We've got some pretty funny shots of the kids....
Continuing down the line, you'll see a teddy bear hand painted by Pete when she was a wee tot. She used all the colors- together. Then is a very sweet picture of Pete as a toddler. I went to visit my friend Niqui and Pete found that ratty old hat and fell in love.
Finally, we have the picture of all the small children at the Marine's graduation. The littlest kids were Star Struck.
Re-Pete regularly Lines Things Up. It's her Thing. Food, clothes, shoes. I wonder if it is some sort of compulsion. There are enough screwballs in my family to start our own funny farm, so I wouldn't be surprised.
I said it before- she'll either end up my smartest or my dumbest.
But wait- what is that dark mark there in the picture?To the right of her hand... Any guesses?
Pete had her Honor Chorus Concert tonight, and of course, she sang beautifully. I video-d this one, 'cuz I wanted to share with you.
Behold! My shining star singing with the angels (she's the one to the left of the redhead).
Oseh shalom bimromav
LIKE GOD MAKE PEACE FAR-AWAY HEAVEN,
Hu ya'aseh shalom aleinu
PRAY HE MAKE PEACE FOR US HERE
V'al kol Yisrael
AND FOR ALL JEWISH PEOPLE
V'imru, v'imru amen.
COME-ON SAY, COME-ON SAY AMEN.
Ya'aseh shalom, ya'aseh shalom
PRAY HE MAKE PEACE, PRAY HE MAKE PEACE.
Shalom aleinu v'al kol Yisrael.
PEACE FOR US HERE AND ALL JEWISH PEOPLE.
My son has always been a bit hard headed. I blame it on Killer Baby Ball.
When he was a toddler we lived in a duplex in a very small town. It was a two bedroom, small kitchen and even smaller bathroom. When we first moved in my foot went through the bathroom floor and the landlord had to replace it. The floor, not my foot. I didn't use the dryer in the summer, I would just hang the clothes outside. I'd like to live in a place where that was possible again. I love the smell of air dried clothes. I still dream about that house, that I move back in there. Sometimes the house is in better shape, sometimes far worse. I wonder it that house is symbolic of my internal state somehow?
But back to Killer Baby Ball.
The duplex had a long-ish hall way. Hubby and I would sit on the floor at opposite ends with The Boy in between us. We would play a bastardized version of Monkey in the Middle/Dodge ball. We would bounce the ball off his his head to each other. I know! Looking back at that know, I can't believe it either. But, Man, that boy loved it! He would laugh and laugh as he ran back and forth trying to catch the ball. And in our defense, we would do just about anything to hear that wonderful laugh.
Once when he was about three we were talking about apples. He told me there were only red apples. Insisted really. I tried to explain, but to no avail. I knew what I had to do. We went to the store and bought one of every apple they had. He wasn't impressed, but he enjoyed the apples.
Yannow, we get so busy doing things for our jobs, children, spouses, and any other demand on our life that we forget to do things for ourselves.
Or at least I do.
I love my life. I have a job I really enjoy doing. I saw one of my former students yesterday. That's not hard to do in this town, I can't fart around here without hitting someone I used to teach. She had some pretty serious attendance issues when I taught her. On the rare occasion when she was in my class I couldn't always tell if I was getting through to her, but she was respectful to those around her. I asked her who her favorite teacher was and she can't say me because I knew better. She got really quiet and then said, "But you were. You made it interesting, and I could tell you cared."
Yeah, that made me feel good.
I got to have dinner with my good friend Kim. I've known her since Pete was 18 months or so. We always make time this time of year for our birthdays. It took us a while to get it planned, but we finally did it.
And then to top off the day, another good friend of mine came over with Almost World Famous Bloody Marys and I (painstakingly, with much slicing and dicing, without the use of the food processor) made my Almost Town Famous Island Salad, extra Jalapeno.
It was great day....
Pete, the wizened 11 year old, is the child who wants to do it all. She does 6 different activities at school and karate at night. Plus she has/wants to keep a A average. This is not especially hard so much as it it time consuming. I say if she wants to do it and can maintain her sanity on most days I'm just fine with her being very, very active. Less chance of her getting into drugs. But, the downside is having to learn a few hard lessons about keeping up with her papers and time.
She must be learning some skillz, tho.
Tonight, after chorus and karate, we got home and she got started on her math homework, all the while telling me about her day. Suddenly she jumps up and sez, "I gotta go Number 2!" and goes to our water closet.
And then she comes right back, picks up her math book and sez, "Hey, I can do this while I'm sitting there."
Heh, those time management discussions are starting to work....
Pete and Re-Pete were given those paper crowns from a certain fast food restaurant. But with a twist. They had been painted a silver-grey. On Pete's was written Crafty Chemist and Re-Pete sported Swell Scientist. They, of course, came up with their own names. Pete is the Queen of Everything and Re-Pete is Obvious Queen. Not Queen of the Obvious, or even The Obvious Queen. Just straight Obvious Queen. Heh. I love those girls.
Happy Friday to everyone. It's my last weekend of freedom until June, give or take a few holidays.
Pete is 10. It won't be long till the pediatrician asks us if we want her to have it- Gardisil. If you've been living in a cave and don't know what it is- it's a vaccine to prevent a girl from being infected by HPV, a virus that causes a large percentage of cervical cancer. Should we get Pete's opinion? Should we wait for more data? Will it make her more likey to have unsafe sex?
It will seriously reduce her risk of a few types of cancer, but we're hearing about problems. I read a review over at Web MD.
So by the end of this year, Merck, the company that makes the vaccine should be reporting their findings. I have asked every doctor I can their opinion about the vaccine. One of the arguments against it is that girls might get a false impression of safety- which I'm pretty sure I can dispel. It's about her health. Not her ability to have sex more often or unprotected (oh, man, that one's gonna give me nightmares)
I know the risks are very small that she might have a reaction to the vaccine. (The most common one is pain at the injection site. Heh. My husband will have to take her for that shot... ) But what are her chances of getting HPV? If she's anything like me, sheesh, we'll need body guards soon.
So, all you parents out there- what say you? And BTW, I've been told that boys can get the vaccine too so's they don't pass it on to their conquests, er, I mean wives.
Wow, has it been 5 days since my last post? Absolutely nothing has been going on. Get the girls up, head off any breakdowns that Pete might have (She's 9 going on 17), go to work, teach, deal with odd assorted adults who need a whole gamut of things, some of which I'm not willing to give, come home, cook, clean, bathe, and bed, repeat. No word from the boy, no word from the boy, no word from the boy, and still no word from the boy. I think he's doing The Crucible about now. Oh, he'll make it, no doubt. I think about what it will be like when I finally get to see him again, and it just makes me cry.
We get to dig in the dirt today, maybe get that pond and garden finished. Nice.
Once upon a time, there lived a goodwoman with her Goodman and Goodchild. Goodman was very, uh, good with his computer, having taught himself the internal ways. But he was very covetous of his computer and would only allow certain people to do certainthings on it. Goodwoman had very little to do with this gadget, having not been infected by a computer virus yet. Goodchild was a natural prodigy, and loved to use his Goodfather's computer whenever he had a chance. But there were things he knew not to do- Turning It Off being of paramount importance.
One fine evening Goodman came home from a hard day of wrestling waffles to find that, indeed, the computer had been Turned Off.
Wicked!
Tyranny!
Blasphemy!
and finally, Blame! was laid first at Goodson's feet. But He denied, denied, denied. He had not been near the gadget.
Goodmother, then? Nay, sayeth she. She knew touching the fickle beast was dangerous and might cause Blue Screens to appear and odd noises to be heard and smoke to be issued.
Then, cried Goodman, the only other explanation-
Someone must have broke into his Goodhome (in the broadest of Daylight!) and Turned Off The Computer! Villains all! (but leave everything else)
The End
Forgive me, Goodman, for the re-telling of such a sordid event...
One of my students asked me yesterday if I would mind if I found out my son was gay. I said no, and then explained that there are pitfalls to any sexuality, even heterosexuals have problems. I did tell him that I would worry more- he would still, even in our "enlightened" age, be a social outcast, the risk of disease (not an exclusively homosexual problem anymore) was higher, plus a few others. They couldn't believe it. One boy said he'd beat his son and make him live in Church. (Because that would solve the problem, right?) Just so's you know, I would prefer heterosexual children, but they're my children and I support them.
That got me thinking of a conversation I had with my son when he was about 4:
"Mom, I'm gonna marry you"
"I'm sorry Sweetheart, mommies and son's can't get married"
"OK, I'll marry Daddy"
"Well, you can't marry Daddy, Either"
"OK, I'll marry Grandma..... Grandpa?.... Uncle Gerry? ...."
"I'm sorry, you can't marry family members"
"Well, then, who can I marry?"
I still crack up thinking of that.
So tonight I get home, and what does Re-Pete say?
"Hey, Mommy, I'm gonna Marry Daddy" She even drew of picture of her in a veil and her Daddy with his big head.
Gotta love those kids....
So here I sit all broken hearted,
tried to shit, but only farted.
I've always wanted to say that.
It's Wednesday, still haven't heard from the boy. Bonehead.
I'm test driving the laptop. Not bad, really. I keep hitting caps for the A, and making the screen go wonky, but I think it'll be fine.
I'm watching Good Eats- Alton is frying fish in the oven, hmmm.
I've got nothing to complain about- several very good friends came over to my house this weekend. I tried a new recipe (success!), The Boy's friends came over, my in laws made it. Father's Day was OK- not stellar, but not bad. My Hubby was home, a rarity on any type of holiday. We got some snuggle time in- read nap. My son has gone off to pursue a noble and grand profession, one which I'm sure he'll exceed in. I didn't embarrass myself too much when he left. My girls were funny and full of hugs and kisses.
Hubby and my Oldest remember a time when my cooking was an adventure- might be edible, might be utter rot.
Then, I discovered Food Network. Alton Brown is mine and Pete's favorite, not too fond of Emeril. Bobby Flay rocks my grilling world. Re-Pete could probably pick Rachel Ray out of a "Where's Waldo" book.
Last night we made Bobby Flay's Cuban Burgers. Yummy!
Here's the recipe;
1. Salt and pepper the burgers, cook to medium. Don't turn off the grill.
2. On the bun of your choice- a little mustard and mayo mixed together on both sides, white cheese of your choice- Swiss, whatever, one for each side of the bun. Smoked shaved ham piled on the cheese, and some crunchy sour pickles.
3. Put burger on bread and fixings, close, wrap well in aluminum foil. You might want to spray a little non-stick coating on the inside.
4. Put burger back on grill, cover with a brick.
5. Wait 2-5 minutes, flip burger, repeat.
6. Cut to taste and enjoy.
Or in this case, try to spend 5 minutes alone with Hubby.
A little later, she walks into the kitchen with a sheet wrapped around her like we live in the sub-Arctic: head to toe, eyes peeking out. Well, my mother didn't raise any fools (well, one, but he can't help it) and the following ensued:
Me: "[Re-Pete], why are you wrapped up like that?" I see red something on her chin.
her: I dunno.
Me: Let me see.
Her: uh-uh.
Me: Yes, ma'am, let me see ::using Big Momma voice::
She drops the sheet, and she has drawn a line, in permanent marker, from her chin, down the neck, past the sternum, around the belly button a few times, and then around to the middle of her back.
Sheesh, there goes my Mother of The Year Award.
