Random weirdness from my house

Random oddities from my house. Got any random oddities from yours?

1. I once named a pictus cat (aquarium bottom feeder) ‘Stevens’ just so I could call him Cat Stevensfish. ba-da-BUMP!  (You have to be at least 40 to get that lame joke.)

2. Currently, we have a kitty named ‘Fisher’ and in the aquarium, a red bellied pacus named ‘Cat.’  According to my husband, this is so we can call the cat ‘Fish’ and the fish ‘Cat.’ (And you thought the Cat Stevensfish joke was lame!)

3. Our 80 lb. rottie mix is deathly afraid of the neighbor’s chihuahua.

4. Our house eats hand towels and then regurgitates them into the wash. Despite my best efforts, there is never a hand towel available in the kitchen or the bathroom.  I put them out– really, I do –and they immediately disappear. As a result, I wash LOADS of hand towels, yet I’m forced to dry my hands on my jeans. *sigh*

5. I am mentally incapable of  keeping track of a cup of coffee. I drink the stuff every day, and yet I cannot finish a full cup without forgetting where I put the doggone thing down. I leave them in the bathroom, on dressers, on the front step…  By noon I’m usually on my 3rd or 4th coffee mug. When I do dinner dishes, I send the kids on a cup hunt to find any I lost all day. Do they make The Clapper for coffee cups? I really need to buy one!

Sooo…that’s random weirdness from my house. What can you share from yours?

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There are thieving little imps in my house.

I’m gonna catch the little beasts one of these days.

We run two businesses out of our home; my husband’s trucking company and Paperweight Productions, my writing and design business. With two sets of books, invoicing and filing systems, y’all…I need office supplies. The problem is, I can never seem to find any.

I bought mechanical pencils for me. The points are always sharp. Boy howdy! And my kids the sneaky imps kept spiriting them away. Eventually, I gave in, bought both my children huge packs of mechanical pencils and myself a pack of plain yellow #2’s. Why steal Mom’s ugly plain pencils when you have nifty mechanical ones, right?

My ugly pencils are all gone again.

I have one — count ’em — ONE broken mechanical pencil with no eraser on my desk. It’s not as though the children have no supplies of their own, I buy them supplies all school year, plus keep a community drawer in the kitchen. But no, they prefer to raid my home office.

Looking around, I see that my big eraser is gone. My good ruler has departed and in its place is a clear one that’s hard to read with edges so pitted it doesn’t make straight lines. My stapler is empty, my tape is almost gone, my sharp office shears have a notch in one blade and I’m almost out of printer paper.

Again.

I’m going to take a deep breath, count to 10, and think positive thoughts. Then I’m going to hurt somebody. 

Although oddly enough, I seem to have a never ending supply of paper clips. I have no idea where they come from, but I use them constantly and the supply never dwindles. Paper clips are, however, a poor substitute for writing utensils and printer paper.

If you should hear loud yelling at around 3:30 this afternoon, take no notice. It’ll just be me re-establishing boundaries. To wit, when my children get home from school there will be wailing and gnashing of teeth.

I doubt I’ll get much out of their backpacks–I’ll have to stock up again. And this time I’m using Dexter the Dog’s method to settle territorial dispute:  I’ll just pee on everything.

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You can’t make this stuff up.

Grandpa Greg and Sister Skinny Rat were over for pizza. We’d just sat down at the table, and plates and forks clanked, ice cubes tinkled in glasses and everyone dug in to help themselves. Ems reached over to help herself to some breadsticks. Looking around for the dish of marinara she said,

“Grandpa, will you please pass the marijuana sauce?”

Dead silence.

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I CHALLENGE YOU…to challenge You.

*Kelly picks up a gauntlet and hurls it to the floor! It bounces, lands on her toe and she whimpers just a bit before going back to her speech*

I’ve been trying to challenge myself a bit more with reading material as of late. I wanted to read some of the ‘classics’ just so I could tell myself I did it–not for a school assignment years ago, but recently, and just for me. At first it was a little awkward to read novels out of my comfort zone, but I stuck with them and I’m glad I did. The writing is different but impressive in its own way. I think you should give it a shot, too! (Bonus–when your kids have to read these in high school you’ll actually be able to answer questions without Cliffs Notes. Woooo!)

So far, I’ve read and enjoyed:

Animal Farm (George Orwell) A great starter because it’s short, easy to read and easy to see the subtext behind the story.

1984 (George Orwell) More difficult, but I liked this one so much I read it twice in a row and bought my own copy.

Fahrenheit 451 (Ray Bradbury) Slightly easier to read than 1984. Again, liked it enough to buy a copy.

And because I am insane, I decided to really stretch myself and I’m currently reading The Iliad (Homer – translated by Richard Lattimore) which is a novel-length poem about the battle of Troy. I had to read the first 4 pages 3 times and check the Glossary a few times to figure out who was who, but now that I’m into it I’m really enjoying myself. If you know anything about Greek Mythology or have seen the movie Troy (loosely, and I do mean loosely, based on The Iliad) it would be helpful background for this book. This one is the hardest by far that I’ve read, and sometimes I have to re-read a page or double-check a person in the glossary, but I’m getting through and enjoying it immensely.

Waiting patiently on my end table are The Double, Notes From the Underground and The Eternal Husband (all by Dostoevsky – translated by Constance Garnett) as well as The Screwtape Letters (C.S. Lewis). No input on those as I haven’t read them yet, but I’m betting after Homer they’ll look a whole lot easier. lol!

I challenge you to challenge YOU. Go to the library and find a classic to sink your teeth into. You may find it more enjoyable than you think. When you do (or if you have), let’s hear your recommendations.

What are YOUR favorite classics?

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Ayup, I’m still alive.

I’ve been doing a lot of mental housecleaning and prioritizing. Yeah, I know. I’m almost a month behind for New Year’s resolutions. Procrastination is on my list. I figure I’ll get to it eventually.

This weekend I discovered something. We have come full circle. I am officially a GROWN UP who is owned by CHILDREN. Case in point:

Think back to early 1980-ish. I was in sixth or seventh grade. Do you remember holding your ginormous cassette recorder up to the radio speaker, fingers poised, and clicking Record the second a good song began to play? I still run across old cassettes missing the first 3 seconds of every song.

Well this weekend, I called to dd#1 from the kitchen. DD#2 came running, shooshing me. (Oh how I despise being shooshed!) I walked into the living room expecting to find my oldest on the telephone and none too happy she hadn’t asked permission first. Instead, I found a major attack of deja vu.

There sat my daughter with her Mp3 player pressed up against the computer speaker…recording a song off YouTube.

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Our dog speaks en Español

We’re an English-speaking household, but ever since the girls were toddlers I’ve tossed the odd word or phrase from my rusty Spanish class days into conversation as a simple teaching tool. It’s become such a habit over the years that our whole family does it without giving it much thought.

It seems the pets have been paying attention.

I discovered, quite by accident, that Dexter the dog knows a little Spanish. We didn’t actively teach him Spanish commands, he picked them up on his own. Not bad for a 6 month old pup, not bad at all.

The first time I noticed a little something was last week.  I was coming out of the bathroom and almost ran over Dexter, who was camped out across the doorway. “Perdóneme,” (pardon me) I said, and He-Who-Normally-Lies-There-Like-Royalty actually jumped up and moved out of my way.

Odd.

The next time I took note was a few days ago when we got ready to go to the store. The whole family had been outside awhile, playing with Dexter to get his wiggles out before we left. “¡Vámonos!” (let’s go) I called out, and Dexter made an immediate beeline for the van. It seems he wanted to go for a ride, too. 

Oookayyy…

And then last night my daughter offered Dex a treat to ‘speak’. Hoping for more than one, he kept barking. Forgetting herself, Tasha snapped “¡Cállate!” (something I usually yell at the TV as I hit the Mute button.)

Dexter went silent. 

This morning I decided to test him. After returning from our daily trip of taking the kids to the bus stop in the van, Dexter and I began our usual walk toward the house. Mid-stride I breezily commented, “Vámonos.” Dex did an about face and ran back to the van.

Smart doggie.  I wonder if he knows his huevos are coming off today.

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Technology is my Foe

You know what? I miss the good old days of beating messages in Morse code on a rock, or painting them on cave walls with smushed up berries. I hold the ‘latest and the greatest’ in complete disdain. You’d think my friends and family would know this by now.

“How come you never answer my text messages?” Because I don’t read them, silly! Most of the texts I get are spam, and  the phone truncates the addies so I have to jump through hoops to find who sent what anyway.  I hate responding by hunting and pecking letters on minuscule keys and tend to get lost somewhere in the eight THOUSAND menus of features I don’t use…so I have a blanket policy to just delete them all.  

Yes, I admit it. The old people Jitterbug phone is made for people like me.

I hate the learning process that comes with new programs and gadgets. It’s like an undesirable puzzle I have no choice but to solve. And as the most technically proficient humanoid in our household (believe it or not–although our 13 year old is catching up), everyone comes to ME for direction. This is not a good thing.

I can put music on my Mp3. I can listen to it, too. How to find a particular song? Not a clue. How to organize it by genre, or delete Dominick the Donkey that my daughter added as a joke?  No idea. I push Play and the thing goes. That’s what I know.

Dh was given a Garmin for his birthday.  A fine present for any truck driver. He promptly asked me how to work it. Uh, I don’t know. See that manual thingie? Read it. Let me know when you figure out how it works–I might want to borrow it sometime.

And yet.

Somehow I Forrest Gump my way through. Yesterday, I managed to set up a secure network, change our laptop’s AV program and get our daughter’s PSP online. It took about 4 hours and I have absolutely no idea how I did it and couldn’t repeat it on a bet, but I did it!

My computer guru loves me. Why, I don’t know. Perhaps it’s the challenge. When I have computer issues, he’ll say, “Well what did you do/try/change?”   Ummm…I don’t really know. There was a pop up thingie, and it asked me something, and I clicked Yes. That didn’t work, so I got into the settings and kept trying different boxes and stuff.

I’m very helpful like that.

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There is a disturbance in The Force.

There is a strange phenomenon that occurs once every millenium or so. (At least, according to my children.) That strange event is informally known as Mom Gets Sick.

While my nasty sinus-headache-flu-ey thing is nothing to write home about, it does warrant a few temporary changes in our household. Seriously, I’m dragging ass and prefer few demands are made upon me. The more chores I can shuck, the better. And really, our kids are 9 and 13. Is it asking so much for them to pitch in?

Mo-ommmm! The dog wants out. (As I lay there on the couch, hugging a heating pad and honking into a kleenex.)

Then take him.

But I had to take him last time. It’s not my turn!

Sweetie, I don’t feel well. Your sister’s in the bathroom, please take the dog for a walk.

But Mo-ommmm! I’m busy! (She’s sitting in the recliner, working a Rubik’s cube.)

-Dexter the dog crosses his eyes and whines profusely-

Child, (which sounds like ‘Chide’ when one’s doze iss stuvved ub.) I want you to know I say this with love in my heart. But if you don’t take the dog outside right. stinking. now.  I’m going to sell you AND your sister. Together. To a militant dog-walking academy that ignores all child labor laws.

Do I really haavvvve to?

Unless you want him to crap in your snow boots, then yes, you do.

Hurry up and feel better soon, Mom.

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Crazy Dad

There we were–in the parking lot of Kmart on Black Friday. Two kids in the back seat, Hubby at the wheel, our dually pickup (Big Fat Mama, she’s called) slipped and slid her way though a pile of slush.

Since the kids were amused, my husband immediately headed for the emptiest part of the parking lot to do some additional (minor, I assure you) slip sliding. Not exactly the donuts we used to do 20 years ago, (sigh) but shhhhh! Don’t tell the kids.

As they laughed at their Dad’s antics, one of those family moments began to develop. Namely, the creation of a song. One giggling girl would start a line, while another finished. Hubby and I chimed in when they got stuck. It’s not traditional Christmas music, but it sure was fun. And so I bring you the Trainor Family tune, Crazy Dad:

Crazy Dad  (to the tune of Jingle Bells…more or less.)

 

Dashing through the snow, in a 4-wheel Ford today,

over people we go, screaming all the way…AHHHHH!

The snow is turning red, All the folks are dead

We woke up in the pokey with 6 glocks aimed at our heads!

 

Oh! Crazy Dad, Crazy Dad, cuckoo all the way!

Pulled over because he didn’t have his license today-hey!

Crazy Dad, Crazy Dad, where the heck is Mom?

We’re pretty sure she wouldn’t like the crap that’s going on!

 

People screamed real loud, what was going on?

Right about then’s when we saw a head roll ‘cross the lawn!

And now Dad’s doing time. His stretch is 5 to 9,

and Mom is getting married to some guy she met online.

 

Oh Crazy Dad, Crazy Dad, crazy all the way!

People should’ve stayed home and they wouldn’t be dead today-ay!

Crazy Dad, Crazy Dad, mowing over friends!

Thank goodness you wound up in jail–that’s how this story ends!

 

(Oh. Like your kid never made up homicidal show tunes.) 😛

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Nadine…honey is that you?

My taste in music is all over the place. ‘Eclectic’ is a kind way of saying, “Girl can’t make up her mind,” I think. From Nazareth to Nickelback, Waylon Jennings to Lou Rawls to the soundtrack from Titanic and the Free Credit Report dot com commercials, honest, I like it all. Well, almost. I have a limited capacity for country, and I only like hip hop or rap when the lyrics are within reason.

I tell you that to tell you this:

I get on music kicks where I’ll play the same cd repeatedly for days. Even though I do it with all sorts of music, one of my common wear-the-cd-out favorites is Chuck Berry. For reasons unknown, my 13 year old has decided I have a crush on the man.

Not an appreciation, mind you, but a starry-eyed crush.

“You doooo, Mom! I know you do!”

“Uh, I don’t think so.”

“Yes you do! You think he’s HAWT!”

“Hon…? Have you ever seen Chuck Berry? The man’s in his eighties.”

“Well age doesn’t matter so much when you’re as old as you. You SAID THAT!”

“I said a five year age difference matters a whole lot when you’re a teen, but not so much when you’re my age.”

“Seeeeee?!! I KNEW you had a crush on him!”

Oy. Somebody explain the hormonal teen mind to me.

 

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400 squealing girls and a note about chest hair.

No, not the chest hair of 400 squealing girls.

Saw Twilight last night and my ears are still ringing. What’s Twilight, you ask? Good gravy! You need to get off the internet and look around once in awhile. Twilight is THE teen date movie of the year. My date was our 9 year old and I was one of the 4 oldest people in the room, but I digress. 

The movie’s based on a book series by Stephenie Meyer. (I can tell you right now–Book 1 is great. 2-sucks, but hang in there. 3-better, but not the former glory of the first. 4-that’s more like it!) When a series leaves you wanting more, that’s a good thing.

Now then. Back to the movie.

For the lost: The story goes something like this: Girl with angst falls for vampire boy with more angst. Much young romance ensues. That, and it has enough action to keep things moving along. It’s a touch cheesy, but then so were the books. If you want to remember the aching sweetness of teen puppy-love, this is the story for you.

For those who have read the books: I think they did a good job nailing the story. I was pleased. The only thing out of place to me was the peek at Edward’s chest. For a guy described as being ‘hard as marble’, soft, fluffy chest hair didn’t seem to fit.

For the worried parents: There was no excessive gore, and no sex–just a slooooow romantic kiss. If it had bad language, it was minimal because I didn’t catch it. I was ok with our 9 year old watching the show.

If you’re thinking of going, go. Just take earplugs to the theater. At the first few glimpses of Edward and Jacob, you’d think the Beatles entered the room.

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Edward, Bella and the Power of Communication

My daughter wants to go see Twilight with a friend. Our conversation went something like this:

“Mom, can I go to the movies with Shelby tomorrow night? It’s opening night for Twilight.”

“Mmmm, are her parents ok with it?”

“Yeah. Of course. They’re good.”

“Will you need a ride home?”

“Uh…um…well kinda.”

“Kinda? What’s kinda? You need a ride home or you don’t.”

“Well yeah–when you put it like that. We kinda need a ride there, too.”

“We?”

“Well yeah–Shelby and me.”

“Shelby’s parents aren’t driving her to the show?”

“We thought you could do it.”

“So you’re telling me that Shelby invited you to go see a movie, and she needs a ride to and from the show.”

“Ayuhuh.”

“Has she even asked her parents if she can go?”

“I don’t really know. We didn’t discuss that part.”

“You told me her parents were fine with the idea.”

“Well they didn’t say NO.” <insert eyeball roll right here.>

(sigh.) Teenagers.

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Adriaaaannnnn!

Before you read this post, you must (MUST, I say!) play the audio. To get the full effect of this post, you must be ready to ingest a dozen raw eggs and punch hanging meat. Or at least scramble an egg and chew bacon with your mouth open.

Are you ready?

Whilst absent from the blogging universe for the last several days, I have SINGLE HANDEDLY finished the bulk of a huge work project that was hanging over my head like a guillotine, caught up on laundry right down to the critter bedding AND had a brand spanking new baby niece. (Not that I had anything to do with the birth, mind you, but I’m feeling so good at the moment, I think I’ll take credit anyway. Thank you veddy much!)

Since I have no theme for this blog post save sheer relief, I bring you some smiles from home:

…As I pulled up the Rocky clip on YouTube, my 13 year old put her hands on her hips and said, “Yes. THAT’S the sound you hear when I walk into a room!” Crying shame that kid has no self-esteem.

…Our 9 year old answered a Math question in class today. Her teacher asked her to explain how she’d come to that conclusion. Em’s answer? “It’s just common sense, Mrs. A.” I love that girl!

…And how have YOU been?

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And now that the political mudslinging is at an end, ’tis time to sling something else.

Are you ready? This could be good.

My 40th birthday is tomorrow. That’s four-O. As in four decades. Middle age. Older than dirt. Since I refuse to celebrate a traditional 40th birthday, <cringe!> my family was kind enough to throw me a 39.9th birthday a few days ago. Aren’t they sweet?

However. I cannot let the occasion pass without some nod in its general direction, and so here is what I propose we do. (I say ‘we’ but I’m really putting this one on you, dear readers.) I want you to come up with the best 40th birthday razzies you can possibly throw in my direction. The more, the merrier. Have no fear of hurting my widdle bitty feewings, I have thick (and very old) skin.

Kelly is SO old she was Hugh Hefner’s first date.

Kelly knows how the dinosaurs died out.

Kelly makes Joan Rivers look young again.

Whoever makes me laugh the hardest will get a special blog post just for them. (No, I won’t razz you unless that’s what you request.)

Comments, poems, old fogey haiku, links to videos or pictures are also welcome. Get creative and have some fun with it. C’mon people. Bring on the old folk jokes!

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Today is November 4th. Election Day.

Our teenager was assigned to accompany a parent to the voting booth today. Don’t ya just love it when the school gives homework to parents? I intended to vote during non-peak hours, when most folks are at work. But nooOOOOooo. Now I have to wait for her to get out of school this afternoon. There’ll be a MOB by then.

I can’t let her blow off the assignment, it’s a big part of her grade. And so I’ll be standing in a long line today. Joy.

Election day. Otherwise known as, “The day I vote for a man who cannot possibly win, just because he’s the only one I can vote for with a clear conscience.” I cannot bring myself to vote based on “lesser of all evils” mentality. Especially in front of my kid.

But that’s me.

I encourage you to vote today for someone you can believe in. No matter who your choice is–feel free to cancel my vote! Just make your voice heard. It’s your privilege and right. I don’t care if you vote McCain or Obama or Barr or McKinney or Nader or Norris or Mickey.  Just vote!

And remember…if you don’t exercise your right to vote, you can’t exercise your mouth to complain later.

Stepping off my soapbox now!

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We have Pay it Forward winners!

Check it out!

Now then. If your trick or treaters are as hopped up on sugar this morning as my kids are, you should get off your puter right now and go check on the status of the chocolate supply!

I’m serious. Before all the Kit Kats are gone and all that’s left are gummi eyeballs and tootsie rolls. Snag the good stuff. Snag it now, I say!

Happy November, everyone!

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Got Prayers? Need ’em?

Found on BasicJokes.com: “I had been teaching my three-year old daughter, Caitlin, the Lord’s Prayer. For several evenings at bedtime, she would repeat after me the lines from the prayer. Finally, she decided to go solo. I listened with pride as she carefully enunciated each word, right up to the end of the prayer: “Lead us not into temptation,” she prayed, “but deliver us some E-mail. Amen.”  -Author Unknown

Everywhere I look, people are skeert. I see somber folks with worry lines on their faces and a nervousness that wasn’t there before. They’re worried about jobs, money, medical bills. They have fears about what the future holds and are unnerved by the uncertainty of it all.

That’s no way to be. The battle’s already been won.

Prayer is our most powerful weapon, and I say we use it. Don’t know who to vote for? Pray on it. Don’t know how you’ll make the house payment? Pray about it. Got health problems? You know the drill. The thing is, you can’t demand what you want and expect it to arrive wrapped in silver paper topped with a big red bow. Maybe the thing that you want isn’t what God has in mind for you. Ask, and expect answers. But understand that the answer might not be as you imagined.

Pray for your family, your country and yourself. Pray for strangers and folks you don’t even like. And if you need prayers, ask others to pray for you, too. You can even do it right here, in the Comments section. If your request is too personal to share with a bunch of strangers, just leave an ‘Unspoken’ prayer request. Folks can still pray on your behalf–God knows what’s what.

Don’t be shy; I intend to ask for some prayers m’self. ;0)

————-

Now then–for the folks whose teeth I just set on edge: If you don’t believe in God as I do, that’s your prerogative. Refrain from trying to convert me, please–use your own blog for your views. But I will ask you to entertain one last thought before you go.

If you’re right, prayer won’t hurt anything–it’ll make no difference. But if I’m right, it can make all the difference in the world. Is there something you really, really need?

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These are the yolks, folks.

Got a little Captain in ya?

My teenager has an oddball sense of humor. Yesterday,  an evil chicken stood on the roofpeak of the henhouse, with one leg way higher than the other and bent at the knee to keep its balance on the steeply pitched roof.

Tasha pointed to it, then assumed the pose from the Captain Morgan rum commercials and quipped, “Got a little egg in ya? Cluck responsibly.”

That kid cracks me up! (Egg humor fully intended.)

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Sin is in, I’m sorry to say.

Halloween is almost upon us, which means time to put together a fantastic costume for our 9 year old (who wants to be Pocahontas this year.) Oh joy.

Weighing heavily on my mind is last year’s “I can make it cheaper myself” fiasco. (Not so much. The $30 Genie costume I balked at cost close to $60 to make. Although mine looked better, between spilled red pop and an altercation with a hedge it was still trashed by the end of the night.) Not looking for a repeat, I sucked it up and headed to WalMart.

I discovered something important. WalMart doesn’t sell costumes for 9 year old children. They sell little cutesy baby and small child costumes, and slutty adult costumes. That is the range of their Halloween costuming expertise.

Frustrated, I started looking through the slutty adult costumes in hopes that some additional fabric could make them tolerable. (Last year’s genie costume had flesh colored fabric in lieu of a bare midriff, for example.) And that’s when I saw it. The slutty nun costume.

Now, I admit I have issues with WalMart. If not for the fact that it is the only store for miles and miles that carries certain products, I would never go there. But the sleazy nun costume was tasteless even by their standards. Seriously. And I’m not even Catholic.

Yes, there’s a market for these types of costumes, but a few other options sure would be nice. Flipping through the racks…slutty vampiress…sleazy nurse…lady pirate showing her booty…why are there almost no costumes without fishnets? 

Dear WalMart,

Sleaze is not appropriate for 9 year old children, who are major participants in the Halloween season. Oh, and not all adult women want to dress whore-ish while walking their kids around town.

Sincerely,

Dusgruntled yet again

——

(sigh) Anyone got a neat indian costume they want to sell?

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Larry the Cable Guy could be my undoing.

This man could ruin my carpets.

We taught Dexter the dog a bathroom command so when we take him places, he’ll know where he can and cannot use the facilities. The dog training websites I consulted suggested “potty” or “pee-pee” as a command word, but let’s get real. He’s getting bigger, and I CANNOT say “pee-pee” to a 100 lb. dog with a straight face.

Instead, at my daughter’s suggestion, we taught him the command phrase, 

“Git ‘R Done.”

Last night she and I were walking Dexter before bed. On the way to his crappin’ spot, I accidentally said “Git R Done” to Tasha just in conversation. The dog instantly stopped and peed right there.

If we ever rent a Blue Collar video, our carpets are screwed.

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Women notice little crap.

Little…Piddly…Crap. That no one else notices.

Not to be confused with our culture’s unhealthy fixation with minutiae, which I wrote about over on UAO. No, this type of little crap has to do with a powerful combo of common sense and frugality mixed with a healthy dose of “How can you NOT SEE THAT?” If you have children or an S.O., you know exactly what I mean.

Take toilet paper. Or Kleenex. Or any paper product commonly used to sop up bodily yuck. A woman will buy more before it runs out. She will take note of the small supply in any given room of the home; walk to the closet, remove a fresh supply AND place it next to the nearly-gone original. All before it reaches a critical state.

Amazing.

I cannot tell you how many times I’ve had to throw a fresh roll of toilet paper to a stranded –yet comfortably seated– family member. You’d think after the first time it would make an impression. Ahhh…I have used all but the last square of toilet paper. Perhaps I should stock another roll…

Forgive the toilet paper cliche’. I use it only because it’s so universally understood. You could be an a pygmy living in a forest somewhere with a bone through your nose and still get the concept. Mumtabwe–you used the last yucca leaf? How could you?

Women notice. We are hunter-gatherers of a different sort.

When a man is done with the mayonnaise jar, a woman will come along with a rubber spatula and eek out one more sandwich. When a child is about to pitch a cereal box, we remove the plastic liner and refill half the bowl. We re-use dryer sheets, wear PJs more than once and actually pay attention to the water level setting on the washer.

Oh yes. We do.

And it doesn’t end there. We add water to seemingly empty shampoo bottles and shake out three more clean hairdos. We eat our children’s baked potato skins rather than throw them out, and tout scientific “proof” (that we really don’t have) to the picky little dears that all the nutrients are in the skins anyway.

Pansies.

Women notice little shit. We’ll look for 8 cents in an unbalanced checkbook and have the uncanny ability to predict when a small child or dog is about to hurl on expensive upholstery. Men simply don’t pay attention to such things. And it’s a good thing they don’t, because on that rare and auspicious occasion where men do notice little crap, much weirdness ensues.

My husband once cut open a tube of toothpaste. Seriously, to scrape out the inside. Now that’s little shit even I wouldn’t touch.

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Day 2 of school and I’m already stumped by my kid’s math problems.

Eesh. Am I that stupid? That inadequate? I can maintain two businesses and three checkbooks but I can’t do 8th grade math? The problem that threw me off was this one:

If you had 100 sugar cubes, how many would it take to build the largest cube possible out of them?

Try it. It’s not as easy as it sounds. Now I know there’s a mathematical principle involved here. Some simple formula any math geek would know. But in my husband’s absence and with no personal membership to Geekdom, what’s a Mom to do?

Aha! The Rubik’s cube! <Send daughter off on mad errand to unearth one for visual reference.> It’s 3 cubes by 3 cubes. So that’s 9. In 3 layers of 3. So wait–is that 27 times 3? Or divided by 3? No…that’s 9 again.

Answers…I need answers.

If you build it, they will come.

LEGOs! <ding-ding-ding! What do we have for her, Johnny?>  I caught myself laughing like Snidely Whiplash. (If you’re too young to know who Snidely Whiplash is, please don’t tell me. My self esteem’s taken a big enough hit today.)

“Uh, Mom?” 

Not now, daughter of mine–I’m onto something here!  “Well Mom, it’s sort of a math problem. We’re supposed to figure out the theorem…”  Not now, girl. Build, child! BUILD!

We counted, we stacked, we built the largest possible cube using under 100 sugar cube…er…blocks. And just as we took the final tally, it hit me like a ton of bricks. The lights came on, Heaven shined down, and angels sang the Hallelujah Chorus. From a dusty crevice of my memory boomed my old math teacher’s voice:

“Length x Width x Height = Volume” 

Which, of course, meant nothing to me. We had none of those things. 

But we built it, doggone it, so we got the answer!  In spite of not knowing how! In your face, 8th Grade Math problem, IN YOUR FACE!

Now then. You think I’m going to give you the answer, don’t you. After squatting on aching knees digging out 100 Legos of the correct size? Counting, stacking and recounting again? I think not–you’ll have to earn it. Earn it, I say! So here’s the problem again. Do you know what the answer is?

If you had 100 sugar cubes, how many would it take to build the largest cube possible out of them?

Do tell!

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I’m so glad my children have moved on to ‘regular’ TV shows.

Because frankly, if I had to sit through one more Pokemon movie or season of Naruto, my brains would leak out my ears in a puddle of ooze. Thankfully, blessedly, FINALLY my kids have moved on to sitcoms that I can stomach. George Lopez is a favorite, as are reruns of Home Improvement and The Fresh Prince of Bel Air.

Now this is the stor-y, all about how, my life got flipped–turned upside down, and I’d like to take a minute, just sit right there…  (You’re singing it, aren’t you.)

Children’s programming is designed for one thing and one thing only. Did you say, ‘educational value’? You’d be wrong. No, shows designed for Colby’s Mind Readers children are created for the singular purpose of driving adults batshit. That’s it–there is no other agenda. Shows like Dora the Explorer, with her sing-song voice and constant shouting in Spanish. MUY BIEN! (As though she’s teaching Spanish to senior citizens who can only hear at ear-splitting decibels.) “Abierto means Open. ABIERTO! Say it with me now! ABIERTO! ABIERTO! ABIEEEERRRRTO!”

After watching your show with two children of my own plus assorted nieces and nephews, here’s one I remember from Spanish class, Dora–Callate. That’s “shut up” to the rest of us. (Our Spanish teacher was rather menopausal. It made her juuust a little testy.)

Growing up, I thought the Smurfs were irritating. Then came Strawberry Shortcake and her other-worldly counterpart, Rainbow Brite. My irritation factor climbed a notch. Next came…uh…what came next? I’m not sure. That’d be my early 20s, which were kind of a soused fog.

Ahem.

But then one day I had children of my own. In the era of The Wiggles <shudder!> it’s no wonder so many kids don’t have a brain in their empty little heads. Parents plant them in front of Teletubbies until they have the dexterity to play Grand Theft Auto video games. HELLLOOOOOO…?

A return to fun, not-so-mind-numbing programming for kids with Christian values would be nice. Don’t you think?

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Ever get a bad case of Duh-Mode?

According to Merriam-Webster online, Duh-Mode is defined as “A state of stupidity derived from cloudy thinking so prevalent, you could be trailing toilet paper from your buttocks to the crapper down the hall and have no clue.”

Oh yeah. I’m there.

Again.

I’m not sure what brings it about, really. Could it be the children I so lovingly bore absorb my intellect the same way they sapped nutrients from my body? (Proven fact: Babies suck brain cells. Why should (pre)teens be any different?) Could lack of sleep coupled with bickering progeny be throwing me off? Or perhaps it’s because once upon a time I smoked a few million of those brain cells away. (Ayup, I inhaled. But aren’t herbal supplements supposed to be healthy?) 

Wait.

What are we talking about again?

Do you ever go into Duh-Mode? Feel like you’re walking through a mental fog with only the occasional lucid thought filtering through? If so, what do YOU do to snap out of it? 

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I do believe we’ve frightened the new neighbors.

Hon-ay, should we go meet ta new nay-bors?

Yesterday our new neighbors moved in, thus invoking the No-underwear-on-the-clothesline Neighbor Clause. (YESSSSSS!) I’d hoped to bake some brownies or something to take over there today. Could my family wait a single day to make a good impression? NoooOOOOOooo.

When the new arrivals pulled in the driveway, our children and their visiting friend ran over to the edge of our property, (roughly 20 feet from their front door, mind you) and STARED like little slack-jawed idiots. I shooed them away after reminding them that nobody likes to be stared at, and that the neighbors movements are none of their business.

Aww Mom. We just wanted to watch. (‘Watch’ as in giggle and point. I think not.) 

I retreated to the house and began doing dishes, wondering if I’d have time to do a batch of homemade cookies for the new arrivals instead of brownies-in-a-box. (My cooking is atrocious, but I can bake up a storm.) As I was running through a list of ingredients in my head, the Hubby poked his head in the door.

Their names are Edith and Horatio. They seem nice. (Not really, but I’ve changed the names to protect the innocent.)

I looked up and down at my husband, noting he was about 2 weeks overdue for a haircut and his beard was beginning to rival Grizzly Adams. He’d been working on his semi, and he was wearing stained, ripped clothing. He had grease in his hair, and a dip of chaw in his mouth.

Yeah. I know.

I also noted he was not carrying his habitual styrofoam spittoon, which means he probably spit on the ground just before leaving our yard to say hi to the neighbors.

Lovely.

Fast forward to this morning. Our rural neighborhood was silent and peaceful. Houses were quiet, windows were open. No doubt our new neighbors were enjoying a restful, lazy morning in their new home. Right up until 7am, when my husband started his semi. 

rrrRRRRRRRRRR!!!!! Diesel engines being what they are, he couldn’t take off quickly, either. For about 5 minutes, all you could hear in the neighborhood was the scream of his truck. I can just imagine what the new neighbors are thinking.

Rural back woods. Evil chickens. Scary Chuck-Norris-y mountain man. Staring, pointing Children of the Corn. Edith, I think this is where they filmed Deliverance!

I think I’d best get those cookies baked, don’t you?

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