My Dad: A life in 18 pictures

It's Father's Day so I am going to dedicate this post to my dad, Chuck, by telling the abbreviated story of his life in 18 pictures.

He was born a looooooooooong time ago to this beautiful 1940's hottie.  (Hi Grandma!)  This is not the best picture of him.  In fact, it doesn't look anything like him, so I'm questioning if it really is him or if my Grandma maybe had a modeling job posing with old-timey babies.  I've never heard anything about that so I'll just assume it's him.  Or it's my aunt, but you get the idea.  (Another annoying thing about babies is that they are so androgynous.)

Then he grew up.  He was SUPER skinny and he liked cords, rolling his sleeves up and standing in the front in pictures.  

He was one of the first dads to wear long socks with shorts.  (He's always been a trend setter.)

Then he met this beautiful lady, who is my mother. (Hi Mom!)

She likes bananas and wearing curlers.  She used to SLEEP on those curlers!  SEXY SEXY SEXY!

They got married they say in 1969, but I suspect it was really in 1970 and sort of shot-gun-ish.  My mom explains the maternity wedding dress by saying that it was an "empire waist" and it was really "in."  Yeah, okay, whatever.  Whenever it was, my Dad sure was happy about it! 

The highlight of my dad's life was having this beautiful child who grew up to be a beautiful adult.  (He also likes loooooooong sideburns.)

My dad likes hammocks.  Actually, I've never seen him lay on a hammock, but I found this picture and he looks pretty comfortable, so he must like it.  Dad, you want a hammock for Father's day?

Here he is when my sisters and I were teenagers.  You can see the aging.  Sorry, Dad.  (It was mostly Beth's fault.)

Oh, I forgot to mention that he and his beautiful wife had a couple other kids after the first one, but never hit that first high again.  Too bad!    They are okay.

My dad likes to impulse-buy Corvettes.  I look super cool in the driver's seat, but you know what?  He NEVER let me drive it.  Not even once. 

We jump ahead a few years to when my dad became a grandfather.  Finally, a boy! 

Then a girl who has all of his summer fashion style and sense.

She also has an affinity for looking cool in fast cars.  (but who doesn't?)

My dad is a good Grandpa.  I was going to say "great" grandpa, but then I know you would all be writing in the comments asking me, "Does he really have great grandchildren?" and I'd have to explain myself.  I suppose I could use a synonym since I am an English major.  He is an exemplary grandfather.  How's that?  Now you just think I'm snooty.

A little over a year ago his third grandchild was born.  Another girl.  She's a doll but I think someone should tell him you're not supposed to drive babies around in the bed of your truck. FYI:  they bruise like peaches.

Happy Father's Day, Dad!  I love you!

I hope you have a great day!

Happy Father's Day!

Happy Father's Day to the father of at least two of my children!  I love you!

The Summer of Self-Improvement: Day 1

I decided to start eating healthy, exercise a LOT, and expand my mind this summer.  It's getting off to a slow start.  Here's what happened. 

1. The power went out for about an hour, so in the interest of keeping the cold in the fridge, had pudding cup(s) for lunch instead of salad. 

2.  Went out to run errands.  Got some gin and some tonic.  Justified it by getting diet tonic and then walking next door to the liquor store instead of driving across the parking lot.

3.  Saw many skinny, wiry marathon runners running all over downtown, getting in a last practice before Grandma's Marathon tomorrow.  Was reminded to carb-up for dinner tonight. 

4.  Saw a morbidly obese woman in the library and told myself that compared to her, I'm in fantastic shape, so there's no rush to start this self-improvement business.

5.  Had to pee super bad, but didn't want to go at the library, so instead of standing around trying to decide what language I would try to learn this summer with my legs crossed wishing I was wearing Depends, walked away from language-tape display and went to "beach reading" display. 

5.  Went to the bathroom anyway because of close call while trying to decide if I've already read that John Grisham book, saw self in the mirror.  Discovered why people say horizontal stripes are unflattering.  One stripe going over one boob and under the other.  Looks like I'm deformed.  Have been walking around like this all day.  

6.  Came home and thought about going on a walk, decided it's too hot and windy and my time would be better spent drinking a gin and tonic and reading a trashy library book on the deck.

A few things...

First of all, and most incredibly; a hummingbird almost flew into Mitch's mouth yesterday.  But that's not even the incredible part, the incredible part is that he says that happens to him all the time.  I don't know about that, but this is what I saw yesterday:  Mitch was on the deck grilling pork chops and he looked in the window and he opened his trap to boss me around, and out of nowhere, a hummingbird flew right through his open mouth from one side to the other!  It was amazing.  Obviously I don't have a picture because it happened in a millisecond and I wasn't expecting it.  DARN! 

Today the kids and I went to a family gathering at my uncle's beautiful house in Side Lake, Minnesota.  It was a mostly beautiful day but the weather got a little scary after our pontoon boat ride.  FYI:  When a pontoon boat says "maximum capacity: 6-8 people," you shouldn't put 13 people on the boat because at times the front end dives down like a submarine and it's kind of scary.  I forgot my camera (DARN!) but my dad took pictures all day and sent me some. 

This one is by far the cutest.  Kira and my niece, Sidney.  

Hey, guess what's nerve-wracking?  An antsy one-year-old who is determined to get over the side of a boat, and Kira assuring us that she'll make sure that doesn't happen. 

This is further evidence that I am the most un-photogenic person on the planet:

In case you're thinking that I was making a stupid face for the camera, I wasn't.  I didn't even know he was taking this picture.  This is apparently how I look sometimes.  Like Dave Matthews when he sings, but not only when I sing, all the time.

Dave Matthews.  Dork.

This is the group photo.  It was not done professionally as you can probably tell because there is an unidentifiable person behind the pole.  My favorite part of this picture is my sister Beth showing us her muscle.

Wow, Beth!  Impressive!

On the Road

Sam, Kira and I drove home from International Falls today.  We decided to take it easy and make a few stops and take some pictures since I had my camera the entire weekend and didn't take one picture.  First we stopped at the big, saddled walleye in Kabetogama.  Sam, being a teenager, groaned and pretended he didn't want to pose in the saddle while his mommy took his picture, when we all know inside he was dying to do it.  Oh well, while he dragged himself out of the car, pretending to be reluctant, Kira raced up for her picture.

Awesome.  I wanted a picture with them both in the saddle, so Kira slid forward to make room, but Sam refused.  This is as close as I could get him to Kira and the saddle.

Look at all the room on that saddle!  What a party pooper.  I thought maybe if he could have the picture all to himself without Kira he'd be a little happier.  He wasn't.  I finally got him to get up into the saddle by threatening to not leave until he did.  So he did.

He even looks quite happy, but if you'll look down to the lower left, you'll see Kira horning her way into his walleye-saddle solo by sticking her head in the fish's mouth.  I didn't even notice she did that until I came home and looked at the pictures. While we were there Kira made me promise that if she ever catches a walleye this big and tames it and trains it to wear a saddle and swim around with her on its back, I will let her keep it.  I said no. 

Next we stopped at a gas station that has some deer behind a fence.

We got some corn and a deer came over right away.  Every time I tried to get a picture with all three looking at me the stupid deer would turn around.  Jerk.

Finally!  Two human faces and a deer face!  There was also a peacock behind the fence with a ratty looking tail.  He stayed way on the other side of the pen most of the time we were there, but something about us caught his fancy and he charged toward us.

The kids acted all brave but if there wasn't a fence between him and us, they would have both been pretty worried.  I wasn't scared.  (I wasn't)  We also saw a snake in the long grass but green snakes in green grass don't make for good pictures.  Also I was having the heebie jeebies and it was hard to take a picture when I was mostly concentrating on keeping out of its path all while Kira was yelling, "CATCH IT!  CATCH IT!  IT'S COMING RIGHT TOWARDS YOU!  TAKE A PICTURE!"  It went into the deer/peacock enclosure so thankfully the pressure for catching it and taking it home was off. 

Then a deer fly bit me so we came home.

Summer of 2010 To Do List

1.  Go to the eye doctor.

Get ready for your summer flashcards, Kira!

Kira finished school yesterday but I think this year I will actually have to get her on some sort of regimen where she can keep up her academic studies.  Last summer she forgot how to read.  It was a tough two weeks before school forcing her to remember.

This summer I think we'll have to have an intensive course on basic animal knowledge.  Why do I think this?  Two reasons, so far.

Reason number one:  Right now we are watching the rest of the movie 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea.  It's a Disney movie from the 60s about a submarine and a crazy submarine captain.  There happens to be a pet seal on the sub.  It crawls around and begs at the table and wears a collar and barks and claps.  Kira loves it.  But today I realized she didn't know it was a seal.  She said,

"Do you think they ever take that sea-dog off the ship?"

I cracked up and she said, "What?"  I said, "Kira, it's a seal."  She said, "Oh, it is?"

Reason number two:  Mitch bought this toy for Kira when he went to Chicago.

She said, "What do you think it's supposed to be?"  I said thought it was a cow and I asked what she thought it was.  She looked at it for a while and said,  "Probably a giraffe."

Handsome!

My handsome little angel at the cabin with Grandpa.  He misses his mama so much, can't you tell?

See you Saturday, Sam!

(Do you want me to bring you some white socks?)

Kira in the Car Part X

"Mom, do you think if everyone in the world all blinked at exactly the same time it would make a sound?"

 

Why I hate the dentist

Hypothetically speaking, because we are all SICK TO DEATH of hearing about my personal dental issues, this is why I hate going to the dentist.

Let's say that you get up at the crack of dawn to go and finally get the permanent crown for the tooth you had to have a root canal in last month.  You remind the assistant that you have an irrational fear of all things dental and ask about novocaine.  She says you won't need it because the tooth has no nerves in it anymore so it couldn't possibly hurt. (silly!) Your dentist comes in and chats with you for a while about the Stanley Cup and how much he hates the early morning and then he gets started.  He can't get the temporary crown off and almost breaks all your other teeth when his torture tools keep slipping off said temporary crown and then he begins to sweat uncontrollably and says to the assistant, "Is it HOT in here?  I am so hot!"  He keeps trying and keeps saying, "It's almost there" and you can tell, because the tooth is in your head, that it's not any closer than it ever was.  You're remembering him saying how important it was to have a crown put on because the tooth is so very weak and could break at any time, and that you shouldn't eat anything sticky with the temporary crown because it could just slip off.  You realize that the tooth is way stronger than anyone ever thought, and the temporary crown will never in a million years just slip off, and he's going to have to break it if he wants to get it off.  After another five minutes of sweating and pulling, he says, "Well, I think we're going to have to break it off."  And then he breaks it off.

Hypothetically speaking, that's why I hate the dentist so much.

Dazed

I'm feeling like a bit of a lazy failure today.  A few days ago I decided that I was healed enough after the dreaded wisdom tooth surgery to stop taking Vicodin.  I told myself I would alternate between heavy doses of ibuprofen and Tylenol because honestly, it didn't really hurt all that bad.  This morning I got up, the swelling is almost gone and the bruising is surprisingly faded but WOW does it hurt today.  It's like the worst jaw ache I've ever had.  Really tight and sore so I caved and took one of the Vicodin.

I know, I know, you're saying, "So what!  Why feel bad!  That's what it's for!"  The reason I feel bad about this (besides the fact that every one I take is one less to be hoarded)  is because Mitch is out of town for work and it's just Kira and me home.  She is such a terror and today I realized that during her entire life I've been constantly prepared to whisk her off to the emergency room at a moment's notice.  She's either climbing 50 feet up a tree, or doing a double flip on the trampoline, or bringing home her "new friend" who turns out to be a strange 150 pound rottweiler wearing a barbed choke collar.  I can't do much whisking when I'm stoned out of my gourd on narcotics.  (For all the dangerous stuff she does, we haven't had to take her to the emergency room for a few years.  Knock on wood.)

So this afternoon I couldn't stand the pain anymore and I took a pill.  Thankfully I've kept her busy since she got home from school with making muffins, playing with the dog (our dog, not the rottweiler) and I even took out my precious Dr. Quinn DVDs and I'm letting her watch those.  Good parenting?  I don't know.  In one scene of Dr. Quinn, a man was wanting to spend some time with a saloon hooker and the bar owner said, "She's five dollars!" and Kira said, "Hey!  I could afford to buy her!"  Cringe. 

Tonight we are going to watch 20,000 leagues Under the Sea, and then it should be bedtime.  Then I can relax.  Mitch is on his way home and should be here later tonight.  Whew. 

Mrs. Green Jowls

Day four of wisdom tooth surgery recovery was the day I finally had to get off the couch, get dressed and do something productive.

 Day 4 bruise beard

My parent's took the kids for the weekend so I had to meet my Mom halfway between our towns and pick Kira up because she has school this week.  Yesterday morning, as I was lying in bed sleeping, the phone rang and on the answering machine was the secretary from Kira's school asking where Kira was.  What?  Kira told me she had a four day week.  I knew that this was a four day week.  She told me Monday was the day they had off.  She was wrong.  Thursday is the last day of school.  Sneaky little turd. 

Today is day 5 and I'm feeling pretty good.  I went to the doctor this morning and he said I'm healing as if I'm on day 7 instead of day 5.  EAT THAT, FELLOW PATIENTS!  He was a bit surprised at my swelling.  I'm not even swollen anymore.  Here's me today:

If he saw me a few days ago I wonder what he would have said.  Probably, "Holy shit!"  Today my bruises are turning green. 

Day three

Day three is the day that the nurse said would probably be the worst as far as soreness and swelling goes. 

This is the stage of recovery I'm calling the "dirty jowl" stage.  Black and blue jowls.  Sooo pretty.  I can finally chew a little which is a good thing because I couldn't even think about having another Magic Bullet smoothie.  The swelling is starting to go down and I'm starting to feel a bit better.  I tried to trade in my Vicodin for ibuprofen yesterday.  That was a mistake, so I'm going to commit to being high and drowsy and itchy for another day and try again tomorrow.  I never thought I'd say this, but I'm kind of tired of convalescing. 

Recovery, Day 2

Here's a picture of me yesterday after wisdom teeth surgery: 

Just swollen enough to be cute like a tweety bird, and oh, those wonderful drugs! 

Here's day 2.  Not as cute.

One side is really swollen and turning black and blue.  Mitch wants to take me out.  I think he wants people to think he beats me.  The nurse said that day 3 is usually the worst and most swelly.  Stay tuned. 

Once again, I've cheated death

I survived wisdom teeth surgery.  So far.  If I can avoid infection or dry socket or drug overdose, I'm home free.  The worst part of the entire experience was waiting for it.  Once I was in the chair they gave me nitrous.  That stuff is a miracle.  They put it on and I felt every muscle in my body relax and I didn't care about anything.  They put an IV in and I didn't even want to throw up at the thought of it!  Miraculous!  Then I went to sleep, but not really sleep because I could still hear the doctor and the nurses talking.  That was one of the things I was most afraid of, being paralyzed, but not really out.  But it was okay because I couldn't feel anything.  Then I woke up and lay in recovery for a while and then the nurse talked to me for about ten minutes and I can remember her talking and thinking, "............................................ Is she even speaking English?"  Thankfully my dad was there and he relayed the instructions for me again when I was more lucid.

I got some sweet drugs and was told to take them right away to "get ahead of the pain."  Okay, no problem.  I took some and then watched New Moon which I bought for myself when I was at the pharmacy as a tooth fairy present, but couldn't keep my eyes open and I had a waking dream that one of my feet was on backwards and it was weird and scary but mostly unbelievably hilarious!  My stupid toes were in the BACK! Wow, I had a lot of trouble with that foot.  And my knee bent both ways.  It was so REAL!

I kept my teeth (obviously) and here they are (prepare yourself):

Yes, I know they are bloody and gory and disgusting, but now I'm done with dental issues!  So no more teeth posts!  Yay for all of us!

Thank you so much to my Mom and Dad for coming down to help me and taking the kids home with them for the weekend.  I really appreciate it!

Bye, Wisdom Teeth

Goodbye Wisdom Teeth, you assholes.  I hope I live to gloat at your demise. 

Delicate Flower

I don't do well with transition. I tend to get depressed and cranky and panicky under the best of transition circumstances, but this spring it's a little worse. I dread the end of the school year just because of the two weeks or so that it takes the kids and I to get used to summer vacation. (I know, boo hoo, right?) (I'm a delicate flower.) I miss working and I really miss the kids going to school every day. I miss getting up at the same time every day and having the same routine and I don't like when that changes.

This spring it is worse because on Friday, Sam's last day of school, I am surgically having three teeth dug out of my skull. Yeah, I'm finally doing it, having the wisdom teeth removed. The closer this gets the more panicky I am feeling, and the panic seems to only be slightly dampened by beer and gin. Healthy, huh?

I find myself trying to remember old sayings from college: Hmmm, how did that go? “Beer before liquor, never been sicker”... oh yeah.  And then I mix a stiff gin and tonic and chase it with beer until I'm tipsy enough to go to sleep. It's a fine line to tread, because if I drink too much I'll get the spins. (No thanks!)

So today was my last day of work. I subbed in my favorite fifth grade class and it was bittersweet because I love them so much and now they are going off to middle school, but it's June 1^st and beautiful outside so the kids are absolutely hyper and nuts. Plus today they had an impromptu “special all-school recess!” for 15 minutes in the middle of their reading lesson, and then later the principal came around with ice cream for every class during social studies. Thanks! That really helps!

As Sam was walking out the door this morning he poked his head back in and said, “I have a choir concert tonite!” and then he left. Oh yeah. I forgot about that. Shit.

After school I was getting crankier and crankier because the kids were fighting over something stupid, and I was dreading going to this concert because Sam doesn't care about choir. He goes because he needs the A in choir, not because he's so in love with music. The concerts are crowded and hot and like I said, I was dreading it.

I think I must have put off a vibe because I went up towards the top of the bleachers and even though the gym was packed, there was nobody sitting by me. I didn't blame them, I could hardly stand to be with me either. I opened the program to see what I was in for and in the midst of my snit this was my inner dialogue:

“Okay, how long am I going to have to SWEAT up here... let's see... Don't Stop Believin'. What? What's this? Soloists? There are one, two, three, …..... THIRTY FIVE SOLOISTS! How long is this song? Then what, History of Everything. Holy shit, that's going to be one long goddamn song. Then what, Slap That Bass............ what the hell? Why would you sing a song about abusing a fish? Jesus Christ.” and so on and so on.

I managed to calm down after the first song because the kids are so darn cute. I love that the worst singers always sing the loudest. And I really love when those kids have a microphone. The song The History of Everything was not actually that long. (They left a lot out.) Then the show choir did a choreographed dance number to Dance Evolution. There's nothing like watching chunky seventh grade boys do hip thrusts to YMCA to cheer a girl up. I don't know if I was the teacher if I would have gone with having a bunch of 13 year olds doing hip thrusts, but it worked. Bold choice. They finally came to the last song. I could see the light at the end of the tunnel despite the stifling 150 degree temperatures and the smell of 800 sweaty bodies. The last song was called The Beatles in Revue.

Let me tell you something, the Beatles have had a lot of fucking songs. It was a concert all on its own and I wasn't the only parent there with a bad attitude about it. After about ten minutes an entire section of the bleachers started clapping after every song-portion, trying to force it to end. It didn't work. They went on and on and then ended with the complete tail end of Hey Jude. Fucking Beatles. 

Grandpa Maurice

 Happy Memorial Day everyone!  Memorial Day is a day that you are supposed to remember the troops (right? or is it just anyone?)  Well, I'm going to remember my Grandpa Maurice today on my blog.  He was a veteran so technically I'm doing this Memorial Day thing right, but I don't remember him because he was in WWII, I remember him because he was my grandpa.

He was a good grandpa.  He loved to tease us mercilessly.  He told us when we came to visit that we were going to have to sleep outside under the bushes.  So then we'd pinch his huge grandpa-forearms with our little fingers and he'd pretend that it really hurt and then we'd laugh and laugh. (maybe it did hurt and we were just really mean)  For some reason when I was very young I called him Badja instead of Grandpa.  I don't know why. 

He was a funny guy.  He had a very dry sense of humor and he was very low-key.  Whenever anyone was watching TV or a movie and said, "Who is that actor?  I forgot his name," Grandpa would say, "That's Chester Brown."  (there is no Chester Brown)

My aunt asked him to record his stories for her onto a tape recorder and he did.  Funny stories.  I'll just share one.  My grandparents lived in Cannon Falls, Minnesota.  In 1954 Haile Selassie, the emperor of Ethiopia was in Minnesota to visit the Mayo clinic.  It was announced in the Cannon Falls Beacon that on a certain day, Selassie would be going through town, so if you wanted to see Haile Selassie, a world leader, be out on the street and you could wave to him when he went by.  1954 was also the year that Cannon Falls was going to celebrate their centennial so a lot of them men in town were growing beards for a beard contest (because nothing says Happy Hundredth Birthday like a bunch of beards!)  On the day of the visit one of Grandpa's friends, Marv, put on a bathrobe and a shriner's fez and rode through town in the back of a convertible.  Everyone was out on the streets and they saw Marv in the convertible with his fez and his robe and his beard and everyone just assumed that was Haile Selassie so they waved and then went back to what they were doing.  Later the real Haile Selassie came through town and nobody was there to wave.  Who knew that a beard could convincingly turn a Swede into an Ethiopian emperor?  Never underestimate the power of the beard.

 The real Haile Selassie, Emperor of Ethiopia.  Not Grandpa's friend Marv.

I'll end with this: my aunt asked him about speaking Swedish.  His parents were from Sweden and when he was growing up, my grandpa spoke Swedish and English.  He remembered and old Swedish song and the translation is this:

My father has two pigs.
Two pigs my father has.
And if he doesn't have two pigs,
Then he's not my father.

A sausage has two ends.
Two ends a sausage has.
If it doesn't have two ends,
Then it's not a sausage. 

Kira calls my bluff

Sam:  Hey look!  I finally got that bug out that was stuck in the computer.  (actual insect)

Me:  Really?  Let me see!  Yuck!

Kira:  Let me see!  Let me see!

Me:  Hey Kira, I'll give you a dollar if you eat it.

Kira:  OKAY!  Sam give it to me!

Me:  NO!  I was just kidding!  I'm not giving you a dollar for eating a bug.  Gross!

Kira:  I'll eat it for fifty cents!

Me:  NO!

Kira:  How about a quarter?  Sam bring it to me!

Me:  KIRA!  DON'T EAT DEAD BUGS! 

Kira:  How about this:  If you give me a dollar, I WON'T eat it.

Thanks for the idea, Kady

Kady wrote a post today about all the books she's been reading on her trip and I thought that a book review was a fine idea!

I finally finished reading Dead Until Dark by Charlaine Harris.  It's the first book in a series of at least ten books that I won't be reading unless someone puts me in a jail cell with nothing but those books.  The reason that I even finished it was because the TV series True Blood was in my Netflix queue (isn't that a stupid way to spell a word?  Queue?  Looks like it should sound like Kwayay)  Anyway... what was I saying?  Oh yeah, True Blood in my Netflix.  I'm into the TV show now because it's pretty good (and because I'll watch anything and like it).  A bit porny, but good!  The characters are written much better in the show than in the book.  They are funnier and more believable (shut up) in the TV show.  The characters in the book are pretty flat.  Anna Paquin as Sookie in the show is fantastic!  (I almost wrote Anna Quindlen and then I laughed at myself.)

 Anna Quindlen, not Sookie Stackhouse

Sookie and Vampire Bill.      

(STOP LAUGHING!)

Sure, it's about vampires and stuff, but there's a lot more to the show than there is to the book.  I can't say I didn't enjoy the book because after I stopped expecting anything good at all to come of it, I was pleasantly surprised sometimes.  Not often.  Most of the time I would read something a character said and think, Huh? that makes no sense... and then forget it and go on.  I do not recommend the book, but if you don't mind lots of swearing and soft-core porn, then True Blood is for you!  (The character of Lafayette is the best.)

Now I'm reading The Girl Who Kicked the Hornet's Nest by Stieg Larsson.  It's the third book in the Millenium trilogy and these are the BEST BOOKS!  Larsson was (he's dead now) Swedish so all the books take place in Sweden and were originally written in Swedish.  The translations are wonderful and the books are super.  The "girl" is Lisbeth Salander.  She's an odd person.  She works for a security firm as a researcher.  Her coworkers think she is retarded, but she's not.  She's super smart and resourceful.  She was declared legally incompetent because of something that happened in her past (which you'll find out about, eventually!) so she has a guardian.  He's a good guy but he has a stroke so she gets assigned a new guardian.  He's not a nice guy.  He's a super duper bad guy and he's mixed up in all kinds of trouble.  This is just one plot out of many and I'm not telling you anything else, except that they are fascinating books, and I heard on NPR the other day that they are supposedly "hard to read," but not for me, so I think I must be reading at about a 45 year-old level.  YAHOO!

One more plug:  The TV show Glee.  I have liked it from day one, but last night's episode was so good that I have gone from being a simple fan to a super GLEEK!

Poles! Poles! POLES!

Last summer my clothesline broke.  It was a Canadian clothesline (does anyone know what that means that isn't from International Falls?) and the sun rotted the line so it broke.  I lamented the loss of my clothesline so my sweet, industrious husband made me a new one that I really love.  Here it is:

It has four lines, it's easy to reach and it holds WAY more than the old Canadian clothesline.  I love it.  And, like everything Mitch makes, it's STURDY.  Sure, it's a yellow pole, but that's okay.  I can live with that because it is such a nice clothesline.  He even put caps on the ends of the tubes to keep spiders out. 

After this Mitch began to think of himself as something of a polesmith. (I just made that word up, nice!) He likes the Topsy Turvy upside down tomato plant bags, so he made this pole to hold them:

Yes, it's yellow again.  What?  Why?  I don't know.  The top of the pole spins and at the end of each arm is a circle that holds a potted plant.  He welded it all himself.  It's strange, but it's pretty handy.

Mitch liked his "hanging gardens" so much last year that he had me buy him four more Topsy Turvy bags because he said, "I have a plan..."  I was thinking maybe it would be a nice gazebo with the plants hanging off the eaves, or he has been talking about making an arbor, so I thought maybe he would work the planters in there or something.  Nope.

It's another pole.  This pole not only has upside-down tomato planters on it, it also has two strawberry bags, and two hot pepper bags.  Yes, that's right, it has eight arms.  And a flag on the top.  And it's yellow.  The cinder block is out there because he has to stand on it to reach his bags.  He put them up so high because he's pretty confident that his plants will be super productive and they will grow really long and he wanted to give them lots of room.

In the category of eight-armed yellow yard poles, it's top notch, but let's be honest, that's a weird category to begin with.  The man has become obsessed with yard poles.  The other day when we were sitting on the deck looking out over the yard and all the poles, he said, "Do you think if we ever have to sell the house, these garden poles will be a good selling point?"  I don't know about that. 

I was walking around the yard today and came across this leaning against the garage:

More poles!

LOST!!

Questions I still have about LOST:

1.  Who the hell is Jason? Who was the first Jason?  How did Lock turn into Jason if he was Lock?  Why did Jack become Jason?  Why did Hurley become Jason?  What happened to Hurley and Ben?  (Whoa whoa, that's 6 questions in one.  Not exactly following the rules.  But all Jason-related, so I'll let it go.)

2.  Why was Desmond pressing the button? 

5.  What about the polar bears?....WHAT ABOUT THE POLAR BEARS?

6.  Why is the time/space continuum controlled by a donkey wheel in a basement freezer?

7.  If they are all dead anyway, what was that stupid thing Desmond uncorked and Jack recorked, and why bother?

8.  Was Lock right the whole time?  Or was Jack right the whole time?

9.  Where the hell was that dog for three years?

10.  What about Michael and Walt?

11.  Why does the after-life suck so bad?

12.  Why didn't the smoke monster just float off the island if he wanted off so bad?  He's SMOKE.

13.  Mr. Echo was my favorite.  What happened to him?  Why wasn't he in the shitty afterlife?

14.  Why were those cages that Kate and Sawyer got locked in on the island anyway?

15.  If I kept watching Lost instead of giving it up for Glee in the middle of the last season, would it make any more sense?

15.  If I knew how lame it ended, (THEY'RE ALL DEAD) would I have started watching in the first place?  I think I learned as a college freshman that it is a cop out to kill off all your characters, or to say, "And it was all a dream...!"  Lame - o.

Seriously?

Summer vacation hasn't even started yet and the kids are already starting to act all bored.  Today I told the kids that they are in charge of the daily cleaning-up-of-the-house chores.  This usually takes me an hour or so and consists of cleaning up my room, making my bed, starting the laundry, picking up and wiping up the bathroom, emptying the dishwasher and cleaning up the kitchen, and then picking up the rest of the house. 

I told Sam he was in charge of the kitchen and living room, and Kira was in charge of the back of the house.  All she had to do was wipe up the bathroom and clean up her room and bring dirty clothes downstairs.  She HATES any kind of chore so she was immediately resentful of having to do anything, but she did it anyway, all red-faced and in a huff.  She wiped up the bathroom and as soon as she was finished Sam went in there.  She saw that and busted in on him.  Here's their conversation:

Kira - WHAT do you think you're doing?
Sam: - Um... using the bathroom?  What does it look like?  Get out of here!
Kira - Seriously?  I just cleaned it!  SERIOUSLY?  Now you're going to mess it up!
Sam - Kira, no I'm not!  I have to go to the bathroom, get out of here!
Kira - (slamming the door to the bathroom) SERIOUSLY?  It better not be a mess when you're done!
Me - Congratulations, Kira, now you're also in charge of the basement.
Kira - SERIOUSLY!!!!!????

I can't tell you the joy I felt at that moment.  This person who is a living tornado of messiness, who leaves a trail of junk and mess and garbage everywhere she goes, was mad that someone would use the bathroom after she wiped up the vanity.  MOOHOOHOOHOOHAHAHAHA!  HOW DOES IT FEEL, BABY! 

In my defense, I never tell anyone they can't use the bathroom after I clean it (except Mitch, but that's just for spite). 

It's going to be a sting-y summer

 Kira got in a fight with a bee again today.  She was outside with a handful of rocks, running and looking behind her, and she'd stop every few steps and do some evasive moves and then throw a rock.  I asked her what the heck she was doing and she said, "I'm throwing rocks at a bee."  She said the bee was chasing her.

A few days ago I saw her twirling on the front lawn while holding a bucket.  I asked her what she was doing and she said, "I can't talk right now.  I have a bee in this bucket and if I stop he'll get out and sting me!"  She kept spinning.

Yesterday I saw her with a butterfly net catching bees that were innocently collecting nectar off of clovers.  When asked why she would do such stupid thing, she said, "Because they make me mad."

Kira in the Car Part IX

"Mom, how many bars of soap do you think it would take to wash a python?"

Colorblindness and teeny birds

I think I might be colorblind.  Last time I dyed my hair I meant to dye it sort of a medium brownish and it was BLACK.  Today I got deck paint with the intention of painting my entire deck (this could take years) so the house doesn't look quite so, oh I don't know, abandoned.  I wanted something that looked cedar colored.   I painted the first portion and it is ORANGE! In my defense the hair dye was labeled "medium brown" and the deck paint was called "cedar," so even if I am colorblind, the labels are all wrong because I am not the only one who saw black hair and an orange deck.  The orange deck looks miles better than the unpainted portion of the deck even though it's orange, so that tells you how bad the deck was/is.  I'm too lazy to go up and take a picture so you'll just have to imagine it.

Don't freak out when you hear that buzzing, I'm not a bug! 

I'm a teeny adorable BIRD!

I have all the bird feeders going now too and the hummingbirds are back!  Yay!  They're my favorite.  They flew all the way from Panama in the last few weeks.  PANAMA!   Don't you feel lazy now?  I do!  I've never flown to Panama with my own teeny tiny wings, YET.

Teenage Style

English is not Sam's best subject.  He was on the edge of being in trouble for his grade the last grading period, but he managed to pull himself out of the depths the last few weeks.  This grading period I'm keeping on top of him and insisting on seeing everything before it's turned in.  Last week he had a paper due.  The assignment sheet literally spelled out what the teacher wanted to see with every sentence.  I'm not even kidding.  It was supposed to be a one page paper with four paragraphs and the instructions were one page long (typed) with four paragraphs.  What would be so hard about acing that paper?  All you have to do is go step by step and follow her directions.

Sam showed me his paper.  More accurately, Sam showed me his half-a-paper.  He read about the first two instructions for every paragraph and did a half ass job of following those instructions, and then called it good.  There were misspellings, grammar and punctuation mistakes, incomplete sentences etc. etc.  I told him he'd have to re-do it.  He got in a huff and said,

"You and Mrs. L. just don't like my style of writing."

Can you believe it?  He is 13 and has apparently found his writing style and it is, as I understand from Sam, purposely hard to read and seemingly sloppy and half-assed.  It's not that he's not trying, half-assed is a style.

After I stopped laughing, I told him to re-do it and told him specifically what needed to be changed.  He argued.  I got frustrated and said, "Why are you arguing with me?  I have a blog!"  Just kidding, I really didn't say that,  I said, "Why are you arguing with me? I'm an English teacher!" and he continued to argue why spelling "couple"   c u p p l e    is part of his style.  I told him, "Fine.  Do it yourself.  I hope you don't fail because your grades will determine how much fun you have this summer."  So he stormed off and put probably three-quarters of his ass into the assignment.  I don't know.  I wouldn't look at it again. 

Since then I've been watching him and this is a style that dictates more than just his writing.  He is a very helpful boy but I gotta say, this style of his is driving me a little nuts.

This is how you do things Teenage Style:

 Pulling weeds - Rip off the big leaves so it looks weeded, but don't pull any little weeds or any roots.

Cleaning - Pretend dust doesn't exist.  Only the middles of rooms need to be vacuumed. 

Laundry - Wash everything together and don't check any pockets.  So what if a tube of chapstick went through the dryer?  Those oily spots on everything are cool.

Picking up dog poop- Pick up half the dog poop and throw it in the bushes next to the house.

Mowing the lawn - Don't overlap at all so when you "finish" there are three inch wide grass mohawks all over the yard.

Looking for anything you can't find - Look for two seconds without moving anything or thinking about the logical place it would be, and then snottily ask your mom where she put it as if she's hiding things from you to drive you nuts.

On the bright side, teenage style is better than preteen style which as I gather from watching Kira is "leave a trail of destruction where ever you go."

Sometimes the truth hurts

Kira wanted to take a long hot bath this evening and she asked me why the tub was so full of hair.  What could I possibly have said to make her make this face? 

Is it:

A.  "Dad must have shaved in the shower."

B.  "My legs were really hairy so I took care of business." 

C.  "Dad notice my neck was hairy so he shaved it when we were taking a shower together this morning." 


She's having a hard time looking me in the eye.

My new best friend

 

Natalie Dee:  I think she's my long-lost best friend.

She totally gets me.