MarriedGeeks

Oh I Am Gonna Blow

2009-11-07T22:09:00.001-08:00

Not many words are needed to describe this, but just watching this makes me want to lose my breakfast, lunch AND dinner!

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

Charmin Likes A Little Fantasy Play

2009-11-07T17:52:00.001-08:00

If only she could pay her own way using feather boas at a burlesque show. Probably not gonna happen though.

Don’t bother asking what the boas are actually for. We are all adults here and you already know. I can say I don’t think we will be using them after the dog has been sleeping on them.

I Can’t See Your Eye for that Mouth of Yours

2009-10-22T17:20:00.001-07:00

Braedyn’s 6th birthday proved to be an interesting roller coaster of ups and downs.

First, both Greg and I volunteered in his Kindergarten classroom, which he felt was quite a treat. BUT, he had a sub in his class, so he didn’t get all the usual birthday perks that his teacher usually provided birthday boys and girls. He took it in stride and enjoyed getting to hand out cookies to all the kids in the class as a way to celebrate his day. The best part about that was the cookies we brought turned all the kids’ lips and teeth black. It would have been chillingly zombie-like if it hadn’t been so dang cute.

Not really thinking, I had scheduled his 6-year wellness visit at the pediatrician’s on his birthday. Bad, mommy. Bad. However, the saving grace was he didn’t need any shots (not until the trip we’re all taking in a couple of weeks to get whatever it is we need for China). Greg suggested to Braedyn that “maybe Mommy will get you a treat after the doctor’s office.” Bad, daddy. Bad. Greg was thinking a little food treat, but Braedyn heard “treat” and instantly set his mind on a toy. And when I say “set his mind”, I mean the idea of a toy was like a snare catching a big, bad ass animal and not letting go. Since it was his birthday, I decided, against my better judgment, to take him to to a big, horrible, mega-store and let him pick out something less than $5.

Sigh.

Everything he wanted was of course more than $5, but I had drawn the line in the sand and I wasn’t wavering in my resolve. In fact, we talked about how he needed to find something that had a price starting with a 5 and then a period. It was a good life lesson, right? Well, I let him mull it over and look up and down the aisles… Look up and down the aisles and mull it over… *yawn* There was a complaint here and there about how he wanted things that were over $5, but I let them slide. It was his birthday after all. So, after an HOUR of this mulling and looking, I told him he had 5 minutes to decide. Tears. I calmly explained to him that this was supposed to be a small treat for being good at the doctor’s office and not a birthday present. I also explained to him that his aunts and uncles were looking for ideas of what to get him, so we could make a list of the toys he would like. With the 2 minute warning, I got screams. When I told him he had to pick, he told me I was mean because he wanted toys that were over $5.

*snap* <----- That would be the sound of the straw breaking the camel’s back.

I then told him CALMLY that we were leaving without anything, that he no longer was going to get a toy because his behavior was unacceptable. I’m certain people on the other side of the mega-square-foot store could hear the shriek that came from my son at that moment. Since I had already picked out a couple of other necessities from the evil, mega-corp, I still had go through the check out - with a tantruming 6 year old. I was wishing for a hot poker to the eye instead, but since I had no such luck, I had to endure. The woman ahead of us was telling the checker “that she’s never had any, and for that she was glad.” Kids. I’m sure she meant kids. Then another woman came up to me and put her arm around me and said, “You are doing a great job.” I’m fairly certain she meant that and wasn’t just being sarcastic. I think.

Since he still hadn’t let go of the $5 toy he grabbed when I told him time was up, I had to tell him we were not leaving the store with the toy. It was time to put it down. A young employee of the nefarious, mega-corp was trying to help me by telling Braedyn that if he left with the toy, the alarms would sound and he’d be arrested. Apparently that was enough for the iron grip to release. Then the employee offered him a piece of candy. I was thinking, “That’s nice. She must be handing out Halloween candy.” Um, that would be a no. Instead she pulled out an open bag of gummy worms that she obviously had during a recent break. Then I did a horrible thing. I let him have one. From an open bag. From a stranger. I guess in my desire to get the hell out of the store without another meltdown from my son, I said yes. Not an excuse, but still. It still makes me shudder to think of it now.

So things got back to normal after that. My obviously very tired son would not take a nap before we left for dinner at his favorite “lunch house”, Red Robin. What a treat that ended up being! No sarcasm here. Seriously! It was a blast! We happened to go on a night we never usually go on, and it was “Kids Night”. We had a magician doing tricks at our table that had the kids doing some serious jaw-dropping. Then there were the free ice cream sundaes and birthday song by the employees. And if that weren’t enough, there was an animal balloon maker wowing a slew of kids, mine included. The guy was absolutely amazing, and after my own balloon fiasco, I have an amazing amount of respect for his craft.

The most difficult thing that happened, for me anyway, was not the tantrum in the mega store, if you can believe it. It was a girl walking past us on our way to our car. She had a very large birthmark around her eye, and once I saw it I was nervous that Braedyn would say something. You know, since kids have that knack for pointing out things that seem different to them at some of the most awkward times. I glanced over to him just as his pointing finger was aiming, and as she walked passed us:

Braedyn: Hey, look at her eye!

The girl: Oh, THAT’s nice.

Me: He’s six. He doesn’t understand.

The girl: Fucking kid.

Me: I will explain it to him.

I am SO grateful the kids didn’t hear her swearing, and once in the car, we promptly had a discussion about birthmarks. We explained that it could hurt people’s feelings when you point out things that are different about them. We followed that up with a discussion that being different doesn’t make one bad or scary. We explained that we needed to be considerate of others’ feelings, so if they have a question about something they see that is different, they can always ask us. Of course, I’m saying this out of my mouth, but my head is thinking that I couldn’t see her eye for that ugly fucking mouth of hers. I understand it must be hard for her, and for that I am completely sympathetic. It’s just obvious that she either doesn’t have kids or has never been around any to see how they behave.

It was hurtful to me to hear someone say something so mean to my son. He wasn’t being mean; he didn’t do it to hurt her. When we had our talk with him, he said empathetically that he didn’t mean to hurt her feelings. He has a big heart, and I am very proud of him – even with a crazy tantrum thrown in once in a while. Keeps my parenting skills on their proverbial toes.

It’s hard to believe this all happened in one day. It was a lot for me; I can’t imagine what it must have felt like to my beautiful six year old boy.

SOME Assembly Required.

2009-10-19T00:40:00.001-07:00

I want to know what marketing genius came up with the idea to sell a toy that comes completely UNASSEMBLED. It’s brilliant. No costs associated with machine or child labor required to pre-assemble your nanoparticle toy. The cost savings must be ENORMOUS. As such, screw anyone who tells you American kids are dumb. Those people have never SEEN the toys that 5 year olds are putting together.

Braedyn has a birthday coming up and grandpa sent him a check and boy was he ready to spend it. It just so happened the check was for the same amount as the BIONICLE he was just dying to get. BTW, its capitalized because on all the packaging and in the books its always written out as BIONICLE, just incase you weren’t paying attention.

Not making this up.. B I O N I C L E.

So we went to the Toys-R-Us with new in store MiniMart (again, I am not making this up) where you can now pickup your iPod, BIONICLE, gallon of milk, all natural potato chips and a Hanson soda. I didn’t check to see if they had PBR and Clove cigarettes, but if they do, its a college students DREAM.

“Dude, lets hit ToysRUs, you get the new Rock Band and the Drum Set while I get someone to score smokes and booze for us.” A ONE STOP SHOP.

So we are browsing the aisle looking for the BIONICLE that he wants when he spots it. The main character from the recently released direct to DVD BIONICLE:THE LEGEND REBORN in a LIMITED EDITION. It was the first and only time I have seen a 5 year old make a decision and stick to it. Instantly.

I didn’t look closely at the box, or I would have noticed it said in GIANT BIONICLE lettering, 368 pieces. It might as well have read “This toy contains more pieces than there are insurance lobbyists fighting health care reform.”

Seriously. The toy has 2 books of instructions and just in case you think I am making this up. Behold. Book 1 & Book 2. Even the boy was scared. See the fear. Its real alright.

So we buckled down. We hit a couple road bumps, like missing pieces or the old man needing to get up and stretch, but after three Redbulls ( I just drank water) and TWO hours of assembly time it was complete and it was time for a nap (for me of course).

Behold BIONICLE MATA NUI with articulated fingers (assembled right here in Reno Nevada using child labor).

Who are you again and why am I naked?

2009-10-19T00:00:00.001-07:00

I am back. I know, its been a long time since I have blogged. I was kidnapped by agents of The Company. I can’t talk about it, if I did, I would have to kill you.

After my daring escape I was left with severe injuries to my shoulder and right elbow. Those coupled with my prior foot issues left me in a great deal of pain and crippled by night terrors of my torture and abuse from The Company.

Really, its just so horrifying I can’t talk about it.

So like any injured superspy I went to my local physician who subscribed a plethora of medications to help ease me back into society. These were not without side effects which were pointed out to me in a rather public way.

Several weeks ago the family attended another of Braedyn’s soccer games. As we were heading toward the field I asked “which one are we on this week.”

Susanne replies “The same as last week.”

It was obvious to me that we were NOT headed towards the field we played on the week before so I say with absolute confidence (because you all know I am NEVER wrong) “no, we were on that field over there.”

My wife gives me a look that really couldn’t have been described any less than “are you fucking kidding me?” and says just as gently “UH NO, we were on THIS field over here,” pointing again in the WRONG direction (because you see, I KNOW I am right).

“Uh No, we sat right over there, “ I confidently point.

At which point another mom from the soccer team replies. “No, that was the week before. Last week we sat right here.” Pointing again in the opposite direction that MY PERFECT mind remembers.

And then Susanne leans over and says “Wow, those drugs did a real number on you. I KNEW something was wrong last week.”

What? Me? In a complete altered state. Well my dear readers, it turns out she was right (just this once we will let her pretend it happens more often than not). I sat down (it so happens in almost the exact same spot as the prior week) and that’s when the small flashes of memory started coming back.

It was like being in a really cool action movie, glimpses of memory coming back in quick little flashes, like in a Michael Bay movie where everything moves really fast and nothing makes any sense but you don’t care because it just LOOKS cool. Except it was flashes of my life which is more like the movie Parenthood except my wife is much hotter than Mary Steenburgen and I am so way better looking than Steve Martin, and funnier, except when I blog because I don’t want him to feel bad.

So it’s time for my meds again. Now what was I doing and where are my pants?

You Yellin’ at ME?

2009-10-02T16:07:00.001-07:00

Today was my second Friday volunteering for parent patrol at Braedyn’s school, where I help kids and parents cross the street. This volunteer job is not without its perks, let me tell you. I do get to make quite a fashion statement with my bright neon yellow jacket with the words PARENT PATROL across the back. And the hand-held stop sign gives such a rush of power. I mean, cars listen to me! My kids don’t even do that!

When asked if I would volunteer, of course I gave an enthusiastic “Yes!” I mean, what’s better than giving your self-esteem a boost doing your civic duty AND being a role model for your kids at the same time!? I did pick the busiest intersection however, which as a rookie parent patroller may not have been the wisest move. I did it in order to be right by the Kindergarten corner, so I could give sporadic glances over to my son in the play area.

So what – two cross walks. No biggie, you are thinking. Well, throw in soccer moms running late to school, cars coming from three directions, people coming from ALL directions, and you can see how this becomes a bit of a challenge.

Generally speaking, I get lots of “Go Parent Patrol” shout outs, many “good morning” acknowledgements, and lots of thank you’s. It is actually a nice way to start my Fridays.

And then, there are days like to today when a MOM YELLED AT ME WHILE DOING MY VOLUNTEER WORK. Yup. Yelled at me. She said that I can’t just jump in the street. Given how many cars and how many people were waiting on little ole me, I simply said, “I’m doing my best.” After she drove off, I kind of kicked myself for not ending that sentence with “bitch.”

I know it seems like an easy job, and for most of the time I am out there, it is. But there are about five minutes where the traffic, both auto and foot, is very high, and it is an intense job.

To that lady who yelled at my VOLUNTEER work today, I’d just like to say, if you think you can do a better job, I’ll show you where to get the brightly colored fashion-statement jacket, and I welcome you to do some VOLUNTEER work yourself. Bitch.

Out of the Mouth of Babes

2009-10-01T20:05:00.000-07:00

I am going to update these sayings as they occur. I don’t want them to be lost.

November 2009
Me: Would you like to go to a park?
Braedyn: I was kinda wanting to get a donut.
Me: <chuckling> I was hoping to get you outside while it is nice and let you play.
Braedyn: <with a big smile> Well, we could go outside to eat our donuts!

October 2009
Greg: Did Bo [Braedyn’s teddy bear] get a bath today?
Me: No, I didn’t get another load of clothes going.
Greg: <jokingly> slaaaaaaaaaaaacker!
Braedyn: slaaaaaaaaaaaaacker!
Emily: slaaaaaaaaaap her!

Me: Ow! <doubled over with a cramp in my side>
Braedyn: Are you ok?
Me: Yes, thanks. It’s just a cramp.
Braedyn: Maybe it’s growing veins.

August 2009
After spending a lot of time following the directions to build a Spiderman space ship made of Legos:
Me: That is SO cool, Braedyn! It kicks bum-bum!
Braedyn: <big smile and a giggle> Yes, it does. Spiderman could save the world with this. <pause> If it was bigger. <another pause> And if it wasn’t made out of toys. <yet another pause> And if it was real.

DIY Network was on when the TV was turned on, and Braedyn wanted to watch the construction activity going on the show called Wasted Spaces. I turned it off thinking that’s what he wanted, and he got upset and said, “I want to watch Wisted Spices!” I replied, “You mean, Wasted Spaces.” He got upset again and said, “No, it is called Wisted Spices, WISTED SPICES!!” I couldn’t help but laugh because the show is hosted by an English dude... with a thick accent.

June 2009
After brushing his teeth tonight, Braedyn had blue toothpaste smeared all over his mouth. Greg filled the palm of his hand with water and asked Braedyn to put his mouth in the water so he could wipe off the toothpaste. Braedyn leaned over and inhaled at the same time, causing him to get a nose full of water. Greg said, “Buddy, I just wanted you to put your mouth in the water,” to which Braedyn replied, “But my nose is too close to my mouth!”

While sitting at the table coloring, Emily made up her own song with these lyrics: “Sometimes Mommy says yes! And sometimes Mommy says no.” Then she told me she didn’t want to go to jail.

5/20/2009
Dad: Emily, since today is your mommy’s birthday I need you to listen to her words, make good choices, not fight with your brother and just try to give mommy a great day. ok?
Emily: Ok daddy, after I finish my movie.

5/2009
I handed Emily a green goldfish cracker while she was coloring. She picked up the green crayon and said, “This is the same color!” In my forever attempt to teach Emily her colors, I asked her what color it was. She replied, “It’s the fish cracker color.”

After seeing a bulging vein in my arm, Emily points to it and says, “That’s what aliens have.”

After finally noticing a wedding picture of Greg and me in the hallway, Emily says to me, “Mommy, when I get bigger, will you marry me?”

I’ve had a cold, so the kids know that I can’t give them kisses on the lips because I don’t want them to catch it. When Greg went in to Emily’s room to kiss her goodnight, she told him not to kiss her on the lips. She had the “hippups” and didn’t want him to catch them.

4/2009
While telling ghost stories in the dark in my closet, Braedyn says: And the monster turned into a giant! A huge giant! Huger than the other giants. Huger than trees! HUGER than squirrels!

Braedyn: Are there people inside the Ninja Turtles?
Greg: No, they are supposed to be real turtles.
Braedyn: <look of slight confusion> But, they aren’t very slow.
Greg: And thus the irony of NINJA turtles.

Emily: Color with me, Mommy.
Me: OK. What color is this? <holding up a marker>
Emily: Ummmmm, I don’t know.
Me: Can you guess?
Emily: No. You guess.

Emily: <dancing>
Me: <smiling at Emily dancing>
Emily: <notices me smiling at her> Stop it! You interrupted me!
Me: Are you sure you aren’t a teenager?

Braedyn: <waking up too early…AGAIN>
Me: <ready to tell him to go back to bed>
Braedyn: Daddy! Did you hear the birds twittering?
Me: Awwwwwww!

3/2009
Emily: I want to catch a fish.
Me: Fun! You want to be a fisherman?
Emily: No! <indignant> I be Fisher EMILY.

2/2009
Emily: Mommy, can I have a scissor?
Me: You mean scissors? Yes, you can have some scissors.
Emily: No, Mommy. Scissor. Just one.

The following is a conversation between Braedyn and Greg during the bedtime reading of the book, The Nightmare Before Christmas:
Braedyn: Daddy, that dog doesn’t have any legs.
Greg: Right. He’s a ghost dog.
Braedyn: But how does he float?
Greg: He floats because he’s a ghost dog.
Braedyn: But he doesn’t have legs. How does he float?
Greg: He’s a ghost, a ghost dog.
Braedyn: But how does he float?
Greg: He’s a GHOST.
Braedyn: But he doesn’t have any legs. How does he do that?
Greg: It’s magic ghost powers.
Braedyn: <clearly satisfied> Oh. OK.

1/2009
Braedyn: Do flies poop?
Me: Yes. Everything poops.
Braedyn: Only people, fish, birds…and strangers poop.

12/2008
Emily: Daddy, your hair is growing. You have to mow it.

Braedyn: Mommy, can I get Hot Wheels for doing chores again?
Me: I don’t know, Braedyn. I’ll have to think about it. Chores are things you really should do to help out around the house without necessarily getting a toy to do it. I mean, I do a lot around the house all the time and I don’t get rewards for it.
Braedyn: Mommy, I’ll let you have one of my Hot Wheels after you do stuff around the house.

As I opened a gift that included a bottle of wine:
Emily, pointing to the wine: HEY! That’s daddy’s cup!
Me: No. His looks like a box.

Braedyn: Emily, your mom doesn’t have a force field on your planet?
Emily: No, she doesn’t.
Braedyn: Mine does.

Emily: Mommy, I want you to sit in my lap.
Me: You would like me to hold you?
Emily: No. I want you to sit in my lap.

11/2008
Braedyn: When Granny was here last night, she let us have ice cream.
Me: Well that was a special treat!
Braedyn: Yeah, she splitted us.
Me: You mean she spoiled you?
Braedyn: Yeah, she spoiled us.

11/04/2008
Me: Today is an important day in our country. We are going to find out who the next President is. Mommy voted and hopes the person she voted for gets the job.
Braedyn: Yeah, but when Daddy gets home can I show him my new Power Rangers phone?

10/2008
Emily: Mommy, what’s your name?
Me: Susanne.
Emily: What's my name?
Me: Emily.
Emily: What's Braedyn's name?

09/2008
Greg to Emily: Who’s your Daddy?
Emily: Mommy is.

Me: How did you get all that ink on your legs?
Braedyn: I don’t know. It just bounced off the paper onto my legs.

Braedyn after I snuck up on him: Agh!!! You fartled me!

Braedyn: Mommy! Emily is going to tell on me!

Braedyn: EMILY! Be quiet! I can’t hear the lightning with you talking!

08/2008
Braedyn: Mommy, Emily wants an Elmo party on her planet.

Emily: Take a picture of my bones.
Braedyn: I can’t! Your skin keeps getting in the way.

Emily: Mommy, turn off the wind!

Emily: (Covering and uncovering her eyes) Pee poo!
Me: Peek-a-boo!
Emily: Pee poo!

Braedyn: Mommy, when I trick my treat, can I be Batman?

Braedyn: Daddy, I remember when you were a kid.
Emily: Daddy, you’re an old guy.

Braedyn: (While trimming his toes) My big toe is getting old.

Braedyn: Mommy, Emily is taking a long time to grow up.

How Do You Say Box Wine in Mandarin Chinese?

2009-09-18T14:31:00.001-07:00

I’ve been a bit absent lately for a couple of reasons. First, I haven’t been feeling all that great, but I am happy to report that I am starting to feel better. Hooray! Second, my head is going to pop thinking about some life changes coming down the pipeline. You know, little things.

Like what, you ask?

LIKE MOVING TO BEIJING, CHINA FOR 6 MONTHS!

Yup. You read right. Now, it isn’t etched in stone, but Greg’s work wants to send him to Beijing to train a new group of people in the art of game making. And being a stay-at-home mom, there is no reason why we can’t go along with him for this uber cultural experience. Now, I have to admit that at first I was all WHAT? CHINA? BUT… BUT… AGH!

*pop* <--- The sound of my head exploding.

And then I started talking to people who were all CHINA! COOL! WHAT AN EXPERIENCE!!! So, I actually started to think about it seriously, and now I’m very excited about it. I’m nervous beyond belief about everything we need to do to prepare a family for this temporary move, but also very excited. I’m nervous about the submersion into a culture with which I’m not hugely familiar, but also challenged. So far to get prepared, we have:

shown the kids on google earth where Beijing is (“the other side of the world”)
checked out a bunch of books and movies from the library about Beijing and Chinese culture
checked out a Mandarin Chinese language program from the library
scoured the Internet on expat experiences and recommendations
asked about a bazillion questions
created to do list after to do list
started recording Ni Hao, Kai-Lan on Nickelodeon

So, I’ve only learned a couple of words in Mandarin Chinese so far. It is a very tough language to learn. OK, maybe it’s that I’m older now and it doesn’t stick to my I-have-had-two-kids-and-subsequently-lots-of-wine brain. Whatever the reason, I remember one word and forget the last one I learned. It’s freakin’ hard! Nothing like the Spanish and French I learned in school. So, thanks to Kai-Lan and her grandpa, I have learned:

Ni hao – hello
la – pull
yeah-yeah – grandpa

As you can see, I have a lot of work to do. Since the language relies a lot on tone to deliver meaning, one word or sound can have multiple meanings depending on the way it is said. The word for wine, from what I understand, can mean old, nine, or wine. So, when I go into the store asking for box wine, I’m either going to get beat up for calling someone old, going to be constantly escorted to aisle nine, or going to get the golden liquid that I desire. Please, please, keep your fingers crossed for the latter.

Bouncy Houses for God

2009-09-09T15:25:00.001-07:00

I am appalled by the amount of shit that hit the fan when the President of our United States wanted to address the students of our country. Parents threatening to not send their kids to school. Facebook was crawling with polls about this “controversial speaking to students”. News sites were reporting stories of parents freaking out with worry that their children were going to be brainwashed. And all of these panties in a bunch and ruffled feathers were for what? Because the President wanted to encourage students to take an active role in their education.

GASP!

He wanted to talk to them about the value of an education.

OH THE HORROR!

He wanted to energize kids who might find school difficult.

WHAT WAS HE THINKING?

He wanted to express the importance of doing homework.

WHO WANTS THAT?

My Kindergartener did not get to see President Obama’s speech. I wanted him to, but he didn’t get to. His class didn’t see it. I have not found out yet why this is. Did enough people call and complain? Did the school district as a whole decide they weren’t going to air President Obama’s address to their students? Did they think Kindergarteners wouldn’t watch?

On the VERY SAME DAY that my son DID NOT see an encouraging speech from the President of the United States, he came home with a flier he had been given for a “community event” hosted by a religious organization. Cross on the flier and all. But they are giving away a Wii! But there will be seven different bouncy houses! What kid wouldn’t be enticed by that? Apparently the school district can get away with pushing a religious event (let’s call a spade a spade) by placing the following disclaimer at the bottom:

Distribution of this material does not constitute an endorsement by the school district. It is provided as a community service.

So, I’m trying to wrap my brain around this one. Work with me here.

Encouraging speech for the students?

No.

Religious propaganda distributed through school?

Yes.

Students enlightened by a President who cares about them?

No.

Schools encouraging bouncy houses for God?

Yes.

OK, I’m still trying to wrap my head around this very whacked scenario. It may take me a while… Thinking… thinking… thinking…

Nope. I don’t get it. You?

Out with the Old, In with the… Turtle?

2009-09-08T14:30:00.001-07:00

Greg and I finished getting rid of our 200 things without a whole lot of effort. Actually, the largest effort came trying to find the time to pick our 5 things each day. On a couple of occasions, we would go a few days without picking anything. Then we’d have a frantic, “Oh damn, I have to pick 20 things today!!” But we prevailed, and got rid of a room’s worth of crap we just didn’t need.

I’m frantically looking over my shoulder as I type this however, because the entire time Greg and I did our contest, we kept the door locked to the room that held all of this stuff. It has been weeks now and even though the kids haven’t noticed any MIA toys, if they saw them in a picture, the waterworks would never stop. “But that was my FAVORITE toy!” Uh-huh. Sure.

We got rid of most of the stuff - gave some away, had another yard sale, and the rest is still in the back of the car waiting to be dropped off at the Salvation Army. And what did we do with the $97.60 we made at said yard sale? We spent it on the newest member of our family:

Blogoshpere, meet Spikey Back Rock Star III. Spikey Back Rock Star III, meet the blogosphere.

Our neighbor found this little guy in his back yard stuck head first in his drainage pipe. It is a good thing he was discovered because he surely would have met his demise before too much longer. We were having a family BBQ when our neighbor poked his head over the fence with the little guy and said, “Hey, you guys want a turtle?” After all the kids stopped screaming “YES!”, Greg took him from our neighbor and got fondled by all the kids. The turtle, not Greg. So, Spikey Back Rock Star III, or Spike for short, lived in our cooler outside for about a week until we figured out what we were going to do. Keep him? Give him away? Decisions, decisions.

After a couple of days filled with hemming and hawing, and hawing and hemming, Greg found someone selling an entire turtle setup on Craigslist for the low, low price of $100. Being the consummate bargain hunter, I said, “email them and ask them if they’d take $50",” thinking there is no way they’d take half the asking price. Then we’d be tipping the scales toward the turtle-free solution. Yeah, not so fast. They took half the asking price. And now we have this little critter in our lives. I also keep hearing from Emily how pretty the lady was that sold it, so it was a little bonus for our pick-up guy, aka my husband.

Now that he is in an actual turtle habitat with the correct water temperature, food, etc., Spike couldn’t be happier. And honestly, neither could we. He’s really fun to watch.

So what if we spent $50 on the setup and another $50 on all the accoutrements a turtle could need. We didn’t technically go out of pocket. Right? At least this pet won’t pee on my carpet.

My Back Pocket Voodoo Dolls

2009-08-25T14:00:00.001-07:00

I recently read Libby Logic’s post about the atrocious customer service her family received at one of their local restaurant chains in Utah, and my feathers got all ruffled and pissed off for her. I got all “what’s the matter with people today?” and “where has common courtesy gone?” and “WTF are people thinking?” and “people think they are all that and a bag of chips!”

OK, you get the point. Customer service today sucks.

Then I started thinking. How can we expect to get a smile and a sincere hello from people we don’t know when there are atrocities being committed by the ones we do? I have two friends that have had horrible things happen to them by the person who was supposedly there to love and cherish them. Which leads me to why I carry around two voodoo dolls in my back pockets. Why there? Because I hope they feel the burn when I sit on them.

Two stories. Two mega assholes. I have changed the names of the innocent but kept the names of the guilty. First, my dear friend, Cicely (name changed to protect her), who doesn’t have an evil bone in her body, was 5 months pregnant when her partner of FIFTEEN years decided he didn’t love her anymore and wanted a divorce. Yeah, so my first voodoo doll is named Mark (name not changed).

Second, my friend, Brenda (name changed to protect her), had given her all to her partner. This dynamo has a huge heart too, so that is saying a lot! She sold her house and put all of her money into making a new, remodeled home with this woman. She became a parent to her child and loved her like her own. Then about five years into the relationship, Brenda was told to move out. No warning. Just get out. And our backasswards laws don’t protect same-sex partnerships, so she lost everything. EVERYTHING. So my second voodoo doll is named Nicole (again, no name change here).

Cicely and Brenda are both strong women with amazing hearts and are moving along nicely. I like to think that my having grudges and fostering ill-will through my dolls helps. I hold the grudge, so they don’t have to. Sitting on Mark and Nicole makes me feel better.

So, carry a voodoo doll around with you. Next time someone stiffs you on the breadsticks, whip it out and twist an arm or two. It might just make you feel better. It works for me.

Fun for the Family? I Think Not.

2009-08-17T14:13:00.001-07:00

I have written before about how I have what appears to be a lifetime subscription to a magazine that claims to be chalk full of fun family ideas. Only, every time I look through the magazine, I’m more perplexed that people actually DO the things detailed in it. Make your own toy bin? No thanks. Make crafty little form letters to fill out for your kids’ teachers? Um, I’m more of an email person myself.

Apparently the makers of this magazine put out colorful books full of all sorts of recipes and crafts “the whole family will love.” I only discovered they had these other publications when one of the moms at Braedyn’s new school pulled out one of the hardcover books, set it down in front of me, and exclaimed, “ I LOVE their magazine!” Wow. I am just *not* that mom. When the kids ask to do crafts, that means I put out a bin of various craft odds and ends – maybe some pipe cleaners, some buttons, markers, colored paper, scissors, stickers, and glue – and say “go for it!”

What can I say? The magazine bugs me, and this month’s edition is no different. It just doesn’t seem practical to me. The only time I look through it is while sitting on the pot in the bathroom. I get 30 seconds of peace (usually) and I use that time to flip through whatever magazines I have put in the magazine rack. Today, the fun makers mag intrigued me, so I decided to flip during my 30 seconds of “pee”ace. It claimed to have creative ways to save money on school clothes.

You know what their creative idea was? It’s to cut, glue, and sew new clothes out of their old clothes. An example of which, the little girl is wearing on her arm in the picture. Again, I am *so* not that mom. If I had written the article, it would have said:

Want to save money on school clothes? Go garage saling!

Seriously, I have picked up incredible clothing that is like new or new for *PENNIES*! A quarter here, 50 cents there, and you have a new outfit. And you save yourself all the headache that comes with the glue fumes, unless you are into that.

That’s It. You’re Grounded.

2009-08-14T14:14:00.001-07:00

When I used to rock Braedyn to sleep as a baby, I used to tell myself that I would never EVER forget how wonderful that very moment felt. By the time Emily was a baby, I realized there is no holding on to a moment like that because all the beautiful intricacies of those precious moments like those I had with Braedyn were gone. I could think of them fondly, but the full-body essence of those moments were gone forever. So, with Emily I told myself that I was going to fully embrace and cherish those precious moments with her as a baby as they happened. Thinking back on them just isn’t the same. Enjoy the moment now.

Because they grow up.

Braedyn knows he is not allowed to, but the little stinker just won’t listen to me. I am always telling him he is not allowed to grow up any more. He thinks this is hilarious. One day after I threatened a good grounding if he grew any more, he said, “but I want to be a teenager.” Oh boy. After a good long sigh, I told him that I would only allow him to become a teenager - one day - if and ONLY if he promised to still love me the way he does now. Again, he thought this was hilarious, but he smiled a huge smile and promised me. After all, in his mind today, there is no world without giving oodles of love to his one and only mommy.

This week proved to me there is just no stopping time. It was a week jam packed with firsts.

First day of Kindergarten. He loved it. Grinning from ear to ear, he wore his Bakugan backpack (“packpack”) as we walked to school. As all the parents were flashing pictures and wiping tears, he didn’t show an inkling of nerves and held his head high.

He didn’t quite grasp the whole idea of school being something he’d be doing for the next decade or two though because the afternoon after that first day, we had this conversation:

Braedyn: What are we doing tomorrow morning?

Me: You are going to school.

Braedyn: AGAIN!?!?

First lost tooth. And boy, did that little sucker hang on for dear life. It wiggled for about 6 weeks before Braedyn pulled it out. Well, sort of pulled it out. We have his older second cousin to thank for the jump start. While at my sister’s surprise birthday party about a week ago, my grand-niece came running out to all the adults yelling, “Braedyn’s tooth fell out!” My legs were in a running motion before getting off of the stool I was on! I ran to him only to find him crying with a bit of blood surrounding the loose tooth still in his mouth. Upon investigation, I discovered that his 14-year-old second cousin had convinced Braedyn to let him twist it out. Yeah, it gives me the heebie-jeebies too. *shudder* Well, his plan was foiled, and even though the loose tooth was now practically in a horizontal position, no one could convince Braedyn to try and get it out. So, the waiting game continued for another three days.

Before bed after his first day in Kindergarten, we helped persuade Braedyn to try and flop the tooth over the other direction. He was very tentative, but he finally did it as he looked on in the mirror over the sink in the bathroom. One little flip and out it came. It dropped right into the sink and almost went down the drain. I tried to grab it and dropped it back in the sink. Grabbed it again with fingers like the jaws of life and saved it.

He was SO excited, he just ran around the house saying, “I’m so HAPPY I pulled my tooth out! I’m SO happy I pulled my tooth out!”

First time bowling. While Greg and Emily were on their adventure in Stella, Braedyn and I went on a date together. I took him bowling for the first time and to a yummy hamburger joint where he got to pick the dessert. He enjoyed bowling so much, he asked for (and got) a second game! And after these two games, a small dinner, and a huge dessert, he asks, “What are we going to do now?” “Well, I think I am going to pass out from exhaustion from trying to keep up with you.”

I don’t think I can handle much more of this growing up stuff in such a short period of time again. But I have great friends with wonderful advice. Amy told me that if he asked to take the training wheels off of his bike this week to tell him he’s grounded. Yeah, I like that. No more growing up this week for my son. We’re done with all that growing up business.

This week anyway.

If You Treat A Woman Right

2009-08-11T07:47:00.001-07:00

In just over 24 hours from this post myself, Emily and Charmin will all be climbing aboard Stella and heading out to Lamoille Canyon. I would be lying if I wasn’t having any reservations. Let’s see why.

Mom is not going.
Emily is going.
Charmin is going.
Stella is a 21 year old VW Westfalia.
We are driving across one of the most desolate areas in the country in Stella (did I mention she is a 21 year old VW).

Now I knew what I was getting into when I purchased Stella and I fully expect her to make the trek safely. She in fact has already made 2 long distance treks. One from Bend to Newport Oregon and then all the way home to Reno. Another a round trip from Reno to Lake Almanor. She performed beautifully both times.

This time however, I will be the only “grown up” on the trip and any and all responsibility however is mine and mine alone. Luckily I am heading out there to meet a group of people for a midweek wedding and I suspect if I don’t show they will make some phone calls (if they have service that is).

I have been giving her lots of love. Had her reviewed by a vdub mechanic who has given her a thumbs up, checked all her fluid levels and gave her a nice rubdown. I have been treating her right.

The real comfort for me is that she’s a camper. If something goes wrong, at least we will have a place to sleep till the Cavalry arrives.

It’s Just A Cultural Thing, Right?

2009-08-10T19:08:00.001-07:00

I normally don’t blog about work, I mean who wants to get dooced for blogging. If it meant that I could make a living blogging, hell I might go for it but I don’t see THAT happening anytime soon.

The prior two weeks I spent doing one on one training with a new employee destined for our China office. This woman was very bright and friendly. She was formerly from China, had been living in the states for at least 6 years and was a graduate of an American university. An American at this point, right?

The second week I was sitting in my cube trying to focus and give somewhat meaningful training. I kept moaning and whining about my sore muscles after spending a weekend towing my family (including Charmin) around on a giant water trampoline tied to my waist.

There I am rubbing my shoulders and she simply looks at me and cocks her head curiously at me. I assume she cares why I am hurting and I explain what I was doing all weekend and finish up with “I am just out of shape.”

She pauses and like T1000 Terminator she scans me slowly from head to toe and says simply “Yes, you are.”

Wait. What Did He Just Say?

2009-08-06T13:48:00.001-07:00

Today Braedyn met his Kindergarten teacher, an absolutely lovely woman I feel is going to do a stellar job with my son. As part of the Kindergarten curriculum, the teacher spends the first week of school meeting with each child on an individual basis for one half-hour. During our time, she showed him where his cubby was and provided some general information about the upcoming school year. Then I waited out in the hallway as she ran through a series of basic questions with him in order to get a feel for where he was with various concepts (ie, numbers, letters, shapes, counting). After assessing each student, she has a better idea of how to teach all these new students as an entity.

During his assessment, I peaked in a couple of times to listen to what he was being asked and to see how he was responding. Bad idea.

Let me clarify that statement. He did AWESOME during his assessment. He wasn’t nervous and he answered what questions he could and said he “didn’t know” on the things he was unsure of. I wasn’t expecting him to know all the answers, especially given my view on pre-school academia. Feeling it was a bad idea came when I overheard things like:

Teacher: Can you count these blocks for me? (Pointing to a board with 3 rows of 10 blocks each.)

Braedyn: 1…2…3…4…5…6…7…8…9…10… <moving to the next row> 1…2…

Teacher: Can you keep counting them without starting at 1 again? Go ahead and try again.

Braedyn: 1…2…3…4…5…6…7…8…9…10… <moving to the next row> 1…

Teacher: What comes after 10?

Braedyn: I don’t know. My mommy always starts over at 1.

Me: <Biting my lip>

or…

Teacher: Please write your name here.

Braedyn: <Writes name>

Teacher: Great! Now please draw a picture of yourself here.

Braedyn: I don’t know how.

Teacher: You don’t know how to draw a picture of yourself?

Braedyn: No. I only know how to draw monsters.

Me: <Hand slapping forehead>

Teacher: You can draw monsters?

Braedyn: Yeah, I can draw angry eyes.

OK, so Braedyn KNOWS how to count past 10. In fact, we count to 30 every time we put on a temporary tattoo. And that would be quite often. Thankyouverymuch. And as far as the monster comment? I can only hope she thinks he was talking about the Sesame Street variety. Ugh.

Free Agent? Not Anymore.

2009-08-05T11:58:00.001-07:00

I would say that becoming a stay-at-home mom has been one of the most difficult transitions I have ever faced in my life to date. Going from daily speaking geek with adults to speaking infant with two diapered ones was a challenge at best. One of the biggest hardships I have faced has been making friends with other parents. I have made “mommy friends” and been divorced by them.

I have now been at home with the kids for four years. I am happy to say I have a great group of friends that I can call upon for support and who feel they can call upon me for the same. The kids are at an age where they are just as happy playing with one another as they are heading to the beach or the park. And getting them there no longer requires a three week planning session, twelve changes of clothes, two diaper bags, and a tranquilizer (for me). I am completely enjoying being able to pick and choose what to do with the kids any particular week. Tahoe? I’ve got plenty of sun screen! Let’s go! Park day? Absolutely! Let’s pack a lunch! Pajama day? I’ll pick the first movie!

But, alas, all of this is going to change.

Braedyn starts Kindergarten next week. Everyone keeps asking me if I am going to cry on his first day. I hadn’t really thought about that. All I could think about was how much our lives were going to change. Out of the house at the SAME time EVERY day? Ouch. No more cool weather mornings at the park? Eek! No more impromptu trips up to Tahoe? Boo! *sniff* And the coup de grâce!? I am going to miss a friend’s wedding because I don’t want to take Braedyn out of school HIS VERY FIRST WEEK. *sigh* So, when asked about the monumental first day of Kindergarten, all I could think (selfishly) was that I was losing my free agent status.

Will I cry on his first day? Well, if yesterday is any indication of what is ahead, I had better take one, no two, BOXES of Kleenex. What happened yesterday that provided this insight? I took the kids up to the school to find out where his room is and to drop off my PTO money and volunteer info. School is already in session right now, and Braedyn’s eyes just lit up seeing all those kids walking around with their backpacks on. For me, it just about sent me over the edge. Oh, I held back the tears, but it took every ounce of will power and thinking of something ugly, like bloated road kill, to do it.

Braedyn, on the other hand, is very ready and excited. He has picked out a backpack (“packpack”) and is feeling like a big boy. And that he is. My little boy is growing up.

Oh, damn it all. It’s starting already. Where’s my Kleenex?

Growing Up in Casa de la Pack Rat

2009-07-31T14:40:00.001-07:00

I grew up in Casa de la Pack Rat, and it has strongly molded my personality. It was a house where very little was discarded. Because of this, as an adult I really tend to hold on to very little. This really bothers certain family members of mine that want to pass things on to me to give to my offspring to give to their offspring to give to their offspring, and so on. I don’t like the weight, the emotional weight, of it. I guess it is entirely possible that my children may resent me one day for not holding onto that piece of driftwood from my trip to the ocean back in 1984 or for boxing up and saving every picture they drew. It may even sadden them to know that I loved looking at every single picture they drew but that almost all swiftly made it to the recycle bin. I do keep some; I’m not THAT bad. In fact, I show my love and admiration of their work by displaying them in my house, such as over my mantle (see picture below). I even have a short stack of images that I plan on scanning to save a virtual copy so that the original can be turned into some recycled paper towel somewhere.

Back to Casa de la Pack Rat… Very much in the way sprinkles cling to cupcakes, my house growing up clung to piles of magazines. Piles. Every failed car, appliance, or electronic gizmo could not be tossed because WE MIGHT NEED A PIECE FROM ONE OF THEM SOME DAY. You know how it is written as a law somewhere that if you own a big chunk of land in some rural area, you have to have old, beat up cars in one corner of your property? Yeah, I lived in a big city, and our backyard still had 4 or 5 car bodies in one corner.

The house owners (notice I am trying really hard not to name any names here) had a huge room added on to the back of the house, which eventually looked like this:

In this picture I have blurred the face of the man that I happen to be closely genetically related to. I am doing this because it is not my intent to hurt anyone’s feelings, but rather explore why I get physically depressed if my house is cluttered for more than a day or so. Seriously. I have heard many times that if you spend a lot of time cleaning your house, you will look back and regret not spending that time playing with your children. The thing is I CAN’T PLAY WITH MY CHILDREN WHEN MY HOUSE IS MESSY. Well, OVERLY messy. Sure, I could hang out with them, but I’D BE CRYING. No amount of anti-depressants could cure me of this quirk. So, I work hard to keep my house picked up – not perfect – and manageable. THEN I play.

I had problems with clutter when I was a kid too. It would get to me so badly that I would gather gizmos, stacks of magazines, and doo-dads throughout the house and put them right in the doorway to the room described above. I would gather up enough things to stack in such a way that the owner of said gizmos and doo-dads would have to do something with them to get into his room. If I didn’t make it high enough or deep enough, they would just get stepped over, defeating my purpose - DO SOMETHING WITH YOUR ~~CRAP~~ ~~JUNK~~ PRIZED POSESSIONS.

My hope is that my children will grow up seeing that their father and I keep what we can honor and that they will understand and appreciate that we don’t hold onto things for the sake of holding on to them. It is also my most sincere hope that gene de la pack rat does not simply skip a generation.

4 Days In and… Nuthin’

2009-07-30T14:14:00.001-07:00

We are on day 4 of our personal challenge, and I have to say things haven’t been too tough yet. In fact, it has been rather easy. I’m sort of disappointed that there hasn’t been any kind of introspection on what things really mean, or any kind of cathartic release coming with the scrapping of ancient things that had weighed us down. It does however, feel damn good to be getting rid of things. Things that I don’t use. (Charger plates from Target.) Things that I thought I might use but have been covered in dust for several years. (Hanging vases.) Things that were parts to something else long ago gone (um, can you say vacuum cleaner parts for a vacuum we haven’t had in over a year?). Hello.

What does this say to me? We still have way too much crap! That’s what it says! I’m hoping I don’t go through the entire challenge and find that it in fact was not a challenge. I hope that after a few more days I will really struggle with what is important to me. I can’t speak for Greg however, but I think he may be feeling the same way. After all, he counted 4 hard drives as one thing yesterday. Boooyah!

So far, it’s like cleanin’ house. Here is what we’ve collected so far:

It’s not like Greg hasn’t upped the ante for me either. I took a trip to Ikea yesterday and brought home a bunch of stuff. Greg informed that for everything I brought into the house, something else had to go. IN ADDITION TO MY 100 THINGS. Given the state of the “challenge” so far, I can safely say, “no problem.”

20 Days. 100 Things. Each.

2009-07-27T13:38:00.001-07:00

Recently Greg ran across this blog that chronicled one man’s journey to whittle down his personal possessions to a meager 100 things and live with no more than those 100 things for one year. It was with a slightly open interpretation because he did things like count his skivvies as one item. Otherwise he’d either be really stinky or using up precious resources doing laundry all of the time. Remember those “what’s grosser than gross jokes” that were rampant during middle school? What’s grosser than throwing your dirty undies against the wall and watching them slide down? Seeing them crawl back up. Yeah, he would have been living proof that could happen if he had to count each pair of undies as one item during his challenge.

Anyway, Greg and I were inspired by his Eff You Consumerism dare, but since there is no way in hell we could reduce the amount of shit we have to just 100 items, we put a spin on it. Seriously, with our two pack-rat kids, we are lucky to get out of the door and into the car each day with ONLY 100 things! I suggested we try and reduce the amount of things we each have by 100. I kind of cheated and got Greg on a day when he had mentioned he was ready to purge some more of his dust collectors. He agreed. So, yay!

Here is what I am thinking the rules need to be:

Every day for 20 days we will each pick 5 items to chuck.
We can’t pick from each other’s shit to increase our discard count. As much as I, ahem, I mean we, might like to.
We can’t get our panties in a bunch if the other person picks something we gave them as a present.
Since the point is to reduce, we can’t count each wire, each connector, or each piece of unused scrapbook paper as one thing. If that were the case, we could be done in about 10 seconds. Bundling rules apply.

I think that about sums it up. Today is day 1. If you don’t hear from me soon, have someone come and look for me in our storage cabinets. I’m most certainly trapped under something very heavy and very dusty.

Plaster of Paris Anyone?

2009-07-23T13:53:00.000-07:00

I learned today that the person who invented toilet seat covers was either an Eskimo or likely lived in a climate that never exceeds 80 degrees. Perhaps its just a nasty prank to give the dying inventor the last laugh.

It's hot here. Not Las Vegas 120 degree hot, but 101 degrees of pure "dry heat". Dry my sweaty ass. It's hot and it makes me sweat and not in all the pleasant places like ... well, is sweat pleasant anywhere?

So today I learned that I should never, I repeat NEVER use a toilet seat cover when my backside is anything but babypowder dry. Why? It's the secret ingredient, plaster of paris.

Perhaps this is something everyone else already new, but today I realize why I prefer to use my own gasket free toilet at home. I felt like I was peeling off a really good layer of skin after a nasty sunburn, one small thin strip at a time. When that quit working there I was leaning over and brushing little rolly polly wads of paper off my backside. How long I stood there doing this I couldn't tell you. I can tell you two other gentleman used the stall next to me and three others used the urinals AND DIDN'T WASH THEIR HANDS!

I just need to learn the hover style that women use and I guess I would be ok.

Why I Suck

2009-07-23T13:37:00.001-07:00

OK, I am a loser.

Why the self slamming? Well, I talk about how much I enjoy writing but have done none of it lately. I haven’t written a friggin’ word. Instead I am trying to find words in that stupid “Word Challenge” game on Facebook. It is sucking the writing life out of me. I play game after game after game with the hope of not looking like a word loser. But after making what feels like an infinite number of attempts at getting a decent score, I feel like a big, fat vocab neophyte.

Which leads me to breaking the proverbial ice. I am writing a nonsensical entry just to get my ass going again. Can I blame Facebook for my lack of blogging lately? I SO wish that I could, but it is my own damn fault for taking such a hiatus. I think the two or three extra readers we picked up lately threw me into shock and I was so worried about being funny in my posts that I stopped writing altogether. Now I can breath a sigh of relief and start up again because THEY ARE ALL GONE!

Even though I enjoy the creative and cathartic nature of writing, anytime I had some free time I slept. Or played Spider Solitaire. Or played that gawd-awful Facebook time-suck of a game that makes you feel stupid. It’s not from a lack of things to write about either. Even with an abundance of topics (it IS crazy around here), the only time I actually wrote something lately was when I was given the honor of writing a guest post over at Logical Libby’s site! Nothing like an assignment to get the ole fingers typing! I’m trying to get over the sting of the slap of only getting THREE comments. Compared to her 10+ usual comments, I felt SO not funny.

Oh for the love of the FSM, I sound like such a whiner. That is not my point. My point was just to say that rather than challenging myself, I stopped writing. Bad, bad blogger. But, dear reader, (yes, you -the one) I’m BAAAAACK! Thank you for sticking with me.

Love, American Style

2009-07-18T15:07:00.001-07:00

Time to get back to the real world. After several weeks (yes, 3 weeks) of vacation this weekend marks the end of a work free period. How was it spent? One week spent on the ocean coast, a long drive up, a new (used, but new to me) Westfalia named Stella, a day spent crabbing in Waldport with friends, a trip to the worlds largest sea cave full of sea lions, a 14.5 hour drive home with only one stop due to overheating, a couple days in the woods, and a day at Sand Harbor, Lake Tahoe. Now I am roaring to get back to work.

Maybe not. Work is overrated. While gone I apparently survived another round of layoffs (thank you FSM). I will let you know Monday first thing. If things go really bad, I will always have a van to live in. Most likely park it down by the river.

Meet Stella. The newest member of our family. Isn’t she HOT. That’s right, the A/C doesn’t work.

I am thinking I might need a beer right about now and seeing as our fridge decided to die just as the vacation ended I have a cooler of beer sitting next to me so it will take zero effort. I might have to make this a permanent edition to the living room (over Susanne’s dead body most likely). Anyone for a PBR? Yeah, not my beer either, but as Eric “The Piano Mover Man” Holden never was able to complete the piano moving I managed to drink the 12 pack he never picked up. I have to say, it does make a nice summer beer.

Damn, I have been away from this laptop for so long, can you help me…is this thing on?

Am I rambling...is this thing on?

So if you are one of the 10 readers (not regular readers, but just one of the 10 people who read this blog) you noticed that our family took a vacation to the Oregon coast. We rented a house on the ocean (no, I won’t recommend it, the house, I highly recommend the ocean) of Seal Rock Oregon, just south of Newport or North of Waldport, depending on your sense of direction. It was newly on the rental market because apparently the old lady who lived there just died. Who’s kidding. Susanne likes to correct me every time I make that joke, but the chalk mark outline on the kitchen floor proved I was right. They really should have cleaned up a bit first. I mean, they lady’s slippers were still in the closet. True story. I’m not making this stuff up. Maybe some of it, the house wasn’t RIGHT on the ocean.

So what was this blog about? Oh yeah, Love, American Style. Well, there was no loving this vacation, I mean for Susanne and I. Jake did sneak out a lot so who knows what he got into (so to speak) but the kids were sleeping in our room at the rental because the beds in the loft at 50 feet above sea level and 14 feet above the 2nd floor weren’t exactly child safe. So, the kids “slept” in a mattress on our bedroom floor. Sleeping being loosely used here of course.

Let me demonstrate.

Now I don’t want you thinking that our vacation was love free. It was full of love. My kids gave me lots of love. My wife loved the ocean. I loved not being at work and best of all, I loved having my family together. Oh, and there was Wine love.

Additionally we had all sorts of interesting conversations regarding love. My favorite one occurred on the trip up. There we were heading up into Oregon. The kids watching “Swan Princess” (a story of true love) and Jacob texting his girlfriend in Washington (long distance love) when Susanne comes over a hill and smack dab in the middle of the road is a dead squirrel and another standing over it (lost love).

“Oh, that is so sad. That poor squirrel lost the love of his life!” she says.

“That’s one way to look at it,” I said.

“What do you mean?”

“Maybe he was eating her?”

Why We Couldn’t Live In a Fireworks State

2009-07-10T15:12:00.001-07:00

Why, you ask, could we not live in a state that legally sells fireworks? Because my family is a bunch of pyromaniacs! Seriously, give them a wick and a match and they’ll think they just won the lottery. This is especially true of Greg. I had to put a pan under his chin as we drove around Oregon. If you listened carefully, you’d hear the drip, drip, drip of his drool every time we passed a side-of-the-road Fireworks Depot. And there were a lot of them. Subsequently, there was a LOT of drool.

The night of July 4th, we went to the bay in Newport to watch the big fireworks show. We showed up a few hours early, unsure of whether or not Greg would have to fight to get close enough to feed his fix of fireworks fumes. We staked claim at a perfect spot on the edge of the bay, right near the Rogue brewery. In case the fireworks fumes didn’t feed his olfactory needs, the hops ones would.

Only one problem. It was the foggiest night of our entire trip. And I mean the kind of fog where you wonder if you should have put a GPS signal on the car for fear of never seeing it again. This was our view of the bay:

At first we were concerned we wouldn’t be able to see the fireworks, but then we discovered we had nothing to worry about. We were smack dab in the middle of a whole slew of people with the same drive to watch something explode as Greg. The kids had a blast (literally) with the fireworks Greg snuck out and bought. Check out the look on Braedyn’s face! He’s all, “yeah, I could do this for a living.” Well, the apple didn’t fall far from the tree!

I guess I can’t say it was ALL fun. For Emily I’d say it was about 3 parts fun, 1 part fear:

Speaking of fear, Greg lit a little bomb-type firework (hey, I don’t know the word – I’m NOT the junkie!). It went off just as a poor gentleman walked by - a poor gentleman who happened to be a Vietnam veteran. He was a good sport about it, so I’d say it was about 2 parts fun, 2 parts fear for him. You can see him walking unaware of what lay ahead just over Greg’s right elbow in this shot:

Some mischievous peeps started lighting Class C fireworks only about 15 yards behind us in some RV parking. These, I had to be informed, are the big-big fireworks that are used in the shows and which happen to be illegal in Oregon. Well, I’m glad these bad-boys-bad-boys-whatcha-gonna-do brought and lit these because the fireworks we had come to see hadn’t started by 10:30 pm. The kids were about to pass out, either from exhaustion or from the exhaust. Either way, we had to pack it up.

Even though we didn’t get to see the “official” show of Newport, we really enjoyed ourselves, largely because the community of pyros was such a welcoming and fun crowd.

My GPSed track

2009-07-04T19:55:00.000-07:00

Hi!

Have a look at my new track:

http://gpsed.com/track/3888703012709956608

Sent from my iPhone