Original Packaging

We bought a new coffee maker a few weeks ago.  Turns out it has a spitting problem.  Not just a little spit as it clears out its pipes, no, this is more of a long, drawn out drool.  Anyway, we had to take it back for a redo.  While we were putting it back into its original packaging (as was required), our little kid started howling and making all kinds of unnecessary, and quite annoying, sounds.  Really, I'm all for a good howl, but the kid spontaneously and frequently howls, whistles, chirps, yodels, sings opera, etc. at a moment's notice, for no particular reason, causing all those around him to startle and then begin twitching until they determine what, exactly, has gotten their brickles up.

Anyway, this time his parents did a little mumbling under their breath.


Dave:  "Did you ever think when we had them that they'd be so annoying?"

Me:  "No, and we don't have the original packaging any more, so we can't return them."


In all seriousness, folks, 'tis true...we tossed out their placentas about ten years ago when we lost power for several days after a storm.  Sadly, placentas don't keep well under such conditions.

So, why did we have their placentas in the freezer?

Because we had home births with each kiddo.  Midwives leave the placenta for you to do whatever you want with them.

What were we going to do with them?

Well, I was a hippie mom, so my plan was, I admit it, to bring out my inner animal and possibly eat it.  No small thing for someone who doesn't eat mammals and such.

So, did I eat it?

Ew, no, gross!!


P.S.  We didn't so much "toss" the placentas so much as bury them in the back yard alongside all the other critters who have left us over the years.

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The Great Cookie Debate of 2012

It's been wild here today.  Crazy, I tell ya!!  There's discord amongst the cookie-eating ranks 'round these parts, and it's quite unsettling.  You see, I make chocolate chip cookies...A LOT!  I make hundreds upon hundreds a year.  For quite some time now, Dave has voiced his opinion that he does not like the way my cookies turn out (mind you, this has not curbed his cookie eating one iota).  The boys and their friends LOVE the way they turn out and have actually exhibited some serious cookie addiction issues...it's not pretty, people!

Anyway, Dave thinks the cookies should be crunchy, crispy, and delicious in that particular way.  The boys and their friends prefer cookies that have a moistness about them, a delicious moistness that lasts even days after the initial baking.  Me?  I have no opinion.  I haven't eaten one of my cookies in years.  So, basically, I'm no help in the taste department.  No tie breaking for me, thankfully.

Today I've been jacking with the recipe I've used for many years.  I've managed to crispify the cookies to the point where Dave now loves them.  Victory!!  Only thing, now the boys won't touch 'em.


Text from the little guy tonight after he'd eaten said crispified cookies:  "Can you please stop making bad cookies please"


Wow, that was two "please"s!


My response:  "I'll make the old recipe tonight.  This one was a blend of what you like and what dad likes."

Little guy:  "It didn't mix well"  "Thanks for going back"


Of course now there are two HUGE batches of cookies here tonight.  Please come by.  I'm thinking we seriously need to do a blind taste test.  We'll have the cookies and ballots waiting for ya!!

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Now let's listen to a little somethin' we can all enjoy...

For the past 20 years, all my old punk rock albums have been residing at the top of the closet in the middle bedroom.  First it was big guy's room.  Now it's little guy's.  We were driving somewhere today and somehow we got on the topic of the music I listened to as a kid.  My little guy pulled out his iPhone and opened some app with a bazillion songs accessible.  I rattled off name after name of bands I'd seen here in town during the 80s.  The good, the bad, and the ugly.  The raunchy stuff, I was relieved, was not "good" to him.  The fun and funky stuff, he actually rather dug.  Then it was his turn.  He pulled up songs he liked...and I liked (and already knew) them all.  I don't even mind (too much) the bad language if it's got a good danceable beat.  Then he pulled out some song called "Yonkers" because clearly not offending mom had gotten boring.  Yeah, he lost me there.

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Febrile Dreams

I've had the weirdest dreams this past week.  Fevers will do that to ya.  The most vivid, of course, left me thinking, "Wow!  I must write this down!  This could be a short story...heck, a whole novel!!"  Well, you know how great middle-of-the-night ideas usually turn into the-sun-is-up-and-this-is-crap ideas.  So, what was it?  Well, in this dream I had a cat and a son.  They were both super excited because I'd stopped by the pet store on the way home and gotten them a big bag of little fish.  The bag was writhing with their activity.  I took the bag of fish, my cat, and my kid to a spot near a pond.  I cut a slit in the bag and my cat and my kid stuck their faces in and gobble-gobbled the fish.  Some fell on the ground and they were chased down and crunched.  It was quite the feeding frenzy.

OK, best seller material?

P.S. Please don't interpret this dream...I don't wanna know....

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Snuggling

As my kiddos age, the opportunities to truly snuggle with them has decreased.  So, when I saw my little guy on the couch under a blanket, I invited myself.  I snuggled in next to him and his only objection/request was that I move my head a little so he could see the TV.  Done!  Sigh...warm, blissful, and wonderful.

Until...

Me:  "Stop putting your freezing cold toes on my legs!"  The little toot was scooching the leg of my sweat pants up so he could rob my ankles of their warmth.

Little guy:  "But you're so warm!"


And then...

Little guy:  "Mom!  You farted!"

Me:  "No, I didn't."

Little guy:  "Well, something rumbled."

Me:  <giving him the stink eye...the only stink I had given him>

Little guy:  "Oh, never mind.  My phone was on vibrate, I just got a text."


Ah...snuggling....

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Crazy Old Bird

It appears I've crossed the line...the line into crazy old bird land.  You see, I've been sick for a little while.  I hear from my annoyed loving family that I tell it like a fish tale.  "I've been sick for THIS long!" (Insert picture me holding my arms out really, really wide.)

So, clearly my storytelling skills have been on the increase, right?  Well, apparently my style skills have had the opposite trajectory.  Today I did the HUGE pile of laundry that had accumulated over the past some number of days that I've been sick.  And, did I happen to have any clean laundry come out of all that effort?  Um...well...yes.  One pair of P.J.s that had seriously earned their place in the laundry basket a couple days into my funk.  After folding all of said laundry, I was bushed and I went to bed to take my well-deserved nap of the day.  I came out a while later, feeling refreshed-ish, and saw Dave in the kitchen.


Dave:  "I know you're feeling bad, but do you have to wear your 'crazy old lady' outfit?"  He scanned me from the top of my mussed hair to the bottom of my fuzzy socks.

Me:  "Wha?"  I mean, seriously, I thought I'd pulled off a pretty cute look.  Blue striped jammie bottoms, fuzzy white-ish socks (they were whiter the first day I wore them), a red long-sleeved shirt with some sort of graphics all over it that keeps me from wearing it out of the house, and my bed head hair.  What's not to love?  I went in the bedroom to take a gander of just what that guy must be missing.

Oh....


So, with some regret and full knowledge that I was about to be slightly less comfy, I exchanged my jammie pants for jeans, traded my fuzzy socks for tennies, and I kept the red shirt...after all, I had no plans of going out for goodness sake.  Two hair ties later and this on-the-mend chick had pig tails.  And, ya know what?  I actually felt a little better for the effort.

Please don't tell Dave he was right...I'll never hear the end of it.

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Smaller is Better

Can I just say how wonderful Christmas is when your kiddos are older?  Not that I didn't love all the fun involved with having young "believers" and going through the ritual of staying up way too late and then being forced to get up way too early the next morning.  No, that was totally awesome!  But what is really wonderful is that as I age, and my children do as well, I'm gifted with a much more mellow sort of tradition.

Here's how it went this year.


Last night at about 8:00.

Me:  "Hey, close your eyes while I stuff the stockings."

Little guy:  "OK."

And he did!  And he didn't even try to peek or anything.


This morning around 10:30.

Me:  "Want to look in your stockings?"

Little guy:  "I guess."

Me:  "Go wake up your brother so we can open them."

Little guy:  "Maybe later."


Let me just say that this is no indication of boredom or disappointment on his part.  I consider it a sign of his maturation, his ability to wait.  The dude has mastered delayed gratification!


This morning around 11:00.

The stockings were pulled down form the wall (yes, wall...we live in a house with no chimney...that's a fun one to explain when your kids are little).  Everybody happily took the three or four items from their stocking, displayed appropriate amounts of thrilledness (word?).  We then gave each of our boys two large fan-folded bills tied with a bow, and Christmas was done.

No wrapping paper, no packaging to have to deal with, no immediately broken toys...no stress.


My Christmas wish for all of you?  If you are already at this stage, sit in the calm and love it tremendously.  If this is in your far away future, know that this gift can be yours one day, too.  Now, let's just hang out and love our families...that's the real meaning of all this, right?


P.S. Dave and I did not exchange gifts at all.  Perhaps that was our gift to one another.  Personally, I loved it!

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The Good Side of the Flu

After three days of having a fever and aches, I'm just delusional enough to be finding the silver lining of the flu.

- You get to catch up on tons of sleep.

- You get to watch all those shows on Netflix that you've been meaning to get to (during those limited awake times, that is).

- You get to wake up with your big puppy asleep on the bed next to you.  "Bad doggie," I said as I hugged her closer.

- You actually start to believe that reindeer really do know how to fly.


Happy Holidays everyone!  Wishing you a happy and healthy time with your amazing families!


P.S. Yes, I did get a flu shot.

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I'b sick...

I think I'm noticing a pattern here.  Every time I have a break from work (summer, winter, spring), I start it off being sick as a big ol' sick dawg.  "Why?" I wonder.  Well, I think I've got it figured out.  Pretty sure I string myself out at work, unknowingly of course.  It's not that I don't have plenty of sick days saved up that I could take off work if I needed to...I think it's that I don't want to spend the hours it takes to write thorough lesson plans describing each and every little thing that will likely come up for an unknowing sub.  So, I figure my immune system just patiently waits till there's ample time for me to chill out and be sick...and then it caves. 

Yup, I think it's totally one of my teacher super powers.  Able to beat down cooties in a single bound...until I have some time off, that is.

OK, back to my life as a Nyquil commercial....

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Midnight Texter

I received a text a couple nights ago...at 12:30 A.M.

I managed to not go into panic mode.  I suppose texts are kinder than middle-of-the-night phone calls in that respect.  Turned out my little guy, who was spending the night with a friend, was sick.


Little guy:  "Feel kinda sick what do you think I should do Do you think I should just wait it out until tomarrow"

Me:  "I can come get you."

Little guy:  "Idk i think i might just wait till tomarrow  In your opinion what do you think I should do"

Me:  "I should come get you.  Could be the flu."


So, I put on my best crazy-lady-driving-around-the-neighborhood-in-the-middle-of-the-night outfit.  Yup.  Jammies, tennies, rainbow colored fleece scarf, brown knitted hat, black trench coat, and my mouth guard.  OK, I remembered to take that out as I walked through the kitchen to the door.  Tell you what, I was hoping I wouldn't be stopped by the cops.  I did not want to get out of the car with a spot light on me...no way.

The kid was ready when I got there.  He got in the car looking straight up terrible.  I drove him home with my usual middle-of-the-night drive home talk about how he can always, always call me whenever, wherever, for whatever reason, and I will come pick him up, no questions asked.  I think he heard me through his febrile dilerium.  Got home, tucked him in under three blankets by request, gave him some meds, and said I loved him.

When he feels better we're going to work on the correct spelling of "tomarrow"...

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Pajamas...perfect for pretty much any occasion

I had my M.R.I. appointment today for my elbow bo-bo.  I got there early, as instructed, and sat down with the pile of paperwork I needed to fill out.  Other folks came and went from the waiting room as their names were called.  One couple, however, stood out.  They were both wearing their pajamas.  Now, I'm all for keeping it weird, but I didn't really "get" their get-ups.  Ah, well, eyes down, focus on filling in those blanks.

After a bit, my name was called.  Yay!  I went back with a super nice technician lady, removed all my metal stuff, and followed her to the M.R.I. room.  She explained what would happen, gave me some ear plugs, set me up in the machine so my elbow would be the main focus, told me I needed to "hold my arm very still", and the twenty minutes of racket began.

I lay there, almost immediately wishing I'd chosen a slightly different position for my legs, but I dared not move.


"KA-CHUNG!  KA-CHUNG!  KA-CHUNG!"


I  started thinking about what I needed to get at Target, my next destination.


"KA-CLUNK!  KA-CLUNK!  KA-CLUNK!"


I started thinking about how happy I was that this was winter break...no work for me!


"WHIRRR!  WHIRRR!  WHIRRR!"


I closed my eyes and relaxed.


<SILENCE!>


"You did great!"  The technician entered the room.


I raised my head a bit, suddenly aware that there was a big spot of drool on the pillow my head had been on.


Wow...I am so wearing P.J.s the next time I get an M.R.I.!

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Holiday Traditions

Last night the little guy and I went to the Trail of Lights.  It's something I've gone to most every year since I was a little kid.  Way back then, I remember driving from north Austin, where I grew up, to Zilker Park, just south of the river.  A line of cars would form, and slowly but surely, we'd drive through the park taking in all the lights and wooden cut-outs of cartoon and holiday characters.  In spite of it being decidedly cheesy and, by current standards, low tech, I loved it!  My brother and I would sit in the back seat, sliding side to side, making sure we took in both the left and right.  It was uber cool!

So, when I realized it was going to get cold today (I'm no fan of cold weather), I decided I simply had to go last night while it was still quite balmy.


Me:  "Want to walk down to the Trail of Lights with me?"  We live really close and, thankfully, now it's a walking only event...no cars...woo hoo!

Dave:  "I don't want to."

Big guy:  "No, I've done it, I don't need to do it again."

Little guy:  "Sure!  I love going to that!"

Me:  "Yay!  I'll buy you a funnel cake."


So off little guy and I went, down the big hill, across the park, and there we were...with about a gazillion other people.  For about the first third we felt like cattle being herded to some unknown destination.  Then, suddenly, it thinned out.  I have no idea where those other people went, but I'm glad they did.  We walked and talked, and he even let me take some pictures of him.

An evening with my kid, $10 worth of crappy food/drink, a nice long walk, and beautiful weather made for an awesome night.  This mom is super happy.

P.S. Did ya notice that he agreed to go with me even before I offered the funnel cake?  Yes, indeed!

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Brothers...the good, the bad, the love, and the hatred

Brotherly love hate fill-in-the-blank.  A ten minute glimpse at my life.

I walk in my little guy's room because I hear thuds, some screaming, perhaps even a growl.  My boys are a bundle of arms and legs flailing.

"Stop it." ... I close the door.


I walk in my little guy's room because I hear laughter.  My little guy is sitting on my big guy's lap as they work on editing a video.

"Hi, guys." ... My big guy squeezes my little guy till he fains vomiting, all the while smiling.  I close the door.


I look out the window to the front yard because I hear football plays being called.

I don't say anything, I just enjoy it.


I'm compelled to look again because I hear some grunting and groaning.

I keep my mouth shut and big guy puts my little guy down gently and they high five each other.

I can't keep up, but I'm pretty sure my boys adore each other.

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Dude's Got Moves!

Now, I don't know what started this.  I cannot think of one thing that could have been the catalyst.  But, you see, tonight Dave jumped from his Archie Bunker chair and started dancing.  He began gyrating around in circles while moving his arm up and down, up and down.


Me:  "Um, that's not how you do the sprinkler.  It's like this."  I make my best effort.

Little guy:  "Yeah, dad, that's not it.  It's like this."  He makes much better effort.

Dave:  "I'm being creative.  In fact, any time you guys need me to teach you some new moves, I'm here for ya."


He spun around one more time, waving his arm up and down again and halted abruptly..."I'm dizzy."

I'll be printing business cards for his choreography business tonight.  Let me know if you want one.


P.S. There's nothing much cuter that Dave doing his sprinkle thang.

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What's that you say?

Our old lady dog, Scout, has entered the terrible teenage years.  Or so it seems, as she's acting a lot like my fourteen and seventeen year old boys.  While she's eleven in dog years, she's pulling very teenage-esque tricks.  What exactly do I mean?  Well, she's perfected the art of selective hearing.  Now, we tend to buy into it because, after all, she's blind in one eye, so why not expect that she'd have some hearing issues as well, right?

So, here's what she does.  And, by the way, she's not too smart about it.


Me or Dave:  "Scout, come in."

Scout:  Looks at us briefly, then jumps off the deck and runs the other way.  I can totally see the "What did you say?" voice bubble floating above her head.


Me or Dave:  "Scout, stop licking the dishes in the dishwasher!"

Scout:  "Nom, nom, nom."  That translates into "I hear nothing, I hear nothing!  This is yummy!"


But...every morning when I pull out the jar of mixed nuts, turn the lid, and accidentally on purpose drop several hazel nuts (What is the point of those nuts?  Nasty!) on to the floor, that old lady comes running quick as she can.

...but then the sweet girl can't find the darn things because of her partial blindness, so I tap the floor to help her out.


You're so busted, Scout, but I'll happily play this game of yours with you forever.

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I've entered bad mom territory...again.

I'm quite sure I've crossed the line into bad mom territory...again.  You see, my kid (I won't say which to protect his identity) rarely, practically never, brushes his teeth.  I mean, I'm pretty sure he's on the once a week plan, at the most, and only when seriously nagged.  Now, this in itself does not make me a bad mom.  After all, he's the one who should be responsible for his dental hygiene, right?

What does make me a bad mom is that I'm wishing, seriously wishing, he'd hurry up and get a girlfriend who will, hopefully, let him in on the importance of keeping that and all other areas of his body clean. 

...but she's not allowed to kiss him, of course.

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Kali is not amused...

I try to always keep this blog of mine all positive and silly and stuff...for the most part, anyway.  But, I must file a complaint with the hip-hop gods.  If you're going to create a song that is, at its core, inappropriate for teenagers and younger kiddos to listen to, then you shouldn't make it sound so sweet, pretty, and catchy.

My awkward moment?  In the car with my little guy and a couple of his friends.  "Whistle" comes on the radio.  We're all four singing it together, whistling when appropriate...when it dawns on me that this song is not...in fact...about...whistles. 

Hip-hop gods, you set me up.  Kali is not amused.

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Take a break...you know, if you want to....

I never seek out the news.  For me it was the day that Michael Jackson and Farrah Fawcett died that created in me some sort of Pavlovian response.  TV, with all its commercials, and the news, with all its focus on the negative and sensationalism, simply make me want to vomit.  Knowing and seeing all of that simply is not in my personal best interest.  So, I have not turned on a TV since that summer day in 2009.  In addition I've avoided radio news for the same reason, even my beloved NPR. 

I don't want to propose that anyone else do this...it's totally a personal choice.  But, just perhaps, this is a time to stop watching that screen and, instead, gaze into the eyes of our families and friends.

...just my two cents.

...peace.

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Boogers and Butts...the Things that Make this Mommy Proud

When my kids were little I kept a notebook of charming things they said or did.  These days I pretty much blog about it.  They'd be most displeased if they knew just how much I blogged about them.  Well, as one kid is out with a friend, and the other is home...and the one who is home is being a bit of a turd, it seemed like just the right time to pull that old notebook out and give it a look.  You know, so I could fall in love with their adorableness and all.

I didn't get far before some cuteness popped right out at me.  I double dog dare you to try not to love these little guys.


Big guy (at the age of 3):  "Mommy, I ate a big, big, big, big, big booger in the bathroom!!!"  <beaming with pride, of course>

...and...

Me (at the age of 34):  "You're cute!"

Little guy (at the age of 3):  I not cute, my butt's cute!"


OK, I feel better now.  Watch out boys, mommy's got hugs with your names on them!!!

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The Family Jewels

I went to the bone-ologist today.  Not for my big guy, not for my little guy, it was for me.  You see, I've had a bum elbow for about six weeks now.  The first thing they did was take some x-rays.  They put the lead smock on me and readied my arm.


Me:  "I've heard that it's good to have a thyroid guard when x-rays are being done."

X-ray guy:  "We don't have a thyroid guard, but we have a gonad guard."

Me:  "A gonad guard?"

X-ray guy:  "Don't worry, it's never been used for that."


So, what did I do?  I held that guard to my neck as securely as I would had I been protecting the family jewels. 


P.S. I left there with a wrist guard...yeah, I said that my elbow was in pain...I know, I don't get it either.  I'll let ya know if it works.

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Squealing with Delight

I've known my husband for about twenty-two years now.  There's this thing about him.  You see, he LOVES road construction.  Not when it's impeding his travel, mind you.  He loves the kind that he can see off to the side, the kind that he just knows will shave some time off of his ETA when it finally opens.  So, yesterday, when we went to Costco on one of our dates (yes, we're romantic that way), and the new overpass was open, guess what that guy did.  No guesses?  Well, I'll tell ya. That man-o-mine squealed like that little pig on whatever commercial that is where a pig squeals in delight for way too long, all the way over the exit and overpass.


Dave:  "It's done, it's done!!!"

Me:  "Oh, yay..."  I like to muster up enthusiasm for the guy.

Dave:  "Squeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee..."

Me:  "Oh, mercy..."

Dave:  "...eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee..."

Me:  "Wow, I have to record this."

Dave:  "eeeeeal!"  <silence>

Me:  <pushing record button>  "Come on, Dave, squeal."

Dave:  <silence>

Me:  <realizing that I did not push the record button and, in fact, actually started recording when I meant to be stopping the video>  "Oh, you would've been safe.  I didn't push record when I meant to.  Dang it!"


Man, being a blond is so hard sometimes.


P.S. Just to show you what being a blond is like, I'm putting the four second video of nothingness that I took...right here...right now...on this blog.  Yup.

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A Degree in Dorkiness

Apparently there are degrees of dorkiness...


Little guy:  "Dad is stupid and annoying dorky."

Me:  "What about me?"

Little guy:  "You're just regular dorky."

Me:  "So that makes me better, right."

Little guy:  "Yes."


OK, that's all I needed to know.

Yours truly in regular dorkiness,
Kali

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Some Like it Hot

So, I'm sure you've all faced this, right?  Your sweet, wonderful, perfect puppy gets a taste for eating poop.  It all started when the cat was injured and had to be confined to the house for ten very long litter box-in-the-house days.  Hazel, our puppy, suddenly took on the worst case of halitosis ever!  It took us a while to figure it out, of course.  I just figured the cat was constipated and that's why there was no poop in there.  (For the whole poop scoop, check out my blog post Dogs are disgusting...Cats not so much.)

Well, lucky me, I have a brilliant husband, don't ya know...that guy saddled on up to Google and googled himself a solution.  Turns out we weren't alone in our dog-eating-poop dilemma.  You see, other folks had figured out that if you put Tabasco sauce on the poop in the yard, dogs will avoid eating those previously delicious snacks.

We didn't have Tabasco sauce, but we did have some of that amazing rooster Sriracha sauce that we think goes well on pretty much everything.  Dave went to the fridge, grabbed that green-topped bottle, and went out to the back yard to do the spicy chore.

And, lo and behold, our sweet little puppy's breath has improved immensely!

So, while some like it hot (us), apparently one little dog decidedly does not.

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Dance with Me

I walked into the kitchen, and there was my big guy.  I walked up to him and grabbed him in a big bear hug as I'm likely to do...hard to believe this kid, who is SO MUCH bigger that I am, actually came out of me.

He moved back and forth, to and fro, me still clutching onto him.


Me:  "It's almost like we're dancing."

Big guy:  "Except I'm making mac and cheese."


I'll make of the situation what I will, and I say we danced.  And it was beautiful.

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His stomach is bigger than his eyes...

Any of you have hungry teenage boys in the house?  It's rather unbelievable at my house...and when the friends join us, kawowza, Costco, here we come!

What's in a day's diet for the little guy?


Breakfast:  OK, this guilty mom hangs her head low as I have no idea what he eats before school as he's still asleep when I leave for work.  But, on the weekends, he'll eat a huge stack of pancakes, bacon (if Dave is around...I won't touch the stuff), fruit, and a big glass of milk.

Snack:  Being the great mom I am, I send him with two bags of goldfish and two bags of assorted chips.  (He loves me for that!)

Lunch:  The kid gets 3 school lunch trays, one after the other.  I've felt like a bad mom for not sending him with a brown bag lunch, but he'd totally need a duffel bag lunch!

Snack after school:  Half of a pizza and an apple slide down really easily.

Dinner:  The bigger and starchier the better.  And MEAT!  Again, seriously not my forté, but I make small attempts.

Snack:  Typically chips and guacamole or cookies and milk.


And after he sleeps all night, it starts all over again.  Yeesh!

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Showing up to School Nekkid

We've all had that dream, right?  If not that, then for sure showing up in PJs.  Well, today I showed up to work nekkid!  Not all of me, mind you.  Not even hardly any of me.  You know that feeling you get when you're in your car and you're just moving your car from the driveway to the street so you can use the blower to get all the leaves?  Not me, I mow, don't blow...but anyway...you have this not fully dressed feeling because you didn't bother to put your seat belt on.  Or when you leave the house without your cell phone and you feel like something HUGE is missing.  Well, today I left home without my bike helmet on.  I've done this before, but I always catch it within a block of my house.  This time I made it almost all the way to work when I realized something felt wacky.  My two clues?  The fabulous way the wind felt in my hair...and the shadow I cast looked like Madusa was in da house.  I've consistently worn a helmet since I had a wreck on the State Capitol grounds in 1993.  I had miscalculated a curb jump and my bike and I flipped, it tumbling into the grass a bit away from me, and me landing smack on my back, after bloodying my knees and elbows, and ever so lightly hitting my head.  I was launched full-on into "what could have happened" and bought my first ever-so-dorky helmet on my way home.

So, today as I rode my bike back home, with my helmetless head in charge of planning the whole voyage, I did not enjoy the feel of the wind in my hair at all.  Yup, I'm anti-nekkid...at least as far as my head is concerned.

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A Shot in the Arm

Tonight Dave, the little guy, and I went to get flu shots.  First pharmacy?  Well, they wanted us to wait an hour-and-a-half.  Uh...no.  The next pharmacy?  Fifteen minutes...ish.  So, we stuck around.  Well, turned out the kid couldn't get one because of his age (wassup with that?!?!), so he was trapped with his mom and dad.  Poor kid!

Fifteen minutes turned into about thirty minutes and I had some time to let words ramble around in my brain.  What did I do with that valuable time?  Well...this...my apologies.

"The family that waits together, irritates together."

"The family that jabs together, stabs together." 

"The family that gets shots together, rots together."

Yeah, I know, not my best work. 

Flattery will get you...

...well, pretty much nowhere at my house.


Big guy:  "Mom, do we have any pots that are clean?"

Me:  "I don't know, look."

Big guy:  "There aren't any."

Me:  "Well, you may need to wash one by hand."

Big guy:  "Will you do it?  You're so gooooood at it."

Me:  "Uh, no.  If you practice doing it you'll get gooooood at it."

Big guy:  "Oh, I found a clean one."


Drat!

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"All I Want for Christmas"

It's a lovely thing when you realize your needs are taken care of and your wants are few. What's even more wonderful is having teenagers who also embrace that view of life (OK, we did force it on them just a bit).

We've been talking about the upcoming holiday season and all they want is some cash.  Done!

Such a contrast to the plethora of plastic toys we used to buy/hide/wrap/stay up till 2 AM to secretly display/wake up at 6 AM when they realized Santa had come and gone.  And, yes, I loved all the ritual attached to a youthful Christmas.  But, the evolution that has come with teenagedom is downright blissful.  Leaves us energy to basque in the delight that holiday season is truly about...hanging out with family and friends.

And, speaking of family...well, you know how when you're little and you ask your parents what they want for Christmas and they always say,  "I'd love to have something you made."  Well, at least that's what mine said.  Anyway, I sure hope they still feel that way.

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I Kissed the Wrong Guy Tonight

Took the little guy and a friend of his to the annual lighting of the Zilker Christmas Tree (click here if you've never heard of it).  I've visited this awesome tree most of the past 43ish years...it's simply part of this season for me.  So, tonight we walked down the hill, wandered around as the nearby elementary school choir sang holiday tunes, counted down with the crowd, and CLICK, the tree came alive with a rainbow of lights.  I do love it so!  The kids spun around looking upward, got good and dizzy, and then we walked toward the funnel cake line.  I held on to my little guy's shirt so I wouldn't lose him in the crowd, yup, I'm clever that way.  We got in the line, I turned to check the prices, turned back and kissed my kid on the back.  Only it wasn't my kid!  The good news?  It wasn't a stranger.  Whew!  The bad news?  It was my kid's friend.  While I think he likely felt like vomiting on the inside, he smiled at me politely.

It's a good thing a greasy, sugary funnel cake heals errant kisses.

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Big Hair Gone Bad

I've got this largely unmanageable mass of hair atop my head.  I'm not one to put energy into such things, so my look is, simply, whatever my gone-to-sleep-with-my-hair-wet hair looks like.  So, when I went to Target the other day to buy a hair dryer with a diffuser, I was surprised (in spite of the fact that it was my idea).  Anyway, I bought said dryer with some gift cards I had from this and that occasion.  I got home, dried my hair with it...and, well, it was awful.  I ran to my computer, googled just how to dry one's hair with such an apparatus, and ran back to get my hair wet so I could try again...and it was FABULOUS!  I was seriously rockin' the bouncy curls!  In an orderly way and everything!

So, the next day, still filled with confidence, I dried my hair again...and it was terrible.  Jeepers!  No re-do for me this time, too tired, went to bed.

Next night the little guy begged me to do his hair.  His rather short, not-curly-anymore hair.  I explained the purpose of the diffuser and he insisted anyway.  So, I gave the kid some big Texas hair.  It poked out everywhere.  He hated it...of course.  He picked up the dryer intending to do I don't know what, and it wouldn't turn on.  It was D.O.A.

Apparently using a dryer with a diffuser NOT as intended causes it to self-destruct.  Back to Target it went...and, no, I didn't get a different dryer.  This messy haired chick is happily going back to her lazy ways.

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