One Word

Benadryl.

Even more flowers

My hard drive crashed a few months back and I lost two whole weddings' worth of pictures I hadn't backed up. I suck at technology.

Mice, again.

If you're not related to me, you have probably not read this post about how my house is infested with mice. But well, it is. I've tried various methods of ridding the house of mice with results ranging from ineffective (live traps) to disastrous (rushing my dog to the ER vet after he ate a brick of poison.)

And often, when I bring it up, people suggest that I get a cat. Which I would love to do. I love cats. I am also ultra-super-mega-allergic to cats. So that's not really an option. But you know which predator of mice I bet I'm not allergic to?


Owls.

Does anyone know where I can get my hands on a pet owl? Bonus if it delivers mail and magic brooms.

I'm busy.

I'm working on a crazy long post that's not done yet. So I don't have anything interesting to say here tonight. Except that I went to a chiropractor today who doesn't think I have carpal tunnel, and explained to me why it is much more likely that I have a herniated disk in my back. Which is, you know, awesome.

We Hate Words

Him:
lunch
soup
stinky
share (when used by adults in relation to emotions)
sleepy
tummy
hungry


Me:
pudding
kudos
hubby
potty
moist
paste
mucus (the worst onomatopoeia ever)


His list is actually much longer than this. I just can't think of the other ones right now.

Birthday

Today was Eric's son's 7th birthday. We took our kids plus three of Ambrose's friends to the Waterpark of America. Which is across the street from the Mall of America. The same ridiculousness in scale as the Mall.

(Do other people out there really know about the MOA? Whenever we go there, there are people from all over the world, speaking all kinds of languages. Is it really a destination? Because for me, it's just the closest Sears to my house. It's where I bought my new lawn mower.)

Anyway. Huge. Lots of different wave pools, slides, rivers... I'm exhausted. And I still reek of chlorine.

Lucas learned a new phrase. He will now tell you that waterslides are "not his cup of tea".

How Grown Ups Make Decisions

I will, sometime in the coming months, gain access to an assload of money. At least I think that's the correct unit of measurement -- bigger than a chunk, less than a fortune. Enough to make the average game show contestant leap into the air and embrace the host, not enough to retire. Anyway. I kind of have to decide soonish what the best use of this money will be.

The government is going to want a large portion of it in taxes if I don't bundle it all away into a savings or investment plan until my dotage. And it seems like I'll probably want to have some money when I am old and feeble and no longer able to earn my keep by answering phones. So there's that. A retirement fund?

But it has also been pointed out to me that I could use some of that money to procure myself the kind of education that would allow me to earn my keep in a manner more lucrative and fulfilling than answering phones. So there's that. Go back to school?

But another point that keeps nagging at me is that my house is a moldy, rodent-infested craphole and a good portion of that money could be used for much needed home improvement projects. So there's that. Fix up the house?

Then again. Why throw money at a craphole? Why not walk away from the craphole and use the money for a down payment on a less crappy, less infested house where I wouldn't have to share one tiny bathroom with four smelly males with bad aim? So... New house?

I know nothing about money management, having never had any to manage in the past. I don't know an IRA from my elbow, and my mind wanders off and starts imagining how many bags of potato chips, trips to Tahiti, and diamond-encrusted tiaras I could buy with all that money every time someone tries to explain it to me. But I feel like this is one time in my life that I need to step up and act like a grown up person and make a well thought out, informed decision.

So what do you think, Internet? What should I do with the money? C'mon. If I can't trust you, who can I trust?

One Word

Headache.

NSFW

I find sharing my deepest darkest secrets with complete strangers here infinitely less painful than writing a cover letter and resume. Telling anyone the truth is always easier than trying to guess what it is they want to hear.

Thing One and Thing Two

Last night after the most surreal bath time ever -- me and Merry in the tub, Lucas sitting on the toilet doing his business while we discussed the merits of getting Ambrose a fighting track for the mechanical attack hamsters that his grandma brought them on her last visit for his birthday -- we put on our pajamas and snuggled up on the couch to watch a cartoon before bed.

Merry got up and wandered into the kitchen and started rustling around in the drawer that we keep all the plastic kid-safe dishes in. I didn't interrupt or ask what she was doing because I'm trying to encourage her to do more things on her own and I was assuming she was going to get herself a drink of water.

A few minutes later she came back with a blue plastic cup. Of wine.

1. I am an awesome mom.
2. Boxed wine is so convenient even a 3-year-old can help herself to delicious adult beverages any time.

Railroad Track of Death

Our kids are brilliantly weird.

Stream of 5-year-old consciousness

Lucas walks in the door, home from his dad's house. The TV is on. 
Lucas: I like this show. What is it? What's that thing? Is that a robot? Why are they doing that? Who's that guy? What's going to happen? How did they do that? What's that smell? What's for dinner?
And wanders away.

Home S'not Home

Merry: sniffle, sniff, SNORT, sniff.

Me: You need a tissue?

Merry: No thanks, I sucked it all back up in my nose.

Me: But the point is to blow it out and throw it away.

Merry: But they're MY boogers. I want to keep them them in my nose. That's where they live.

If you keep making that face it's going to get stuck that way.

It seems that I've got myself a nice little case of carpal tunnel syndrome, or something similar. And when Eric suggested that I go out and get myself one of those wrist braces, it brought me face to face with one of the lifelong misconceptions that I can't seem to shake.

I used to assume that anyone wearing one was a big whiny baby who wanted attention or an excuse to get out of work. Now, I know this isn't true (except in my case - if I put one of those on my wrist I expect sympathy and a get out of work note from my doctor.)  I know now that CTS is excruciatingly painful. So painful in fact, that I would almost. I said almost. Think about wearing one of those hideously ugly wrist get-ups.

And that made me think of some of those other not (necessarily) true things that I think about the world. Like people who drive expensive cars are mean. And that strong religious convictions and a sense of humor are mutually exclusive. That people who seem too happy are faking it - and therefore, not to be trusted. And even that holding my breath and clenching my butt while driving will prevent my car from running out of gas on the freeway.

Before anyone gets pissed. I KNOW these things aren't real. The only thing that's going to stop my car from running out of gas is... something to do with a gas station and some kind of pump?

Just like I know there's nothing good to eat in the fridge. But that doesn't stop me from going and standing in front of it with the door open, staring. Willing Indian takeout leftovers to suddenly appear on the shelves.

When I was a kid, I used to think that people couldn't get married unless they looked kind of like each other. Like, blonds had to marry blonds, brunettes had to pair up with other brunettes.... That's probably because both my parents were Polish with reddish brown hair. And all of my friends parents were blond Norwegians - it was northern Minnesota - almost every one was.

But Eric and I could not look more unalike. I have reddish, blondish, brown hair and a round, round face. He's all angles with black hair and green eyes. We are, actually, a weird looking couple. When we stand next to each other brushing our teeth in the bathroom mirror, we always laugh and the incongruity.

Here I am defying my own precepts everyday. At least I'm not as bad as Eric's grandma.

Do you stubbornly believe things you know aren't true?

Nope

Lost it.

It's like thinking too hard about a sneeze.

The blog will come out tomorrow

I'm a rule follower. An i-dotter, t-crosser. A stickler, if you will.

So I, unlike some other people in this house, am going to post right now. Because it's the rules. But I'm too tired to post the whole idea I thought up today. So I'll try to get it down tomorrow. I just hope I remember it. Cause in my head? It was awesome. Something about misconceptions that I can't shake... and then something else about something... and then I think there was a pony? Anyway, I'm sure it'll come back to me.

Vvvvvtp. vvvvvtp. vvvvvvvtp

I'm wearing corduroys.

Blllaaaargh

I have a bad cold. There's pain and sneezing and lots and lots of mucus. But don't you worry about me. I have a plan. I went out on my lunch break to pick up all the necessary supplies.

Here are the steps:

1. Drink massive amounts of hot Emergen-C and mint tea.

2. Take a boiling hot bath with my face slathered inch-thick in Noxema.

3. Eat incredibly spicy Thai soup for dinner.

4. My secret weapon: My live-in Tuina and acupuncture practitioner, Eric, gives me a massage and needle treatment.

I feel like I've been hit by a warm and squishy bus. I still have a swarm of angry bees up my nose, but I can't be bothered to care. Or type much.

More Flowers

This is a bouquet I made for a friend's wedding, a few years ago on a beautiful fall day, just like today.

The kids are watching Marmaduke

 I miss this little fucker like crazy.

With a Rebel Yell

She looks like Billy Idol. She carries an Iron Man backpack. She likes to be the bad guy. If you ask her what her favorite animal is, she will say pterodactyl.

Not Donuts

There is a box on the table in my boss's office that looks like a donut box. Every time I see it my heart does a happy little skip. Then I remember that my boss is the enemy of all office treats and that is a box of old envelopes with an outdated logo on them that he will scribble out and reuse.

No Easy Walk to Freedom

(Really reaching here.)

I have weird shaped feet, and somehow they seem to have gotten weirder over the summer.
I wear nothing but flip-flops all summer long. All different kinds: dressy silver ones, red ones with roses, sparkly plastic. And then a cold snap comes along and my feet freeze and I decide it's time to put on real shoes. With socks.

But somehow, now none of my real shoes fit my feet anymore. It's been cold this week and I've tried four different pairs of shoes. All shoes that fit me perfectly well in the spring. And now I have thirty billion blisters on my feet. The only shoes I can wear are my wool hippie clogs. This really throws a wrench into my sleek Audrey Hepburnesque work attire.

Black turtleneck and pencil skirt:"Yay! I love fall fashion."

Wool clogs: "Yay! I love Peter Paul and Mary."

Puppy

This is Aunt Judy when she was 9 weeks old, 11 years ago.

Picture=1000 words?

"The Rules" say that all this blog everyday thing has to be is one word. I don't have anything brilliant to say today. How 'bout a picture instead? This is an arrangement I did a few years ago. I think it's pretty.

Sunday Night Debate

It's Sunday night. And along with that goes the end of the weekend, last chance to get anything done, what's it gonna be debate.
Relax and catch up on Doctor Who? Try to burn off some of the deep fried deliciousness I consumed at the fair yesterday on the treadmill? Shave my legs?

OH YEAH, THAT'S RIGHT. I HAVE TO BLOG.

I'm really starting to regret making this deal with Eric.

*whiney voice* But what if I don't feeeeeeel like blogging?

I guess I'm going to bed fat, and with hairy legs, cause this blog ain't gonna blog itself.

Wait. I think it just did.

Blog Throwdown

So.
Eric did this.

And here I am, after a day at the fair, having the mother of all allergy attacks and I have to blog.

BLOG.

Judy has a Tummy Ache

I suppose it should be explained that Lydia's nickname is Judy. Because she IS a Judy. She's bossy, demanding, stubborn, and willful. But fiercely loyal and sometimes terribly sweet. It actually started out as Aunt Judy. If she was a person she would be your butch lesbian aunt who bosses you around, but only because she loves you and wants you to be happy.

The Real Thing

So, I guess the honeymoon is over. Sure it's been almost two years, and sure, there's the unabashed farting, peeing with the bathroom door open, popping each other's back zits. But last night it really sank in.

Lydia is not feeling well and needed to go outside to use the little doggy's room every couple of hours. Trying to share a bed with an eighty pound pit bull with diarrhea is less than restful. Less than comfortable. And then there was a thunderstorm that woke everyone up. So at four in the morning after being up most of the night, trying to find a suitable position to lie in, tangled in sheets and straddling a farting dog, I fell asleep on my back.

Now, I know that when I sleep on my back I tend to snore. And I've always told Eric that if I'm snoring he should just nudge me and tell me roll over. But he always insists that it doesn't bother him. He's even gone so far as to call it cute. Which, of course, is the kind of lie you tell someone you love. Like 'Here, eat the last cookie, I want you to have it.' or 'No, I don't find Adrien Brody sexy at all.'

So, there I am, finally falling asleep after lying awake for an hour listening to the storm, expecting Lucas to creep up the stairs again at any moment. I'm drifting off, and BAM! Eric punches me in the boob. Hard.

And do I screech? Yelp? Curse? No. I apologize and roll over untangling my legs from Lydia's and scrunching my knees up to my chin because there's nowhere else to put them. And I drift back to sleep knowing that I've found true love. Because only someone who truly loved me, and knew that I loved him could punch me in the boob in my sleep trusting that I would understand and not knee him in the sack in revenge.

Lake Michigan

Lucas, Merry and I drove down to Indiana last weekend. The first time I've been back since I've had kids. We went for a family reunion, which was great, even though I don't think it sank in for either of the kids that all those people that they saw there were their family. Someday.

The one thing I insisted we do while we were there was go to the lake. I've always loved Lake Michigan, and although now I live in the land of 10,000 Lakes, there's not one in Minnesota that can even compare. As a kid, there was never anywhere that I would rather be than at the beach. Even in my sunlight shunning teen goth days, I would go there during thunderstorms, at night, in winter...

But on a sunny day....

Merry insisted on wearing her water wings, even though she refused to go in the water until right before we left, at which point, she took them off and tried to drown herself. She collected rocks and dug in the sand with Grandma.

Lucas, on the other hand, is quite a swimmer (not to mention dancer.)  He learned to skip stones, harassed the seagulls, and dove under the waves. We dog paddled side by side up and down the beach for an hour.