Monthly Archives: February 2012

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A Spoonful of Nothin’

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I’m insane and I’ll be the first to admit it. To borrow an exclamation from Cam of Modern Family, “I can’t turn it off. It’s who I am!”

It will definitely be the inscription on my headstone. I’m cool with that.

To put a more accurate label on that, I’m a neurotic control freak. I’m not of the highest order, but I’m damn close. I’ve actually met a few freakier than moi. Hanging out with those nutjobs is really nice because they make me look easygoing and carefree.

Anyhoo, this installment of “What’s Your Crazy?” involves my kitchen. I am one with my cooking space. I know everything that is supposed to be in that space and exactly where to find it. Of course, items don’t always get returned to their proper spaces when others clean the kitchen.

My husband does like to screw with me in that he puts the drinking glasses and coffee mugs back willy nilly on purpose. It’s his little rebellion against law and order. What he doesn’t realize is that it’s really cruel. I could just let the cabinets be. I should just walk away. But. . . . . . .the obsession over the disarray and anarchy going on in my cabinets would eventually make me catatonic. And, what would that solve?

Being a master at regimen and structure is a blessing and a curse. I know he secretly likes having an orderly house, a good credit rating and his underwear folded just as requested (I do this because I love him – clearly, it does not go both ways).

Back to the kitchen – something very, very strange is going on in this room.

Our spoons are disappearing. Not just any spoons, our teaspoons. I’m seriously losing sleep over it. I think about the missing spoons as I go to sleep and as I wake.

The Flatware Tally - See anything strange???

You will notice the following:

Dinner Forks: All accounted for plus 1 (did I steal someone else’s?)

Salad Forks: Missing 2

Dinner Spoons (aka big spoons): Missing 2

TEASPOONS – missing 11

Knives: All accounted for.

[And, YES. I did take inventory today (just for this post) when my family was gone and couldn’t watch me! So what!??!?!?!]

I brought this heinous situation to my family’s attention this weekend and what response did I get?

The Hubs:

“What’s the big deal?” 

“What do you mean, ‘What’s the big deal?’ Where the freak are all of the spoons – the small ones? You don’t just misplace spoons. Your keys? Sure. Your favorite pen? Sure. Your shoes? Maybe. Your car? Temporarily in a parking lot maybe. Your children? No. Your spoons? NO.”

 “We never had that many spoons to the begin with.”

Now, he’s in denial (in the beginning, we had 12 big spoons and 12 little spoons). He just wants me to shut up about it and talk about something else (which, of course, I can’t because I’m obsessing at the moment).  LISTEN UP, PEOPLE! In the span of about 2 weeks, we’ve misplaced 16 spoons! Spoons that we’ve had for yeeaaarrs. Isn’t he the least bit curious? Doesn’t it make you wonder? Can’t he indulge me a bit? No wonder he doesn’t like mystery shows. He just doesn’t care. Cest la vie. Que sera sera. (If I ever go missing, I’m hoping that some of you will notice that I’m gone and come looking for me because I don’t think the hubs will. Cest. La. Vie.)

The Madster (my 15 yo):

“Mommy, (as I’m going to the computer to order more spoons) can’t you wait to see if they turn up? Why are you acting crazy? They’re just spoons.”

Huh? Turn up? Sixteen missing spoons are just going to turn up. Like. . . . . .in the car? In the office? In the freezer (we have found keys there before)? In the pantry? In your underwear drawer? In my closet? In your daddy’s gym bag (ewww, I’d have to buy new ones anyway)? In the couch cushions? Wait. I have found spoons there before (the hubs eats ice cream and somehow the spoon lands in the cushions without him noticing. Don’t ask me.)

Where? Where would they turn up? Seriously. I want to know. BTW, in answer to the question floating in your head, I have checked under all of the couch cushions.

Spoons don’t travel like keys or pens or phones or books, etc. Spoons leave the silverware drawer to be placed on the table when you are dining, get transported back to the kitchen to enter the dishwasher, and then leave the dishwasher to rest in peace in the silverware drawer until they are needed again at the table!!!!

Then, during my rant, Madster goes upstairs to her room just to placate me and get me to shut up. Then, she sheepishly comes downstairs with 3 of the 16 missing spoons (all big ones). [So, I’m not quite as loony as she pretends I am. HA!] She is a teenager after all. God knows what else is in there. I don’t look anymore.

So, the count is now 13 missing spoons instead of 16. Ok, that’s better. NOT!

Is there a black hole above our house? Are the spoons with the missing “other” sock that mysteriously disappears in the dryer? Maybe. IF I acually put my spoons in the dryer.

Since no one else cares but me, I guess I’ll have to shake this one off, let it go unsolved (I may need some Xanax to get me there).

I’m a little reluctant to order more – what will happen to them?

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We Loved NYC!

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New York City – we absolutely love you. We can’t wait to return.

For my daughter’s last high school fall break this past October 2011, my sister and I took Rachel to New York City. We had such a great time – that city is indescribably fantastic, exciting, brave, accepting, beautiful, bright, quirky, fascinating. . . .Anyway, you get the idea.

Click here to see the montage (with music!) of the pictures from our trip.

This is for you, Ray. Love you!

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Great Expectations

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Am I an indulgent parent? I really don’t think so, but I rarely say, “no” to a reasonable request. It sounds like a contradiction, doesn’t it?

We have worked  diligently on managing expectations – the kids have figured out what will and won’t fly. It’s not perfect though. The system still breaks down. They are children and they have an obligation to push back.

But, it breaks down more frequently with one of my children in particular. She talks like she gets it, but then……..Bam!

She understands: 

“Yes, you can have a stuffed giraffe. No, you cannot have a real giraffe.”

“Yes, you can have a pair of Converse in every color. If you want them, you buy them or ask for them as birthday/Christmas gifts.”

This and other similar examples are where we have successfully managed expectations.

Where has it broken down? She thinks I’m her personal chauffeur just sitting around awaiting her next instructions. (I have absolutely nothing else to do.)

In response to me saying, “no” to taking her to the mall at the last minute: “When you have kids, that’s your job.”

In response to me being agitated with her for not helping me find a lacrosse carpool (practice every day M-F during dinner):  “Why did you even have kids?”

After grabbing my head to stop it from spinning and separating from my body and after popping my eyes back into my skull, I mull over these statements of hers and determine that her sentiment can be summed up as such:

“In having kids, you are explicitly entering into a binding contract which means you will do the bidding of said kids and give up any chance of having a life of your own until such time said kids can manage on their own which could be until they’re in their late 20s.”

Holy crap! Why did I have kids? Now, I’m not sure. Maybe I was young and stupid (I clearly did not read the fine print). Damn you, biological clock and propagation of the species!

Regardless of the reason, we have them and we can’t send them back.

Where did I go wrong with this one? I’m befuddled. Maybe I should have encouraged her to join the Girls Scouts (see prior post) – she could use a healthy dose of feminism.

Then, I had a brainstorm when I was talking with one of my friends. When I’m at the age where I can’t tell the difference between the TV and microwave, who am I going to call for help? Yep, you’ve got it!

“Honey, I need you to come over and pick me up RIGHT NOW and take me to my hair appointment.”

“Can you drop what you’re doing right this second and take me to the grocery?’

“I need you cancel your schedule for today and take me to my bridge luncheon and then take me to the doctor so he can evaluate that mysterious rash I’ve been telling you about.”

“Will you come over and do my laundry? I need clean underwear TODAY.”

“I’m really hungry. Can you drive over and make me a sandwich?”

“I’m getting bedsores. You need to come over STAT and roll me over.”

“I can’t find my teeth and it’s your fault! You brushed them last.”

. . . . . . . .Oh, you’re still here. I’m sorry, I was daydreaming (maybe drifting off is a better phrase?).

Anyway, in the meantime, I suppose Mike and I have to get a little more creative in our lessons on “Reasonable Expectations”.

Onward and upward…

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Cookies & Communists

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At swimming yesterday, my swimming buddy asked me if I had seen the article below (in full) about the Girl Scouts. After reading it on  www.theindychannel.com, I can’t ignore it and can’t stop thinking about it.

Seriously? The Girl Scouts are working for Planned Parenthood, feminists, communists and the LGBT community?

Well, wait one doggone minute…

Hmmm….You know, it’s all coming together for me now. I have to admit that I was surprised when I got a free pack of birth control pills and a coupon for 50% off an abortion with our cookie delivery last week. I called my friend to inquire. She apologized for not leaving us with the flier which explained the following promotions:

**With every purchase of 5 boxes of Thin Mints, you get one month’s supply of birth control pills.

**With every purchase of 2 boxes of Samoas, you get a coupon for half off an abortion at the Planned Parenthood clinic of your choice. (I asked my friend why only 2 boxes of Samoas? She said that they have warehouses full of them because of the coconut (not a lot of fans out there). They needed a promotion to move them off the shelves. Since there are a lot of communistic feminists willing to overlook coconut and desiring abortions, the ad campaign is apparently considered a success.)

**With every purchase of 1 box of Trefoils, you get one free class on lesbianism entitled, “How to Liberate the Hidden Lesbian in You”.

I’m a little bummed that I didn’t buy a box of Trefoils. That free class sounds interesting.

Seriously, folks. Where did Fort Wayne get this guy? Was he really voted into office? People in Fort Wayne actually selected him over the other candidate? (Who was the other candidate?)

Wow.  I just realized that we are going to hell in handbasket and you know why? It’s not because we let a transgender girl become a Girl Scout, it’s because we elect closed-minded morons like this guy and let him have any say in our government.

Indiana, we had our Super Bowl Moment, but, sadly, it’s over. We will now be known as the hotbed for the lunatic fringe. No wonder the Artiste (see prior post) is bitter that his bitchy wife made him move here.

And, for the record, Mr. Morris’ “Conservative Hoosier Upbringing and Values” are not my values. It seems that all he values is bigotry, discrimination, hate and divisiveness. Yep, that’s the stuff that will move our country forward.

No. Thank. You. 

Lawmaker Condemns ‘Radicalized’ Girl Scouts / www.theindychannel.com

Rep. Bob Morris: Organization Supports Abortion, Homosexuality

POSTED: 3:17 pm EST February 20, 2012
UPDATED: 8:22 pm EST February 20, 2012

INDIANAPOLIS — An Indiana lawmaker won’t support a resolution celebrating the 100th anniversary of the Girl Scouts because he believes it is a “radicalized organization” that supports abortion and promotes homosexuality.

Rep. Bob Morris of Fort Wayne has sent a letter to fellow Indiana House Republicans explaining why he opposes the nonbinding resolution.

He said he found online allegations that the Girl Scouts are a tactical arm of Planned Parenthood, encourage sex and allow transgender females to join.

 

“Many parents are abandoning the Girl Scouts because they promote homosexual lifestyles,” Morris’ letter reads. “In fact, the Girl Scouts education seminar girls are directed to study the example of role models. Of the 50 role models listed, only three have a briefly-mentioned religious background — all the rest are feminists, lesbians, or Communists.”

He also wrote that the fact that first lady Michelle Obama is honorary president should give lawmakers pause before they endorse the Girl Scouts because the Obamas are “are radically pro-abortion and vigorously support the agenda of Planned Parenthood.”

I challenge each of you to examine these matters more closely before you extend your name and your reputation to endorse a group that has been subverted in the name of liberal progressive politics and the destruction of traditional American family values,” Morris wrote.

Last fall, the Girl Scouts of Colorado accepted seven-year-old transgender child Bobby Montoya as a member, prompting some troops across the country to disband in protest.

Ashley Sharp, spokeswoman for the Girl Scouts of Northern Indiana-Michiana, said Monday in a statement on the group’s website that it leaves sex and reproduction questions to parents. The group accepts transgender youth on a case-by-case basis.

In his letter, Morris said his two daughters had been active in Girl Scouts, but said they would now join a group to “learn about values and principles that will not confuse their conservative Hoosier upbringing.”

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Those Five Little Words

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Do you know what can make me go from absolutely fine to insanely crazed faster than you can blink?

“You just need to relax.”

It doesn’t matter who says it either – my husband, my dad, my friends, my kids, etc. If you’re in the mood for a fight, then just go ahead…….

Who said it this time? Let me backtrack a bit.

My sweet husband bought me a coupon from Living Social for a 3-hour art class. You see, I had a painting that’s been half done for about a year and it’s been haunting me (and others, apparently). Since I’m not a trained artist (I’ve created a total of 2.5 paintings in my entire life), I got stuck and couldn’t move forward. Simple as that.

I finally decided to go to this instructor to see if I could be helped (wait, I know I can’t be helped, but maybe my painting can). How did it go? Just let me say that I’d rather have hot pokers stuck in my eyes than go back to that class.

Let me give you some samples:

“Um, are you happy with your sky?” {He was subliminally trying to get me to say, “No, I’m not.”}

Yes, I LOVE my sky.

“You know, I offer classes on just mixing paints and brush techniques.”

Really? Well you can kiss my ass. It’s not rocket science and I think my mixing is just fine.

“Don’t be so rough with the brush. You want long smooth strokes.”

Again, kiss my ass.

“You just need to relax. Painting should be fun.”

Aaaarrrghhhhhh! Did you just say, “Relax?”  You want me to RELAX? Then quit sitting across from me staring at me haphazardly mixing my paints and roughly smacking the canvas with my paint brush!!!!

{Shit, has it really only been 45 minutes?}

“I absolutely don’t let anyone paint flowers for their first painting.”

Huh? I didn’t realize this was a dictatorship.

“You need to add more black.”

Got it.

“You need to add more black.”

I heard you the first time.

Do you really like oils?

Yes, I like how you can smoosh (It’s a painting term. Look it up.) the colors together. {Clearly oils are wrong and acrylics are right.}

Meanwhile, in between his blurts stated above, he shows us another one of his paintings (ooh, aah), visits the three other painters-in-training and murmurs helpful hints. Then, one of these murmurs catches my attention.

Artiste: “Would you like a glass of wine? There’s only enough for one glass.”

Huh? What about the one that needs to relax?

Mrs. Flirty (sitting behind me): “Sure.”

Then, I hear, “How did you end up in the Midwest?”

It’s a legitimate question. I mean how could a bunch of unrefined, dumb hicks ever appreciate his sheer acrylic brilliance? They don’t even offer Art Appreciation class in Indiana anymore because we all flunked it. There is an ugly rumor circulating that all the cool stuff hits the coasts first and then eventually trickles inward to us poor Midwesterners. I personally don’t think that’s true. I just heard a new band on the radio – Hootie & the Blowfish. Ever heard of them? They. Are. Awesome!

It continued:

Mrs. Flirty:  “You should be in New York or an artist colony somewhere.”

Artiste:  “Blame it on the wife (wives can be such bitches!). She wanted to live in the Midwest so we moved here.

Wow. Wow. Wow. When is this class going to end?

When I finally got home, I was so wound up that Mike was confused (because I was supposed to be relaxing) and then eventually amused by my irritation.

The only true bright spot during the entire ordeal occurred at the end of class. The sweet 14-year-old student sitting next to me looked at my painting and said, “Wow, your painting is way cooler than the actual picture.” Take that, Artiste!

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Who Wants to Get Married by Elvis?

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Maddie: “Mommy, you know how you always say that you want us to elope and then come home for a party (reception)?”

Me (uh oh): “Uh, yeah.”

Maddie: “Well, somehow the topic of  weddings came up and I told Mrs. Friend’s Mom about what you said. She was really shocked and really kind of surprised that you would say anything like that. She just couldn’t believe it.”

[Oh, greeeaaaat. Mrs. Friend’s Mom, who is really a very nice person, now thinks I’m crazy, cruel and/or un-American. Sometimes I can relate to Christine in the New Adventures of Old Christine especially when she is trying to fit in with the moms in her kid’s school.]

Me: “Really? Hmmm… “You know I’m kidding when I say things like that, right?”

Maddie: “It doesn’t sound like you’re kidding.”

Am I kidding? Well, kind of. When did my kids actually start listening to me anyway?

Sometimes I forget Maddie is very black and white, very literal (the nuances of what is being said can get lost in translation). The other two usually roll their eyes and ignore what I say when it sounds silly or unreasonable. Not that girl.

And, Maddie also stores everything I say in her little “shit my mom says” brain vault for use against me later. She never regurgitates the “good” stuff for the masses (I have spouted some valuable words of wisdom, haven’t I?).

Back to the nuptials, don’t you think the craze of these uber-expensive weddings is insane? “That’s not real life, you know that, girls. Right?” ” Daddy and I didn’t have a wedding like that and we’re still happily married.”  Blah, blah…

Girls: Yes, Mommy dear.”

One summer, my hairdresser (God, how old am I? I meant to say, “salon technician“) was in 5 or 6 weddings and well on her way to 27 dresses. I kid you not! Well, two years later, over half of these marriages are over with a capital O and a capital VER. And, some of these weddings were over-the-top even by my Technician’s standards (not just mine). All I kept thinking was, “Those poor parents. If that were my daughter, I’d kill her!”

Yeah, I know. That’s not a very compassionate attitude toward my lovies so I won’t share that with my kiddos (just you guys). I don’t think they read my blog.

My methods may be unorthodox (jokingly encouraging elopement), but I’m trying to keep my kids grounded in the real world. Raising kids in our community along with the crazy media images makes the goal of raising grounded children difficult.

Speaking of weddings, I would like to report that the hubs and I will be celebrating two milestones this February:  the 30th anniversary of our first date and our 21st wedding anniversary! (Yeah, I know, 9 years of dating. It was a process, but I finally talked him into it). 🙂

Happy Anniversary, Baby!

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Infested

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thud-scurry-scurry-pitter-patter

What was that noise?

scurry-shuffle-scurry-shuffle-thud

Was that the dog? Looking at him (see pic), I determine that it’s not the dog.

Is it my keyboard? After abruptly silencing the keyboard, I hear the noise. It’s not the keyboard.

Oh. My. God. You may be seeing us on a future episode of Infested! on Animal Planet.

It sounds like a huge critter – chipmunk? squirrel? possum? raccoon? Believe it or not, we’ve had run-ins with all afore-mentioned critters with the exception of the squirrel (yes, we have squirrels, but none have been so bold as to enter our house).

Possums:

In our previous house, we had a h-u-g-e one (it was the size of a beagle) die under our deck a week before we put the house on the market. Didn’t we notice that our nightly visitor hadn’t been seen in a couple of days? Sure, but we didn’t realize that he had met his maker under our deck until the stench of rotting flesh permeated our house. Needless to say, the hubs and his dad had to tear up the deck to remove the dead possum. We did get the house fumigated, the deck repaired and the house sold within a week of the possum’s demise.

In our new house, we had baby possums dropping from our ceiling in the basement. That was fun. Our first home improvement project? Replacing the drop tile ceiling with a drywall one.

Raccoons:  In our very first house, we had a detached garage and there was a very large raccoon living up in the rafters. Eeeeek! It didn’t stay long, thank goodness.

Chipmunks:  Check out the story here.  It’s worth the read – it’s one of our family favorites.

Okay, so back to the present. What did I do this morning? I did what every normal woman does in these situations – I bugged my husband at work with a problem that he couldn’t possibly do anything about and then got frustrated when he didn’t get on the crazy train with me. I needed a panic partner, not a calm fix-it guy.

[Duh! I knew that I should be calling a professional critter guy instead of you. Don’t you know me by now?]

Why do I do that? I do it so I’m not panicking alone, but then it always backfires on me. Because, of course, the hubs trying to be calm, sensible, and matter-of-fact added fuel to fire by saying, “Well, it probably means ripping out drywall and the ceiling.” 

Great. I’m now on the crazy train alone and shivering with visions of possums living and laughing in the space between our first and second floors.

I only wanted some validation that my gut was right in thinking that I should call our bug guy (yeah, we have a bug guy) for a critter guy recommendation.

Always go with your gut. Call the bug guy first.

By the way, I got a recommendation from the bug guy for a critter guy.  I called and got his voicemail – he sounds like what you think a critter guy would sound like (think “good ole boy” that’s seen a lot in his day). I hope he calls me back………..

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Pour the Whine!

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***Cough, cough*** Whining Alert –  I’ve been sick with something or other since mid-November and I’m really sick and tired of it. I’m now recovering from my third round of illness which turned out to be bronchitis/sinusitis. My morning wake-up cough sounds like an old man who’s smoked for 50 years – gross! A 46-year-old woman shouldn’t sound like that.

I’m on my third round of antibiotics – wish me luck.

Anyhoo, the mokus is why I haven’t posted anything since mid-December. I’m barely getting through the day doing the stuff I have to do (shower, work, laundry, grocery shop, cook, drive kids around, etc.). I’ve been going to bed at 8:30 – 9:00 pm every night with codeine cough syrup as a nightcap. Not very exciting.

Since I’ve been woefully neglectful of my writing duties, I thought I would alert you to a new blog. A friend of my started one about the joy of home ownership and the art of rennovation. You should check it out – Beez Houz.

(BTW, she also has another blog – Writerly.)

Happy Reading!