Walkie Talkies

I think I got bit by something a couple of days ago. When at the apple orchard, I wanted to scratch my ankle and noticed a blushed spot on it and a zit looking thing. It really hurts, but has not really changed much. 

We went to an apple orchard in a college town about an hour away on Wednesday. I went with the friend who went with me to the pumpkin patch last year and the Girl broke her boy's arm. No arms were broken this time, thankfully. My friend has four kids (she is also the one I went to the Renwick Gallery with---Smithsonian) and does so well with them. I am always impressed. I about lose my top whenever the Oldest and I are in the same enclosed space, but it helped that we were out in the open picking apples with a huge pole with a net on it. Eraser Eater kept whining too. At one point he stomped away and whimpered something, I can't remember, and I almost took a huge apple and pelted him with it. If I could aim. If I could actually hit my target, which is never something I am so fortunate to accomplish. 

But the coolest thing EVER was that my friend just deals with the fact that I don't have a cell phone. I know. Aren't I just totally not with it? I feel like a baby boomer staring at an ipod whenever I put a cell phone in my hands. "Here," someone says to me, "just use my cell phone." 

Just use your cell phone? You are assuming I know how to use it? I don't know how to use squat. So---imagine my hearty laughter when my friend pulls out her walkie-talkies. "Here," she said without flinching, "we can use them up to five miles apart." Roger. 

During the hour drive I followed her van all the way to the orchard. I had the walkie talkie on my passenger's seat. We passed a winery. "We may need to stop there," the walkie-talkie croaked from the seat. 

I picked it up. "Why?" I said, while pushing the button I was supposed to push if I wanted to talk, feeling highly ridiculous.

"On the way back," it said back to me surrounded in distortion,"they would have to give us a lot of samples!"

The other day my friend was telling me that only white people wear New Balance shoes (which is my sneaker of choice for running) and it struck me suddenly when we drove by a New Balance store. I had never seen one before. I picked up the walkie-talkie to tell her that we just passed a white people store but the stupid contraption just kept beeping at me so I threw it away from me in horror, back on to the passenger's seat. I felt like a caveman struck by the fear of seeing fire for the first time. It is a flipping walkie-talkie. I picked it up. I threw it in the back seat. 

"Here," I shouted at the Oldest, playing his intendo, "you figure this thing out."

Phil Wickham - True Love

Here is the best male singer on the planet----listen and love it!

I Will Post Something Later

If your computers allow it, give my music site a try again---I have "finished" "You Watch Me" and "Come by Hasting". I think they sound decent. I added more stuff. I wish I had real strings and cellos, which are what plays in my head, but I can't have everything when I am just a piddly musician. If you enjoy the songs for what they are, great, but in my mind they are bigger than what they sound like, more that I could do and am capable of, but have no means to do. 

---Anyone rich and want to donate money so that I can hire studio musicians? Or just lots of studio time so that I could get friends and friends of friends to do it? :)

Thank you ahead of time.

Enough is Enough

I have a new recorded song to share. This song is like a raw wound. A dear friend has been badgering me to put this one together for months and I have been avoiding it. Strangely, it has helped me heal. Or cope, I am not sure what. So, here's to you, Laura.

We are Eccentric Now

Last night for Family Fun Night we had a poetry reading. The Professor got so sick of watching movies every time, so I suggested I have the kids write poems and read them instead. The prospect was presented during school yesterday morning, but no one was enthused. 

"That's stupid," said the Oldest. 

So finally when the time came, I sat us all down and had the kids pick out poems instead. The boys chose Shel Silverstein poems (of course), and the Girl chose a few poems from her little primer for school. I chose Sonnet 56 by Michael Drayton, and the Professor bored us all with "Kublah Khan." Then he pulled out some other story/poem thing that had to do with a warrior who lost his king. The kids were interested, but didn't understand the story. 

The Professor and I watched a movie from Netflix last night; Mountains of the Moon, or something like that. It was about Sir Richard Burton and John Speke (who originally discovered Lake Victoria, the Nile's source). The Professor just finished a biography about Burton and was unsatisfied at the many liberties in the plot of the movie, as is the usual dilemma with films. 

Since school started I have been feeling better about life. During the summer I typically lament not having a reason for living, but then once fall hits I realize my reason. Come winter I am freezing so badly (you know my condition) that it ruins my life and keeping warm is all I can think about. 

So, on a lighter note, when you die, do you want to be in a pine box or a coffin? I think it would make the miracle of resurrection greater if the worm eats me and I have truly merged into the dust. What do you all think about that?

Halloween Costumes

Halloween, in a way, is just around the corner. The Girl has been thinking about her costume already. Sadly, I will refrain from putting photos on my blog (I deleted some already) because a creep from the northwest has decided to take that liberty from me. Yes, it is either delete my blog or just simply stop putting pictures up. I don't really want to delete my blog, but we will see what happens.

Anyway, Halloween. Oh yes. As I was saying. The Girl. She said, "I want to be a unicorn!"

"How are you going to be a unicorn?" I asked her.

"You will make the costume, like you made Eraser Eater's last year!" {Remember the mummy made out of masking tape?}

"Oh, I know," piped in Eraser Eater, "you could just use a party hat and cover it up with paper for the horn!"

"I already just thought of that," I said in a mumble.

I can't make costumes. I can't sew. 

"You'd need hooves," I said to the Girl, "think of something else."

"How about a tree? You could cut a tree down, hollow it out, and wrap it around me!" 

For goodness' sake, who does she think I am? She has seen me cut wood, check, she has seen me kill a mole brutally, check, she has seen me make Eraser Eater into a mummy out of masking tape, check. 

"There's no way," I said.

"She could be an egg," Eraser Eater said.

"That doesn't help much," I said.

"I know what I could be!" yelped the Oldest in his high-pitched Mickey Mouse voice.

Oh here it comes, I thought.

"I could be a jack-o-lantern guy. What you would do, mom, is you would hollow out a pumpkin, cut out the jack-o-lantern eyes and mouth, and put it on my head!"

"That would be heavier than sin!" I spat.

"I'd be fine. I'd bear it well---I would be the envy of all the people who never thought of it. No plastic for me! I would have the real thing! And I would wear a black cape and say, 'ah-ha-ha-ha!' No one would stop me! I would never buy a costume ever again!"

I swallowed hard. 

"I can't even hollow out pumpkins anymore," I said, "they make me break out."

"You could totally do it," said the Oldest. 

No more minimum requirement of a plastic toy gun to be an army man third year in a row. No more princess or Batgirl or whatever it is she used to aspire to. Now it is this idea of impossible things to wow everyone like the mummy costume. That was the greatest, grandest thing I could think of, and the only thing I could think of. 

"How about a couple of white sheets so you can be ghosts?" I asked.

"Someone on Charlie Brown thought of that already," they all said in defense. 

I'm doomed.

I Didn't Get a Ticket

Somehow I got out of it. 

My Girl is Seven

So I walked out the front door to take the Girl and her friend to the library. They had been playing outside like usual. As I was holding a gargantuan stack of books, the Girl bounds over to me and says, "I just ate DIRT!" 

"What?!"

This was too much bad information for me to process while holding a large stack of books. I forgot about it soon after but she approached the subject again:

"I ate dirt and it was bitter."

"Why would you eat dirt? You know, there's something wrong there," I said. Thinking pica. 

"Why would something be wrong, Mom?"

"No one just goes out and eats dirt. Do you need minerals or something? More vitamins? You even wet yourself a little today. Are you ok?"

"What Mom, do you think I am retarded or something? Do you think I am crazy?"

I looked at her with one eye (I was driving) and one eyebrow raised. "Well..."

"Well what? You just called me a retarded child! "

"I didn't."

"Yes, you did!"

"I didn't."

"Mom!"

"Really, she didn't," said the friend.

"What?!" my daughter yelped.

"I tried dirt too," said the friend, "but I spit it out. It was icky. But {Girl}, didn't you actually eat it?"

The Girl lamented and went prostrate on the instant. 

On the way home she remained this way. I played "Bridge Over Troubled Water" as loud as I could, sang as loud as I could with Mr. Garfunkel, and reached my hand behind my seat to grasp my Girl's leg. A cop pulled me over.

After I handed him my license and registration and he walked off, the Girl said, "Do you think he will give you a ticket?"

"I don't know," I said, annoyed that I just blew $150. 

"You know," the Girl said knowingly to her friend, "last time Mom got out of it because she cri--"

"Hey, enough!" 

Incarnation

Here is my new song. I have labored greatly on this so don't make me labor for naught. My guilt trips always sound like a chain letter! I crack myself up. No---this song is a lot of multi-layered fun in minor keys. Go for it. 

Fear of Man

In my greatly adventurous life, I find that going to the grocery store with all three kids can be the most trying to my patience (even over schooling). About a year ago I used to sort of scoff at the poor mothers who had to deal with whining, crying kids clutching a Dorito bag or a box of Trix cereal, but now I dare not. Things have changed for me. God has His little (or big) ways of teaching me a lesson. 

They don't run down the aisles. They don't beg for stuff continually. They don't jump in one place or two places and make tons of noise. They argue. No longer is the strain physical like when they were two, but the strain is mental. "No, I wanna push the cart!" "No, Mom said that I can get the romaine lettuce!" "He won't stop antagonizing me!" "She keeps poking me to get me in trouble! See! Now I AM in trouble!" "He ate the last sample!" "Here! He can have the last sample, I saved it for him! See, he doesn't even want it! He is seeking some sort of revenge on me! I can see it in his eyes!" 

The quotes go on and on. 

And I will admit there is a sort of begging that happens with Eraser Eater at times. Every time we pass a sugar cane or a coconut, he wants me to buy it. When I just ignore his request, he wanders behind the oranges and sort of sulks, but he tries not to look like he is sulking because he is petrified at what people think of him. 

I remember during the summer months he was under water when the lifeguard blew the whistle for "adult swim." When this happens, all the kids have to file out of the pool. Eraser Eater did not hear the whistle so he kept swimming once his head popped up to the surface. Once he saw that I was calling him and asking him what in 'tarnation' he was doing disobeying "adult swim" he looked at me wide-eyed, about to cry. He suppresses it well, I must say. Once in the car he wept silently at how mortified he was. Whenever it was mentioned he cried openly. 

When at the beach and digging that huge sand hole a mentally challenged boy (who could use a few meals missed) jumped right on in and his fist landed in Eraser Eaters side. Eraser Eater barely made a sound but his face looked like he was about to poop his pants. He crawled out of the hole the best he could and scrambled behind the Professor's beach chair. And you know the rest. He wept silently. That kid rammed into him good. The big kid in the hole had no idea any of this happened.

So here's to my second day of school, successfully done, and another coming tomorrow and the next day. Ok, I will not think that far ahead, I am getting depressed.

Whatnots

I successfully completed the first day of school with the kids. It was pulling teeth when the Oldest pulled out the math book, but other than that, it went well. 

All night I dreamed of hobbits and Mordor. I remember some time in the night the Professor said to me, "Are you ok?" 

In addition to reading the Letters of Tolkien and The Hobbit, I read a chapter in a book on Lincoln I bought the Professor. It was about why Lincoln didn't join a church. It was relatively uninteresting. I think Lincoln's reasons for not liking the Church as a whole were immature, but that is just me. I am just not a big fan of Lincoln. But I could stand to learn more about him.

And, by the way, I forgot "F x of = is" today and made a complete fool of myself.

Let There Be Love

This is for the Professor who is turning 35 tomorrow. What better than to sing and play an Oasis song?

Note to Professor: I love you.

I Am More Machine Than Man Now

I got all manner of springs and tightening tools in my mouth. It feels GREAT. To those who have criticized me for my complaints about how bad it felt to have my mouth practically sawn in half with that screw thing, you can eat this for lunch: apparently I had a bad reaction to the numbing medication they gave me and it unnaturally tore up my mouth. In addition to that, the immense pain of the screw they "screwed" in there made it all worse. For days. So I wasn't insane. The orthodontist thought I was nuts for not tearing down the house for pain medication.

But now I am fine. It hurts a little because of tightening issues, but it is nothing like the last painful bout of orthodontic care. 

I am happy to report I can play guitar now and my sliced up finger is painless too. 

I sound like an old woman!!! 

Tomorrow is the Professor's birthday. Any ideas on what to get him? Come on, I know you have some ideas!!!!

ABBA Zabba

My sister in law brought ABBA into my house about a month ago after she saw Mama Mia at the theater. She made me suffer through it as I made dinner. She would totally laugh at this-- I guess it is not so bad. Well, I am trying to be nice, but I hate any type of disco-esque stuff---the Bee Gees are worse. I tend to think that if a guy sounds like a high-pitched alien when he sings, it is unnatural and should not be played. As for ABBA, I just have a slight aversion, although I can understand the attraction. Like rap. I really do not like rap at all, but I can understand how attractive it can be when I hear some decent artists mix a good beat with some fun loops. 

Well, every time I get off the treadmill ABBA is blasting in the house. The Girl puts it on nearly every day and listens to particular songs over and over. "Chiquitita?" Don't make me blow chunks.

Save Me

Go listen to my song here. I know, it is just what you have been searching for all your life.

Post Traumatic Stress & Kissing Serious Butt

Yesterday the kids down the street decided to all pile in my house. I almost wept openly when I saw that they were in my bedroom jumping on my bed. Someone had picked up my guitar and carelessly placed it over my night stand. I completely became unglued. 

So I went downstairs, made more sugar scrub and drank some wine. Well, first I banished all the children from my house and made my own kids read. 

The Oldest is really milking it lately. The other day he discovered that I am the reason he is not getting his gameboy back just yet. His eyes widened upon the news.

"Are you serious? Usually it is the other way around!" He was shocked.

"Yeah, well Dad was just saying to me that he thinks you could get your gameboy back but I told him I was not so sure and so he said for me to make the final decision."

He turned to me (we were in the car and he was in the passenger's seat) and said, "Mom, do you know how much I love you?"

"Nice try," I said flatly.

"No, really. And if I didn't have to come with you to the post office like you ordered I would have done the dishes without your telling me! Really! It was on my mind to do!"

"Yep, I bet."

The rest of the day he decided to help me with everything. Oh here let me get this for you, and let me handle that, kind of stuff. As he was putting cut potatoes in a bowl for me he said, "You know, if you give me my gameboy now you know I will lose it in a matter of days and I will do your bidding for it again anyway." 

"True," I said. 

He doesn't realize that I take it away because he is obsessed with it, not because I want him to do things for me. He has to do that anyway whether he likes it or not. 

The Professor and I should give it back to him soon though so that we can now quit rolling our eyes whenever he says, "I love you!!!!"

Almost Severed Fingers and Some Linkage

 have not been able to post lately because I severely cut my finger like a total nimrod. I was cutting up cilantro and don't ask me how, but I sliced my index fingernail. I mean, I CUT it. If my fingernail had not been there I would have cut off my finger. So typing has been a complete joke the past few days. Until today I could only type a few sentences at a time.

And contrary to popular belief, I know how to cut up stuff. I think I got distracted or something. It is all a blur.

I went over to my neighbor's house (who is a nurse) and she took care of me pronto. She gave me salt flushes, wrapping, tape, you name it, she had it and administered her care. And it hurts like crazy. Heaven forbid I become an old woman and have aches and pains. I get sort of mean when I am in pain.

I am not geared up for school this year at all either. I am teaching a couple classes and no matter what I do I just never feel prepared. Thankfully the Professor is going to take on teaching the Oldest logic this year so I don't have to wrap my brain around that. I've already done enough voco, vocas, vocamus, vocatis, vocant but I guess I will have to do that again this year although I foresee that Latin will be only a good vocabulary help.

I ran seven miles this morning and I feel really great. I even could still focus when the Girl kept coming to the window and making silly faces. Yesterday I almost lost it and fell off the treadmill she had me laughing so hard. She is such a freak. She was taking a stick and twisting it back and forth into the glass with an evil look on her face. She makes no sense.

I am sure Eraser Eater (9) would not mind if you all looked at this for him. He is very enthusiastic about it. His idea of fun is going on that site and pretty much taking notes.The Oldest also wants you all to listen to his song on my podcast (for a time) that he created. It sounds like Neo is going to bust through the wall and whip some agent butt.

Have Mercy

I have a new song on my site, so go take a listen. I worked on it for a long time so I expect that if you have the capability you will do me a favor! :) I got the Oldest to tweak with a few things for me (he refused to play the piano, but I have a song coming up that he is going to play on, so I am excited----he is actually an excellent player, believe it or not). Ok, enough begging.

Groundhog Day

The Professor kept me up last night watching Groundhog Day on "demand" (you guys know what that is, right, because I don't) and I suppose when you press any other button on the channel changer you can biff the whole thing up. Well, the man changed the channel instead of the volume at the very end, right when Bill Murray (Phil) finishes up his piano solo at that party, and we lost the whole movie. I was up well past midnight to watch most of a movie that I can't remember the ending to. "Oh well," smiled the man.
"Yeah, 'oh well.'"
Well, I had a little "oh well" this morning when I woke up at 9:16. Eraser Eater, I suppose, tired of waiting for me to get up, opened my bedroom door and it creaked really loud. That needs W-D40, I thought.

"I've been waiting all morning to tell you how excited I am!" He jumped on my bed, hugged me, and smiled directly in my face.

"Clone Wars?" I stretched.

"Yes! Last night when you left for the teacher meeting it was a few hours until Friday but now it IS Friday! And we were all really hungry so {the Oldest} made his own eggs, but they burned a little on the edges, and he made toast, and {the Girl}..."

Holy Crap.

Eraser Eater exited when I started to get up. I collapsed back onto my pillow. The Oldest soon boomed up the stairs and entered my room, paper in hand. He placed it on the Professors empty pillow. "Just though you would need that," he said. The smell of tart Sharpie entered my nose.

His note said, "Dear Mom, I would very much wish to have my game boy back and I made my own breakfast. Love, {the Oldest}"

It was a trick. He wanted to do the dishes without my telling him because he wants gameboy back! Gamecube has been kicked and banished to the closet (and still has not resurrected), then gameboy ended up in my drawer because the boy decided to hit his sister and play without following the rules (again). He is supposed to read five chapters of the Bible before he can play per day. That boy knows the Bible. He has read it four or five times cover to cover.

And what happened to me? Anesthesia? Groundhog Day?

Not Fair

I am sad no one really read my prior brilliance, but no matter.

The ONE day the Oldest marches downstairs and declares, "Mom, I am here to let you know," (we were in the kitchen)" that I will now do the dishes without you telling me!"

I thought it was a trick of some sort. I was waiting for a hammer to come down on my head, a bucket of slime to dump on me, a Nerf bullet to dart me in the eye----but no. I looked at him blankly.

He stood there with a smile on his face. You know, he smiles in a way that makes him look like he is holding his breath or forcing it a little.

I had just looked at the dishes in the dishwasher before he came down and what do you know, they were dirty.

"The day you decide to do something when you are not told and there is nothing for you to do."

"What?! Oh well." He jumped upstairs.

I found a jellied orange slice and called him downstairs. "Here is a reward for your nice gesture," I said.

"Wow! Thanks!" he yelped as he turned around, popped the entirety of the slice in his mouth and bounded up the stairs. I could hear him from the corner of the house yelling out demands to his imaginary army, orange on his breath.

Anesthesia

Yesterday the Professor had to get a medical procedure done. He had to get put out, so he doesn't remember squat. All he knew was that he was being wheeled into a room and some nurses were talking---then he woke up. This is the first time he has ever had anesthesia.
"It's sort of nice, isn't it?" I said to him, having had anesthesia several times for a few minor procedures myself.

"Yeah, it's like a miracle. One minute you are awake and you want to partake in a conversation, the next you wake up."

"And it had been two hours or something like that."

"That's just nuts," he said, shaking his head, "besides enduring starvation the day before in order to get this done, I rather enjoyed myself. I think I am looking forward to the next time I have to get that done. It's incredible. It's great. The best sleep I ever had..."

He already gets good sleep, the scoundrel.

And he discovered this while he was lying around in bed all day because the doctor said he needed bed rest, his favorite prescription.

"Isn't this incredible!!!????" he yelped from the sheets, laptop on his immobile legs.

I looked over his shoulder, music blaring. John Coltrane. Oasis. They kept playing his stuff. Over and over. He shook his head in unbelief. "How is this legal?!" he said wondrously.

I rolled my eyes. "I told you about this MONTHS ago."

"What? You did?"

"Yep. I told you about it and you didn't care then!"

"Are you sure?!"

"Yeah, I'm real sure." I remembered how I entered Eisley in my account and they starting playing endless tunes similar to them. Pretty soon I got sick of it and turned it all off. I am not that impressed with it.

Then, he got the notion to look on Google Maps. Oh man, he started showing me real live road pictures of the school he went to as a kid, the church, the gym, the dorms people lived in. The list goes on and on. The dude remembered EVERYTHING. No anesthesia there. He decided to be "fair" I think in his mind, although I know he has absolutely no interest, and look at the house I grew up in in Chino Hills. Perfect roads emerged with palm trees on either side. The house I once knew looked nothing like the house I lived in. In fact, it looked like an impostor house. It even had a palm tree in the yard.

"This isn't the house," I said, slightly annoyed.

"You mean you don't remember any of this?!" the Professor said, shocked and disappointed by my failure of a memory.

"No, none of it. It doesn't even look like the same house."

"Are you sure you have the address right?"

"Yeah. That's it. Gotta make dinner. Why don't you come down with me?"

"Doctor's orders. He said I should get plenty of rest, remember?" he shot me a smile. He was LOVING this.

"You already got plenty of rest. You have been in bed all day. You even got a nap---"

"Yeah, and it was a great nap. I don't remember anything. I was lying there staring at the ceiling wondering if I would fall asleep and then the next thing I remember I woke up and was in the same exact position, two hours later. Was it two hours? How long exactly was it?"

I lovingly rolled my eyes again. In some ways he was like King Peter, fresh from Narnia and all his adventures, back in England again to tell me, his wife, about it. The scoundrel. I want some anesthesia.

This Is Music

I can't believe it is the afternoon already! I have a lot to do---I need to clean my house. I find that as a mother who is home a lot of the time, I am cleaning every time I turn around.

For Bee, I will list all the bands on my ipod (currently) that I run to (in alphabetical order):

The Beatles
Blur
Caedmon's Call
Coldplay
Eisley
Fields
The Good, the Bad and the Queen (some stupid band the Blur guy threw together for the Herculean and who knows what else)
Gorillaz (I have the song Dare)
Grant Lee Phillips
Jars of Clay
Jeff Buckley
Led Zeppelin
Morrissey
Oasis
Paul McCartney
The Perishers
Phil Wickham
Radiohead (only the Body Snatchers)
Richard Ashcroft
Sarah Masen
Sarah McLachlan
Starsailor
Tears for Fears
Travis
The Verve

No, I don't only listen to Zep when running, I just tend not to skip any Zep song when it pops up on shuffle. I also feel the same way toward Oasis, except not as much lately.

And I am not really impressed with Coldplay's new album. I think it is what the Professor would say, "underwhelming". I really don't like the Viva La Vida song at all---I think it is sort of blah. I HATE the Death and All His Friends song.

Man, I hope the Verve's new album is good. I have my doubts because once people get older, they just don't have it anymore. Like, U2 should just quit. Most of the stuff they do now sucks. I don't even bother buying it. I think Beautiful Day is ordinary. That All That You Can't Leave Behind album and the Bomb one after it is so bland that I never play them and couldn't tell you the tune of hardly a song on either of them. The only reason why I own them is because the Professor bought them for me. Surprisingly enough I have enjoyed Oasis' recent stuff so I am hoping their upcoming album is a good one. I wouldn't mind seeing them again if only to see Noel Gallagher.

I want Grant Lee to put out another Virginia Creeper (when are you going to come to Alexandria, man?) and Travis just never puts anything out EVER that is bad. Every time I hear a new album I wonder when the terrible song is going to play.

And I am really, really impressed with that Fields album.

And we all know if we have a brain in our head, that when Phil Wickham comes out with his new album that it is going to be beyond stellar. He is just incredibly amazing.

You all have no idea who I am talking about do you?

Home

I am home, yes, it is so nice. In a way vacations are so great but then I miss home so much I find that I wake up in the wee hours of the morning on some foreign pillow pining away for it. Home is that special place where you leave all your stuff, sleep, and feel at ease.

I ran only one time while there. I think once was enough. I ran my usual seven plus mile route, but it was hot and grueling when I decided to take it. Well, it was morning, so it wasn't incredibly hot. I think the main blunder of the trip was that in my haste I forgot my ipod. Even over forgetting the kids' toothbrushes. Those were easily replaced, but the ipod? No way. That was rough, running all those miles with no audible help. I forget how much I depend on it. So far this week I have only run seven miles when normally I would have already had, oh, maybe 27 or so. I feel like a failure and I feel unhealthy (especially because I had a steady diet of ice cream every stinking day), but that is no matter. My reward smack in the middle of the run was the view of the ocean, and then I turned directly around and went back to the hotel. During my run I saw: huge dragonflies, a deer, a turtle, a dead snake, and some ponies, the usual.

The Professor dug the world's hugest hole and recruited me into helping him for a spell so I have a really sore back, just like an old woman. The Girl and I took our beach chairs and chilled down there for awhile. People thought we were nuts. I will post pictures perhaps if I get less lazy.

During every visit to the beach the man and I could hear our child, the Oldest, yelping and yelling (in usual Mickey Mouse fashion) over the many crashing waves and the usual din of a well-crowded beach.

I tried to read a lot but got very little accomplished because I was convinced that at least one of my children would get sucked into the abyss and never come back. I suppose that if game cube were around while they were in the waves and perhaps if they were playing it at the same time and say, fighting, I would welcome the whole idea of abyss sinking. But I was petrified every two minutes, actually, and kept putting that bookmark back into the book. So I read during the two hour traffic jam (we were at a complete stop right before the Wilson Bridge) and read more then than I did the two solid days at the beach combined.

The Oldest was just recently reading a Garfield comic. "What's impressionable?" he asked.
The Professor replied, "a person who is easily influenced by something---a person who believes anything another person says to them, something like that."

"You!" I said.
He looked at me and folded his arms in fake anger. "I am not impressionable!"
"You believed the tooth fairy," chimed the Professor.
"I never believed it!"he roared.
"Oh, come on!" we practically said in unison.
I walked over to the cupboard to get a few things to set up for dinner. I could hear the Professor telling him about how he overheard a conversation with the Girl and him about proving the tooth fairy was real or not.
"You both have lied to me. You were the culprits. You and Mom. And I never believed it."
I rolled my eyes as I pulled the potatoes out of the oven.
"What about the note?" asked the Professor.
"I knew that wasn't real!" shrieked Mickey Mouse.
"Then why did you look up the Elvish characters in the Lord of the Rings book?"
"I was trying to prove it!"
"But you believed it for a second didn't you?"
"Maybe I believed it when I was three..." he muttered, sort of defeated.

Still Here, Just Putting Up Some Pics

My neck is presently burned, I have eaten too much beach food, and the kids are all semi-whiny. I can not WAIT to get home tomorrow. I don't know how people do week long vacations. I don't think I could ever do it, seriously. I am a homebody.

See you all perhaps tomorrow!

Leaving, Will Be Back in a Few

We are leaving for the beach in the morning and I am not sure if the Professor will bring his macbook or not. We will see. Sometimes he surprises me. He will, however, bring a New Yorker and I will bring Return of the King. Blogger is sort of wigging out so I better get off here. Maybe I will have some photos to post from the trip.

Be back on Thursday.

The Girl and I were listening to "Ramble On" by Led Zep on the way home from grocery shopping and since the lyric said "Mordor" and "Gollum" she said, "You need to play this song for your literature class, Mom!"

I had a huge laugh. I told her that I didn't think the Moms would appreciate that very much. Jimmy Paige was a Satanist, you know. He may be sort of ugly but he sure can play guitar.

And I have Robert Plant hair, don't you think?

This and That (2)

The Professor told me that I was the model wife yesterday because I ironed (gasp!) and vacuumed in the same day. Those are the two chores I hate the most. I would rather clean toilets, wipe up excrement, you name it. I would even rather go down in the crawl space where there are spiders aplenty.

Which reminds me. Remember this post? On Wednesday morning when waiting for the exterminator (we have had issues with carpenter ants---I guess that is normal for living in the forest) I realized that I would have to ask the guy to go into the crawl space to see if they are emerging from there. He was a little afraid! He said crawl spaces were not his thing and asked me how it looked down there. I told him that I have gone down there several times to get things out and to turn water on and off during the season changes and it is pretty clean. Some spider eggs and whatnot, but clean. He told me spiders are what he fears. And exterminator? What?!

When entering my crawl space, you have to open up a little latched door on the side of my house by the patio. Once the wooden door is swung open it kicks on a light switch above. In order to turn off the light you have to reach over and switch the light off once out of the crawl space and you have to manually shut the door and lock it in place again. It is a nice little operation, but not so nice if you are deathly afraid of the crawl space, I would imagine.

What did I find once I was outside again cooking dinner later that evening? The crawl space door swung wide open (still) and the light on. I suppose the guy was so afraid that he just ran out of there and did not dare to reach his arm in again to flip the switch and grab at the door to lock it. What a wimp.

I am heading to the pool. I am losing my tan, so I have to get out there again. I have so much to read and so little time.

Wait

Here is a recording of a song I wrote called "Wait". Check it out and tell me what you think if you have the capability. I sort of did the vocals in one take so I got a little lazy. I guess they could be better, but when you have kids coming in and out when you are recording and making noise, you take what you can get and think, "maybe I will re-do that later, just not now."

When It Rains, It Pours

Before I get on that treadmill, I have to write about my day yesterday.

The doc gave me meds to help me sleep----actually, to help me not feel so stiff that I sleep so little at night. Believe me, it does help. Maybe a little too much. I suppose I must be a little person (it is funny to even think of myself that way because I don't feel small) because the lowest dose about runs me over. Heaven forbid if I take the normal dose. I won't be able to get out of bed. That said, yesterday, I woke up drowsy and then throughout the day I remained drowsy until about five o'clock.

My sister in law called me at eleven thirty to remind me that we were supposed to meet at a waterpark later in the afternoon. I had completely forgotten. I felt like a nimrod. I thought all morning I would take the kids to the pool and read The Two Towers. Instead I got them all ready, looked for towels, and drove back home three times once out of my subdivision to get things I had forgotten or things others in my troop forgot. We must make sure we have everything because my sister in law is at least an hour away. We live in the boonies.

"Where are your swim shorts?!" I barked at the Oldest, who went into the bathroom at home to put them on once I told him to. We were presently in the car.

"They are on," he said, face stuffed in a Superman comic.

"No, they are not," I said firmly, trying to keep my eyes on the road. I turned around.

"I went into the bathroom and everything! You are telling me I didn't put them on!!!!????"

Not only am I drowsy, I am irritiable at this point. Not only do I have to remember my own swim suit, I have to remind my Oldest child, who is as big as me, of his. It was pretty much sheer luck that I saw he did not have it on.

Once at my SIL's house, I was too drowsy to even push the departure to the waterpark, just miles down the street. I mooched chocolate off of her hoping that I would wake up a bit. I didn't. The kids played for a spell. Finally we did leave.

The waterpark was fine up until the end. I woke up eventually, as I said, so things got better. The Professor was going to meet us there after work, so I wanted to make sure I knew where the kids were every second so he wouldn't have a heart attack once he arrived. Eventually he did arrive. We went in the lazy river together for about fifteen minutes (the park was almost closing). Once we left the river, we decided to walk on a bridge to get to the lockers to gather our things before herding the kids. Suddenly I heard a yell behind me.

The Oldest was holding an ice pack on the back of his head and a lifeguard was following him with a clip-board. Apparently my boy slipped and fell on the back of his head "just like a cartoon" (as he put it). He literally had an egg popping out. It looked brutal. The lifeguard looked so concerned and apologetic that I shook my head and waved her off.

"Trust me," I said to relieve her, "if he is still mouthing off and talking incessantly like this, he is fine."

All he cared about on the drive home was how to position the ice pack in such a way so as to finish reading his Hardy Boys novel.

Like that wasn't enough, Eraser Eater started to moan in the car. I get on the highway home (thankfully I took back roads) and pretty soon my son says, "My head hurts!" We all know what this means: the boy is going to toss his cookies. The Professor was directly ahead of me in his car so I blinked my lights at him and pulled over. He just kept driving and went home, I guess. I thought, Oh, he'll come back when he sees that I am not behind him. Whatever.

I got out of the car and pulled Eraser Eater out from his side and took him to the grass on the side of the road. He wretched in a little huddle, clean and undramatic.
"I think I am done now," he said faintly.
We drove further.
"Gotta puke again!" he said from the back. At this point in my driving there was nowhere to pull over for about a mile or so. "Hold it in!" I said, worried about the leather seats.

He moaned back there for a spell---just long enough to get to the place where I could get him out of the car again. Instead of immediately tossing his cookies, he just sat there and stewed for a little bit. The Oldest slammed all the car doors shut so he would not have to hear the sound of barfing. The Girl peeped out the windows to see the sight. I was getting a little impatient as I was in my bathing suit holding a Hello Kitty towel the Girl said we could use to wipe his puke mouth.
"It's coming in just a second," he said flatly.
"Are you sure?" I said, looking around.
"Yeah, just another second----now..."
And I think he let loose all the food from yesterday and the day before.
"Man, there's even carrots in there!" he said, surprised, "and it looks like the slop you would get from a cafeteria. Straight from a cafeteria. How do people eat that stuff?!"
"Ok, man, let's go home." I had to pull him away.

He talked about it in the car. The Oldest had had enough. "Please!!!!" he shouted.

Then Eraser Eater continued to talk about what happens when you take in food, and the whole chemical process of digestion. "Now what is that stuff called that is all sticky and sour that helps break the food down?"

"Uh, bile?"

"Yes, bile. It tastes gross."

"Ok! OK!!!!" yelled the Oldest, "I have a pounding head here!"

"Oh Mom, gotta stop again!!!" Eraser Eater yelled from the back. I took him to the battlefield exhibit a mile from our house. I hate being that close yet not being there.

He sat and stewed once again. Finally I informed him that we were a minute from home. An ant crawled on him and he jumped up, wagging his arm. "Something just crawled on me!!!!!" He danced around. He gave an irritated look. "Let's go home then, Mom, I would rather puke in the toilet anyway."

I May Have Killed the Game System

I went to a friend's house today mainly for my sake, but the kids did get a little play time with her kids. The Oldest hung out with her two oldest and played legos while my friend, Eraser Eater, the Girl and I played croquet outside. Everything goes back to Alice with me. At one point I did really say, "off with your head!" so that was worth the trouble of standing out in the sun and getting mosquito bites.

After croquet was over we went to the common area to pick wild blackberries. My friend got caught in the brambles so I ran over to rescue her. She was sort of twisted up, her shirt about to rip. While I did this a piercing scream rang in my ear. I turned around sharply and saw my daughter freaking out. Apparently something stung her. I had to carry her to the house and nurse her back to health. After she calmed down she said, "thankfully that bee will die now for revenge."

To my shame, this morning I actually kicked the Game Cube. I wasn't throwing a fit really, but I was pretty miffed. Apparently I allowed the kids to play the thing for a few hours and when I told them to turn it off Eraser Eater yelped, "but I didn't get a turn yet!"

That, brothers and sisters, means war. I practically spontaneously combusted at that point. #1 thing to NOT say when I allow you to play for THREE hours. I told them of my utter hatred for the game system. I told them that I think games rot your brain and this is waste. And waste is like poop.

"Do you remember if you beat level 127 of Zelda or some Luigi/Mario thing?" I may as well have said intendo. They almost opened up their mouths to correct me but I shushed them and pointed my finger in the air.

"No," someone said.

"Exactly! And you cry about this! You moan about turns and who whipped you or who beat all your guys. You cry about not having as much time as anyone else and you cry out that it is not fair. Life is not fair! And this is not worth it! I hate game cube! No one cries and whines about books! No one cries that they can't read the fifth Lemony Snickett book because someone else has it!" And this was my cue to kick it, which is what I did.

They all stared.

I put the game cube in the coat closet and walked back to them. "Next time it's a hammer and a smile on my face. Don't think I won't do it either because you know I will."

I think we need to start school tomorrow. It was easier then. The grass is always greener, eh?

Mass Chaos

I have not died or anything rash like that, so be still. My mouth has made it---it is slowly getting better. Granted, you can not notice a thing on the outside. My mouth is also so small that even when I talk you can not see my "appliances". So it is all not so bad and the pain is minimizing tremendously.

I almost had a hemorrhage the other day when getting rid of our old couch to welcome the new. My brand new wood floors got a gigantic scrape (thanks to my Oldest who pulled instead of "lifted") when I said the word. I took my dining room rug and covered it so I wouldn't throw up at the loss of perfection. We live in houses, don't we? I am still trying to figure out a way to fix a deep scratch about the size of my foot (size seven, mind you). Oh, the sound when it did its thing (the couch). I woke up in the night with blaring sirens in my head. And only in my head. I have gone crazy. I put a pillow over my ear to stifle the high-pitched squeal but it did not help. It was in my head. The floor is making me lose my mind. Any suggestions on what to do with the floor? Any hard wood experts out there? The agony.

I have since done other things to further prove that I have lost my mind, but I won't mention it here because I am too prideful. I am, however, not too prideful to admit that I have burned pancakes a plenty and completely charred chicken wings to where they are ashen. I shed a few tears when the Professor came home (directly after my blunder), completely at a loss since I have lost my brain, and he put his junk down immediately and started the wings over again after throwing the old ones away. The only thing I had to do in return was get him a beer. When this was done I nursed my singed arm hairs. Yes, I did singe them. Seriously. I hate the smell of burning hair.

And that's all for now. How are you guys doing?

The Orthodontist Killed my Jaw

I am in much pain. No, not much, ALL pain. I feel like a saw went to my gum. I just had an implant in---yes, I am complaining (eat my shorts whoever it is that thinks I complain too much)---a screw that is going in my gum beneath my teeth so some special thing can get done for alignment and braces. Not only do I have a metal screw in my gum, I have heavier wiring, and I feel like death. DEATH I tell you. I am no wimp either. I can fight pain. I am about to puke.

No, I am alive. And this living human feels lots of PAIN.

The Girl was in the room when the doctor screwed the screw in with her tool. I felt it the whole time. Not a pleasant experience, but with my daughter there I decided I would do my best to keep my face and body still.

"Are you using a screwdriver?" she asked the doc.

"Sort of," she said.

"Are you just screwing it in?"

"You could say that," the doc answered.

"Looks like you are about done," the Girl said as I laughed at the oddness of the whole situation. The doctor was trying to make it less traumatic for the Girl while I was trying to keep a good face for the Girl and the doctor. Uh, yeah, it hurts, but uh, lets just get this thing over with, k?

"Can I see the screw?" the Girl asked.

Right then the doc was finished with the job and she allowed the Girl to see my gum.

"That's vile!" Her face went sour and she backed up.

"That's a big word for a little girl," the doc said, "you get that from your brothers?"

"No," I said, "from her mother."

Is the pain supposed to hit my ear? I am so not good. I will so not sleep tonight and I will so not eat food for a long long time.

Excuse me now (seriously) while I go upstairs to die. Heaven help me if I ever get a bullet wound.

It's the Coolest Being a Fan of Phil Wickham

I am on this album cover!!! All of the biggest Phil Wickham fans are, I guess. I watched his concert on May 9 in Portland (which was awesome) and so he asked all of his devoted fans to send pictures of themselves since they watched from home. See if you can spot me.

And, most important, go download Phil's singalong album for FREE like it says on this banner on the date specified.

Is There Anything the Man Can't Do?

The Professor is a little happy with himself because he gets more hits than I do, when in the past that was not so. I had to take him through some stuff to prove it to him so then he typed "John Lennon Led Zeppelin" or the other way around on Google and there you go, he is the first hit. He seemed very happy about that.

But he----

*can't clean up puke
*can't mop a floor on his hands and knees
*can't sing
*can't play an instrument (wait---he plays the tambourine---just kidding)
*can't cross his eyes
* can't cook (he can grill though!)
*can't spell the name "Diane" correctly
* can't eat a great number of foods because he would puke and then he *can't clean it up
*can't run
*can't run a mile
*can't kill a mole with a shovel
*can't drink Coors Light
*can't not buy a book
*can't not use his brain
*can't be dumb for once
*can't mow the lawn without dying of allergies
*can't stop thinking everything Oasis does is cool
*can't put things together
*can't kill a plant
*can't be still when flying insects are near
*can't stop the stacks
*can't explain his complicated books to me because it would take too many explanations of different words in order for his wife to understand them.
*can't stop veering to the right when he drives
*can't take the car for an oil change


So I gotta go get that oil change now. See ya.

To Hide

So go here to listen to a recent addition to my podcast. The crazies did the stomping and clapping on the song. We had a lot of fun with it. If you don't listen to it the chain will be broken and demons will emerge from the depths of the earth and make you eat rotten apples forever. Amen and amen.

Scarlett is only Pretty

I got an update from itunes and noticed Scarlett Johanssen has an album out. I decided to give it a listen.

It is a kindness for me to say that it was horrid. The girl can not sing. Period. Is this what America has come to? Not only do we have mediocre people singing on American Idol (save Kelly Clarkson or any of the earlier people---Carrie Underwood is good as well), we have actors singing and they completely, totally, utterly stink. Don't get me going on Britney Spears. But Britney is in luck compared to Scarlett. Britney sounds like an angel if we were to do this. It is an insult to music period to give people record deals that lack musical ability. It insults ME to think that the music industry thinks I want to listen to a beautiful actor sing terribly.

Personally, I don't care what musicians look like. I listen to them, I don't look at them.

Broken Glasses

It seems like I am impatient with this strep. My daughter seems to be getting a little better, I mean, she is not crying all the time, but I thought that she would feel tons better being on antibiotics for two days. Someone tell me that it takes a few and that will be enough for me. I have never dealt with this before.

I started Prince Caspian last night with her. I told her to go down and get "the next book" and she came up with it, reluctant. So, we are not committing a Narnian crime, we are doing the right thing. I feel much better.

The Oldest is addicted to a lotion from Bath and Body Works that I got as a gift years ago (Sandalwood Rose). I put it in the downstairs bathroom to get it used up. Now I smell it everywhere. He keeps rubbing his hands together and telling me that his scent is so nice for stress relief. Give me a break.

Yesterday I heard some booming going on upstairs and pretty soon the Oldest came down with his BRAND NEW pair of glasses, completely bent and the lens popped out. I almost took his hand and bit it. "{Eraser Eater} sat on them!" he yelped in high tones.

"Who took them off to be sat on? Were you rough-housing?"

"Yes...." he winced.

A few weeks ago this happened to Eraser Eater's glasses. You go through it enough (last year the Oldest lost his in some kid's yard) to where you imagine yourself at that moment holding up the damaged frames and screaming into the turning of the day, but then you come to your senses quickly remembering that it only gives you a hoarse voice and a headache. Parents with kids that are as old as mine are tired, people. And if they are older than me, they are more tired. If only you could just give them an Indian burn or something for your trouble of having to get them fixed, but then you realize that is juvenile. You have already taken away game cube. It doesn't work either with Eraser Eater because he could care less about anything but drawing plans and Architectural Record. I can't take that away. That would be plain abuse.

I should have made him write sentences. I made him do it last week. Boy, was that a chore. It was more punishment for me than for him. He just cried a lot and wrote. I had to listen to it and talk him down. Not only was this happening at all, it was happening in public, at the pool. Yes, I made him take his notebook to the pool before he could go in it and write, "I will not hit my brother" fifty times. When half-way through, I found that he did not write "in his best cursive" (he wrote in print) as indicated on the top of the page, so I made him start over. Oh, if hell could rise up and gobble the earth! He immediately wept and lamented, right in the car on the way to the pool.

Sorry pal, you do it right the first time.

And as I read over what I just wrote, I think how ridiculously easy that punishment is. I get so sick of hearing, "my hand hurts!" and all that rot.

So---on the list for today---get the glasses fixed.

This and That

The Girl has strep throat. When we went to the Smithsonian, I suppose she got it because the boy we were with was carrying it at that time. He woke up with strep the next morning. My Girl was so sore yesterday before church that I decided to take her to the emergency care down the road instead. This weekend is her cousin's birthday too and I am sure that she infected her cousin who was here a few days ago. I feel so bad! How about getting strep on your birthday!

The Professor and I keep clearing our throats. So far so good.

I feel guilty waking up at nine in the morning, but hey, that's the way it goes when you sleep so little the night before. I kept having dreams of Elves and webs. I would pull out sting and cut the webs with it's glowing blade. Orcs are near. Or that big fat spider. I am delving deeply into the Lord of the Rings.

An exterminator is coming today to eliminate the carpenter ants I keep seeing everywhere. I kill about ten a day and ten is just too much.

Last night the Girl and I finished The Horse and His Boy (finally), and found that the next book would be Prince Caspian. "I don't want to read that one," said the Girl sharply, "I just want to move on with The Voyage of the Dawn Treader. I have seen the movie!" I almost had a hernia. I looked at the Professor for assistance but he looked at her endearingly with compassion and said, "Of course you can move on to Dawn Treader. You did already see the movie Prince Caspian. Makes sense."

Did legion suddenly take over my husband's brain? What is he thinking?

And now Eraser Eater wants me to get off the computer so he can go on Architecturalrecord.com. That's a hoppin' site for nine year olds.

Nonsense (don't waste your time)

Last night I was told that I always look "nonplussed."

On another very uncomfortable and negative occasion I was told that I was mean.

I think I need to quit my job. I am smiling as I say this.

At least when I am home people cry and whine when I leave because apparently I am not so mean there. But then I am rather nonplussed at all times because I tend to forget what it is that I truly need to do so I get all confused and walk around in circles.

I have been running a lot this week too. Maybe that adds to my perplexed state. I burn so many calories it burns a hole in my brain or some nonsense like that. The crazy doctor said that I should run every day instead of five times a week, so I am trying that to see if I get less tired the days I don't run. This is causing me to run 36-42 miles a week, which sounds exhausting, but I suppose if you get it done in the morning you are ok. I was more worried about whether or not my knees or legs could do it, but the doctor seemed to think it would be just fine; I only need to have a regular dose of squats and leg lifts, which I started this past week.

I should probably try to run a marathon some day, but I am afraid I would be so confused the whole time that I would run in circles instead of running straight ahead. I would most likely have to use the port-a-potties as well every half hour, so I would be the last to cross the finish line.

It's useless. I am just too mean and nonplussed to exist.

Liquid Cow

Last night the Prof. and I took the kids to dinner for pizza.

Afterward we went to the grocery store to buy two gallons of milk because we were obviously running out.

I have no idea what happened, but I woke up this morning and the two gallons of milk were still on the floor next to the door. There goes eight bucks.

I just dumped it all down the sink, I can't remember bringing it all in. Maybe I did. You know, at some point, you do something so many times you can't remember if you did it ten years ago, or if it was last night.

The sad thing is that the milk probably has so many gross hormones and whatnot in it that it would have been safe to drink. If it were up to me I would buy the organic stuff, but the Professor refuses to buy anything health nutty to a certain extent. I just barely drink the stuff anyway. If it makes your kids prematurely develop, then I hope it works for the Oldest. His high-pitched Mickey Mouse voice gets to me during the long days of existing.

Wayward Bride

Go here to listen to Wayward Bride. I did a video recording of this on YouTube a good handful of months ago, but now you get to hear it recorded. Make sure to read the lyrics as well. Thanks for listening.

Smithsonian

Yesterday was a crazy day. My friend, who has four kids under the age of seven, went with us to the Renwick Gallery at the Smithsonian. So we parked across the street from it. They had an amazing room full of Catlin portraits. I mean, it was jam-packed. I could have done without the ugly breast trophy in the other gallery, but you can't always get what you want.

Eraser Eater was unusually cold the whole time (he has always boasted of being "cold proof" and until yesterday it was true). He was also unusually tired. Granted, walking for an HOUR to get to the Natural History museum from the Renwick Gallery was a bit much. My friend's kids were stumbling around listless, mine were moving slowly, hot-cheeked. The Oldest would not stop complaining. At one point he was saying he was delirious. If that were so it would have served us all well, but it was an exaggeration and we had to bear with a non-delirious complainer. I asked my friend if duct tape was considered abuse and she laughed and said, "yes." Shucks. However, we could always say that he is standing for the pro-life movement and write "life" on the duct tape. That way he would be saying something, yet not saying something. He IS pro-life. It would work.

Anyway, eventually it got better. Except for Eraser Eater. He was just not doing well. He looked somewhat pale and very tired, asking me (with all courtesy) for a place to sit for a spell and then he could move on. I really felt for him. He just looked so entirely weak that I offered to pick him up, but he refused and said that he could manage it, he just needed a bit of rest. He looked like Frodo, at the foot of Mount Doom, the Ring heavy upon him. I was Sam saying, "I will carry you, Mr. Frodo!"

He fell asleep in the car on the way home, poor kid. Then we ate dinner. I made them all snow cones for such good attitudes (although I did wish to put duct tape on the Oldest, he did shape up eventually and he did well considering he enjoys putting all of us through vocal misery whenever there is a silent spell or not a silent spell. At one point he chose not to seize those opportunities and I was grateful.). Eraser Eater, upon finishing his snow cone, suddenly got extremely chilled. "I am so cold!" he said a little loudly, grabbing a blanket to read his book.

I finally went over to check his head. He had a fever!!!! It was almost 102!!!!! I bet he had a fever all day!

I felt like a complete wretch. I tell you, that kid is amazing. He never complains, just states his need if he absolutely has to. Of the many times I offered to carry him he refused and kept going. Thankfully I wasn't mean to him at all and tried to help him all I could. Whenever he has to throw up he politely asks for a bucket or goes to the toilet himself and cleanly does the job. I have always boasted that he could puke in a thimble. He could.

And I don't know how the Prof. puts up with me. I used up all his gas in the car yesterday (we switched cars for our trip) and didn't fill up. The Oldest said, "Uh, Mom, aren't you going to get gas?" once we hit near home.

"Nope," I said, "I hate getting gas and last time it splattered all over my foot. I wasted about five bucks doing that. It's a man's job."

But this morning, when it got down to telling him he was on low, I winced as I confessed.

He rolled his eyes, shook his head and got in the car.

I am a wretch.

Even My Children Torture Me

In the sunroom where I run on my treadmill, every wall is a sliding glass door. To cut down on the darkness when I run, I open up the blinds next to the treadmill and the blinds in front of it. It is nice to at least see the squirrels running around in the woods. It is a pleasant view besides the occasional guy urinating on a tree or cops pulling up and knocking on doors to serve papers most likely.

Just this morning I was walking off my long run when I saw my daughter out the window. She turned and looked at me, hair all knotted up, with a smile on her face. She ran up to the window and stuck out her fist. Then she upturned it and opened her fingers to reveal an old rusty penny. When she saw my reaction she ran off laughing her sides off.

Tooth Fairy Unmasked

Yesterday I told the crazies the truth. Actually, what got me to do it was the fact that my Oldest, who is twelve, still believes in the tooth fairy. Now, my Girl has had her doubts and has even accused me of the various gifting of change in large amounts into a cup that she'd find in the morning, but I have always sort of lied and acted dumb. It has disturbed me greatly of late to see that my son would leave notes pleading with the tooth fairy to spare an extra buck or two. It is equally disturbing to see his eyes shine at the thought of something fluttery, pink, and prissy, armed with a wand. I think. I have had to tell mountains of lies about what this thing looks like, what she or it does with the teeth, you know.

So the Professor had this grand idea to put a note next to my son's cup of change with Lord of the Rings script on it. The Oldest would enter the bathroom and find the note, unable to decipher it. Grand idea. He meticulously copied the characters and I scanned them as well to make sure it did not look like his small, cramped print that only the Professor could write himself. This was to lightly inform the boy that the tooth fairy is not real. Not my idea. I just wanted to out right tell them.

I got up the next morning forgetting all about it. Finally as I was making coffee the note was shoved in my face and my son said, "This is Lord of the Rings code!" He was angry.

I ignored him, feigning fatigue and disorientation.

He proceeded to get one of the books from our library and yelled out, "This is from the back of the book! Did you write this?! This looks sort of like Dad's writing!"

I continued to make coffee. Just keep the money and be happy dude. Not my idea.

It was a constant subject of the day. Why would a fairy write in Lord of the Rings language? Gee, I don't know, maybe all the fairies come from Middle-Earth! Maybe Gimli and Legolas, whenever they would lose baby teeth, would anxiously await some sort of mithril or something to cascade into their goblets while they were asleep.

I got sick of hearing about it. This note---this thing that was not my doing anyway. "Dad doesn't write that good, Mom must have done it." (I realize that was poor grammar)

This sealed it. They could not pin the note on me.

So later on in the day I was having issues with keeping my cool because I was being back talked all day long. I decided then and there to drop the bomb. I called all the kids from upstairs where I had banished them.

"Who is the tooth fairy?" I asked. I had my hand on my hip, mouth puckered in slight anger.

They all stood there silent and confused. The Oldest clutched his book tighter. Eraser Eater looked at the wall but had a slight smile. The Girl looked a bit bewildered.

"Santa Claus?" I asked----to sort of taunt them.

Eraser Eater's smile got bigger. "Daddy!?" he squealed.

"No," I said sharply. "And it is nothing imaginary. Do you think that I would allow some weird fairy to come into my house? Do you think I would allow something unnatural to take my children's teeth? Don't you think that is a little frightening and odd?"

They all had crestfallen faces. The Girl lifted her arm and pointed, face shrewd. "You!" she yelled.

The Oldest's mouth dropped open in shock. "How could you?!"

I don't know what I expected. I didn't expect anything, really.

"I did think that it could have been an angel at one point," said Eraser Eater, "but I wasn't sure."

"I did think it was you for a long time," said the Girl, "but then I thought of all the money you would have had to touch and I can not imagine you holding coins. Did you have to hold them all that time? I'm sorry."

"Yes, I did hold the money, but I just washed my hands, you know, once I dropped the coins in the cup," I said with a nod to the Girl.

"Does this mean we don't get money if we lose a tooth anymore?!" the Oldest yelped hoarsely.

The Great Pool Story

I am an observant person for the most part, so the pool is always a delightful way to spend a silent afternoon. At least, of course, I would be silent and spectating. I don't think I stand out much, except for the red sunglasses, and I don't have a figure to be scorned for. I just sit there and either watch people and my children or read a book and take notes.

Yesterday a mother who lives down the street from me brought her three daughters in. They seemed harmless enough to me, but she kept yelling at them over sitting on a towel, or not standing in the right place. And when she would yell something the second time, she would put her gut in it and growl. Being about four chairs down, it wasn't a pleasant experience. It started to get really annoying because she was yelling constantly in the pool and out of it. And not only that, I noticed that she had a certain tone quality that matched the Oldest's voice (imagine that) and a semi-growling Mickey Mouse was on the loose. I thought my ears would burst.

Near the end of our stay I sat by the pool and watched the Girl do tricks. While this was happening a few good-for-nothing girls approached me and asked me what my daughter's name was (who was close to their age). I told them. Five minutes later they came up and asked me what my Oldest son's name was (I knew this was coming). I told them. Five minutes from then they came to me and told me that he called one of the girls a "brat".

I said, "Well, were you being a brat?"
She could barely look at me. "Uh, no."
I half smiled and said, "Sure, I can talk to him. But would you like me to spank him for you?"
Their eyes went wide and they laughed. One said yes, the others said no. I was being totally sarcastic because I knew the girls were up to no good.

When leaving I said to the Oldest, "so are you name calling or are those girls just being trouble?"

"I did not call them brats mom."

"They told me you called that one girl a brat. If you did, name calling is never appropriate. Some day some guy is going to give you a good sock in the face. People have hard lives and they get mad over little stuff easily. It's good to keep your mouth shut."

"Oh, I know what you said about the spanking thing, I am NOT happy about it," flamed the Oldest.

I had to have a little giggle behind my hand, "What did they say to you?"

"They said you wanted to spank me."

"I was being sarcastic. Their fault for not taking my message. I don't believe a word they say."

"Good. They just don't like me...."

And he went on about how they torture him for no reason and how now that he has made a friend they are trying to plot the friend against him. I really don't get kids. I know my son can be annoying and rude because of his Asperger's, but do I REALLY have to shout it to the world to make them understand this?

The drive home was full of words.

"I am very glad that you guys obey immediately when I tell you that we have to go home. Thank you."

"Are you saying that because those girls with that yelling mother didn't obey her?" asked the Oldest.

"Yeah, a little."

"Does that make you feel better than her?"

I tell you, with this dude you get it straight. "No, man. I don't feel better than her. I feel like you guys are well-behaved kids and I am happy about that. Thank you."

"So does that mean you ARE better than her?"

"No."

"She yells all the time."

"Yes, she does."

"You don't."

"No..."

"Some moms think that their kids are the kids that do nothing wrong, like, 'not my angel! He wouldn't do that!'" said Eraser-Eater from the back, "Even if they are bad they never think their kids are bad!"

"Our Mom is so not like that!" yelled the Girl.

"Yeah! She knows we're not angels!" yelled Eraser Eater.

I almost laughed but I couldn't get the image of the big fat booger hanging out of the teenager's nose as he swam around in the pool. It was huge. And when he turned around again, it had gone---gone into the abyss of chlorine and kid sweat, swirling probably on to one of my angel's swim suits, infecting it. That is when I pointed my finger as I stood alongside the pool and waved it back and forth, which always means, "you, you, you, we leave the premises, now."

Apples to Apples

My Oldest thinks the game Apples to Apples is the greatest thing. He begged me to play it with him the other night alongside the Girl. As smart as the Girl is, she never really quite gets the whole idea---well, she totally does, but she always picks the off the wall answer instead of the right on target one. And if the player happens to be me and she is the judge, she always picks my answer no matter how bad. I am mom, mom rules, you know?

I have never seen a girl quite so obsessed. She reaches across the table for me at dinner time, excuses herself for five seconds and runs to my side to give me a hug. While we are running an errand she calls me and I look in the rear view. She is stretching her arms out as if she is drowning saying, "I need a hug!" She goes outside and comes back in every ten minutes or so to bestow upon me yet another hug. When I run on the treadmill she stands on the side of it and watches me sweat but smiles sweetly. "When you are done I want a hug. I don't care if you are sweaty and you have braces. You are the best mom ever!" When at the pool she pulls herself out of it from time to time to smile and rest her head on my leg. "I hope you are done reading that book! I want a hug!"

So the word was "dangerous".

I had "bullfighting" and the Oldest had "zipper."

The Girl was the judge. She looked keenly at the card that said "dangerous" and then looked swiftly at "bullfighting" and "zipper."

"Bullfighting is pretty dangerous," she said.

"Yes, but zippers are more dangerous!" piped the Oldest with a smile. "Feel bad for me," he said, knowing she was leaning my way, "once, a long time ago, I was zipping up my pants and I accidentally zipped up my peter. It was horrible----it hurt so bad. It hurt so bad that I have never forgotten it, even now when I zip up my pants! I have to move back a little just to avoid it."

The Girl gave a truly deep from her heart sort of moan. Her eyes squinted in pure sympathy. She looked like she had a tummy ache. He got her. She fingered the bullfighting card, aimed it at me like she was in turmoil---she for once did not know who to pick. She gave a cramped look and handed the card to the Oldest. He yelped in triumph, happy he got a second card.

More

I have a new song up on my podcast. Go give it a listen. And listen to the other ones if you have not done that already! I will be pleased as punch.

Braces and Working

I am finally getting used to the braces. By next week I will be going back to the ortho and they will put in heavier wiring in addition to pulling things tighter. So, once you get used to it all, you are back to the pain game. The freaky thing is that my teeth are all loose, so it feels sort of strange that I can jolt my molars and whatnot around with my tongue.

I have been chewing gum like a mad woman (the acceptable sugarless kind) so I do not experience severe halitosis like Shealy warned. So far it has been going well. Except you find all manner of people who enjoy the lingering smell of watermelon or blueberry so much that they ask you if you have a spare stick. Last night one of my co-workers (she is a teenager) asked me for a piece of my fabulous smelling gum. For some reason I have no issues saying no or ordering her around since she at times has no idea what she is doing. I did give her a piece eventually though.

Another associate approached us as we were labeling merchandise and started speaking German to the teenager. They both started off in their language, waving their arms about.

"Hey," I said, "To speak another language that you know another associate does not speak is forbidden."

They looked at me with wide eyes. "Diversity training," I said, "remember?"

The intruding associate walked off.

"She was just telling me that I had dirt all over my {rear end}," the teenager said.

Parent's Day

I forgot to post about Father's Day.

Everyone seems to be posting about it and I completely ignored it. We went to the Professor's sister's house for the festivities and then went home and called the Prof's Dad.

I got the Prof. an Adidas jacket (that is green, mind you---I couldn't help myself), a tie, and a silicon barbecue baster. He made these incredible ribs (with some help from his wife) and now he is Bobby Flay.

He needed a utensil since he got me a knife set for Mother's Day. Yes, a knife set. Doozie would be proud.

The fact is, I really can't stand Mother's or Father's Day. I think that it is silly to have a day where you are celebrated for being a parent and then you don't have to be a parent for the day. But I am sure everyone says that. I remember when Mother's Day hit people behind counters and at various stores and what not kept saying, "Have a happy Mother's Day!"
Not a kid was in sight. "How do you know I am a mother?" I would ask.
"I didn't. I just hope you have a happy Mother's Day," they would say.
"Do I look like a mother?"
"No, actually, you don't, but it is a holiday so I thought I would say happy Mother's Day anyway."

Is it like "Merry Christmas?"
I don't get it. Really, I don't.

Appendix

Yesterday was not a good day. I can, however, look at it now and laugh at it.

Right when I was doing a little recording Eraser Eater was moaning about on the couch saying that his "thigh" hurt. It is not uncommon for the boy to whine about nothing just for the sake of attention and his apparent love of crying. {he has actually admitted that he loves to cry} I had no tolerance for it. Finally, after more and more whining, I went to him to see what was the matter. Apparently he was experiencing pain in his abdomen/groin area, not his thigh. He was refusing to walk or stand up straight; he would crawl around if he was not on the love seat drawing his designs. He also cried out a little when I pressed on the area with my hand.

At some point during the day the Professor called. "Oh yeah," I said, "{Eraser Eater} says that his abdomen hurts."
The Professor was very concerned. He wondered why I wasn't. "I don't know why you are so non-challant about this, Rach," he said. To be honest, I had not hydrated myself properly and my back hurt, so I was not in the mood to deal with Eraser Eater's issues. I figured if it were his appendix, the pain would be on the other side and he would be screaming. I had the Oldest pour him a glass of water. The Professor insisted that I call the doctor before I had to go to work later that night.

So I did.

And I got him in.

And they thought maybe it was a hernia and he needed an ultrasound the next day.

So they scheduled one and I went home and made dinner before work.

As we were eating, Eraser Eater put down his second sandwich (we had croissant sandwiches) and said, "I have to poop."

I rolled my eyes.

After he bombed the house with his stench, I called him to me. "Do you feel any more pain?"

"Nope!" He smiled.

"Let me press your area," I said.

I pressed it.

He laughed.

I canceled the ultrasound.

I called the Professor. "He had to go to the bathroom," I said, pretty angrily.

"Yeah, I thought that was it at first," he said.

I wondered at that moment if gnawing on the wooden chair next to me would be appropriate.

Yet Another Song Up

I am really sorry but I have another song that I finished or just sort of finished. At least I am done with it for now.

Go give it a listen. And um, really do it this time, k? I bet you all are so sick of this!!! Ha ha.

New Song Alert

I just semi-finished a crazy song called You Watch Me on my podcast. Go give it a listen, pronto.

Learning

What I learned outside in the real world this week:

1. I don't look like I would like the Disney movie, Alice in Wonderland. (The funny thing is, I have been talking about it this week on here and I didn't mention it. Someone at work asked me what my favorite Disney film was and I answered and she replied. Hers was Cinderella.)

2. I have been married too long because I didn't know the meaning of metrosexual. A fellow employee was talking about how he needed to get his eyebrows plucked and I gave him a pat on the shoulder to notify him that he is indeed a guy and should not worry about such trivial things.

3. I look like a Charlotte if my name were not my own name. Make sense? Huh.

4. I look like other people I work with because one lady said that I looked identical to another associate and she thought I was helping her, which I wasn't. For the record, I looked nothing like my fellow associate. Nothing. That lady is on crack.

5. I am good at finding things, but of course, I knew this.

6. If you don't eat food you forget to give people their receipts.

7. When water touches leather excessively without getting wiped, it ruins it.

8. I am "proper." I think it is because I don't let the kids watch Shrek because they burp and fart on there.

And I am out of stuff.

Deaf Child

"Don't tell her, Mom, she can't keep secrets!" roared Eraser-Eater this morning.

She was asking about the neighbor and all this stuff going on that I can't explain because it is "adulty".

"But I won't say anything!" she yelped.

"Yeah, she will!" said Eraser Eater. "She almost told Dad about a birthday present you got him last week, and then last father's day when you got him a popcorn maker she blabbed that out, so I wouldn't say anything to her.
That's the day when {the Oldest} said, 'what? a pasta maker?' Like, we would ever get Dad a pasta maker. He doesn't even like pasta! And he can't even hear! Popcorn maker?! Pasta Maker?! We need to get a deaf child sign for the front of our street with him around!" He was waving one arm up in the air and skipping from one foot to the other.

"Hey! I can hear cars!" barked the Oldest from behind a book.

I was laughing so hard I could hardly stand and make breakfast. Life with the Oldest IS like this.
"I will be there in a minute," I would say.
"You will be here in a limit? What's that supposed to mean?" he would respond, completely offended.

"I'm losing interest," I would say.
"You're making cookies for breakfast?" he would respond, very eager to eat this special breakfast.

He comes up with weird stuff and he is totally not messing with me. He even gets angry if the statement does not make sense like I am the one trying to fool him. Either he has a hearing problem or he is so focused on whatever it is he is doing that he only hears the tail end then guesses. I think it is the first and the Prof. thinks it is the latter. I guess he could get his ears checked but last time he was normal. Still funny though. Poor kid.

Another Song

Be sure to stop by my music site for another song recently added.

Alice's Adventures in Wonderland

When I was a little girl I read Lewis Carroll's Alice and enjoyed it much. I think though that I had more of an interest in the Disney movie than the book itself because I remember not really getting the humor or understanding what was going on as well as say, one of my homeschooled children. My seven year old daughter could hear excerpts and be rolling around on the floor laughing.

About a month ago I was reading the book to my daughter and found myself enjoying it so much that last night I sneaked it up into bed and read until I feel asleep. The Professor sat next to me Brady style and read his Calvin's Institutes. He has been reading this book for about eight years, no joke. I was laughing so hard when reading the poem "Old Father William" that he stared at me and shook his head.

"Please don't read it to me," he said.

I had already read him a small excerpt of when Alice was swimming in her own tears and talking to a small mouse who was also swimming for its life. She kept talking about her cat Dinah and forgetting that mice don't like cats and the mouse was getting hotly offended. It was just funny. I was giggling as I read it to him but he cut me off in the middle and said, "is it almost over?" like Calvin is so much more interesting. He in turn read his book to me for a spell and I hardly understood what was going on. I consider myself a fairly smart individual.

So here is my two favorite stanzas of William because it made me laugh so hard:

"'You are old', said the youth, 'and your jaws are too weak
For anything tougher than suet;
Yet you finished the goose, with the bones and the beak---
Pray, how did you manage to do it?'

'In my youth,' said his father, 'I took to the law,
And argued each case with my wife;
And the muscular strength, which it gave to my jaw,
Has lasted the rest of my life.'"

I have no idea really why it struck me so funny. The Professor later said to me in a voice of warning, "You know, that Victorians book I have says that Carroll was a weirdo."

I rolled my eyes at him. "Um, I know."

Weirdos are just ridiculously funny people.

A Little Coaxing

When schooling the kids the other day I gave Eraser Eater a list of words to look up in the dictionary since I have to occupy him with supplemental work:

1. vile

2. baleful

3. irate

4. insolent

5. morbid

6. sanguine

Don't you love the last word? So nice. I thought it stood out so well among the others.

I took the Girl and the crew to a water park about an hour away on Friday for her birthday celebration. We had a good time. The Prof remained at work and my sister in law and her kids came along. We also brought the neighbor girl. They all had a blast.

My Oldest was too afraid for the first half of the time to go down the big water slide with an inner tube. He openly wept at one point of sheer frustration that he could not muster up the courage to do it. He would climb all the flights of stairs to get to the top, only to cower down in the corner and watch the line of people meet their doom.

"I can't do it," he would say like Mickey Mouse.
"Look dude. All you have to do is sit in the tube thing and I will push you. Nothing will hurt you," then I proceeded to tell him for the tenth time what you encounter during the long slide down.

He still refused to do it. He would stare at me immobile, like he usually does when he is irrationally, yet neutrally frightened. I don't know how to explain that one---it must be an Aspergian trait he has.

While this was going on, Eraser Eater had already visibly gone down the slide umpteen times. The Oldest was watching him pass by every time out of the corner of his eye.

Finally, once the Girl made the plunge he could stand it no longer. He marched up the steps and made his presence known. I met him up and I was ready. He sat down on the tube and shuddered. "I don't want to go on this anymore..." he squealed.

"Bye!" I said as I pushed him down. At each flight you can see your child round a curve and look at their faces. At first he looked straight up at me and waved his fist in the air exclaiming, "You will pay for this!" Next, he was furrowing his brow and staring at me with a slight smile on his lips. And finally, he was laughing and screeching with his arms up in pure delight. "I love this ride!" he shouted from the bottom.