Oh, The Joys

The Breathtaking

OhTheJoys@gmail.com (Oh, The Joys) — Thu, 09 Jul 2009 00:38:00 +0000

I'm always elated when I pull off the final, little, state highway and follow the unmarked country lanes that weave their way through the Virginia farmland to my Granny's house.

I fill my lungs in anticipation thinking that I'm almost there.

It was no different as I drove in for the Fourth of July holiday last weekend.

I passed flowering rows of tobacco, faded red barns and endless, crooked fence posts.

Shafts of sunlight filtered down through the hardwood trees making the pavement sparkle.

Out of nowhere, a brilliantly colored hummingbird appeared.

The hummingbird was the most extraordinary shades of royal blue and aqua marine, really quite breathtaking.

I admired his beauty and watched the beautiful arc of his flight and then, understanding his fate, suddenly sucked in my breath.

BLAP!

I looked in my rear view mirror and there, in the middle of the road, was a royal blue and aqua pancake.

Welcome to the countryside!

Home

OhTheJoys@gmail.com (Oh, The Joys) — Thu, 02 Jul 2009 01:28:00 +0000

"I want to go home!!!" she wails.

It doesn't matter.

We can be at THE MOST FUN PLACE IN THE WORLDVIEW OF ALL THREE YEAR OLDS and if things don't go her way, we hear it...

"I want to go home!"

[Accompanied by a great and tragic wailing.]

Lately she's started saying it when we're at home.

[Um. Hello? Roo? Look around, Sweetness. We ARE home.]

But our actual location doesn't seem to matter.

Tonight, K felt a little sorry for her sad, little, worn-out self and he picked her up.

She smiled and snuggled her face into his neck.

"Home," she said.

The Devil's Punchbowl

OhTheJoys@gmail.com (Oh, The Joys) — Mon, 29 Jun 2009 02:07:00 +0000

My heart raced.

I regularly suffered from anxiety that something bad would happen to Joseph, that I’d be widowed young.

It scared me that I thought those things, but as I went to the phone, the pounding in my chest got stronger.

Of the few people who knew where I was this weekend, who would be calling so early?

“Hello?” I asked the cordless banana.

“Jessica. It’s Therese.”

[Onset of full blown panic.]

“Oh my God. Oh, my God. What’s wrong?”

There was no way Therese would have been out of bed so early on a Saturday morning if it wasn’t serious.

“Campbell’s gone,” she said.

“What?”

“It’s John. He’s dead,” she said.

“What? When?”

“Yesterday. He drowned.”

“How the hell did he f*cking drown?” I demanded, angrily.

“He was up in the mountains with his roommate’s dog and some friends.”

“But John can swim! Was he drunk?”

I was incredulous.

“I don’t know.”

“Well, what happened?” I insisted.

“A friend of his from Aspen called this morning. He has John’s address book. He’s calling all of us.”

“What did he say? Was he there?”

“No. He wasn’t there, but he said that the dog fell in the water and John went in to save him and drowned.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I don’t either," she paused, "he’s gone though.”

“Does Joseph know?”

“No one knows where Joseph is.”

“What do you mean no one knows where he is?”

“He’s not at the house.”

“Did you call him?”

“Yeah.”

“And…?”

“I got the machine.”

“He’s probably at the hospital. I think he was on call,” I said.

“You’d better call him,” she said. “He’d probably rather hear it from you.”

I agreed.

“What’s everybody doing?” I asked.

“There’s a funeral in Montana on Wednesday for the family and his friends are having a service in Aspen on Saturday.”

“Are we going?” I asked.

“I can’t go to Aspen," she said regretfully. I can’t afford to go to Aspen.”

“Well, is anyone going?” I asked, worried.

“Chicago's going.”

“They’re all going?”

“A bunch of them… I think.”

“F*cking Campbell.”

Therese started to cry.

My eyes felt like they were on fire and a huge hand kept squeezing my heart.

“Alright, I’m going to try to call Joseph at the hospital and then I’ll get on the road home,” I told her.

“He’s gone,” she said quietly.

“Man, I’ll see you later,” I said hanging up the phone.

I felt like a cartoon character in a deep freeze.

I wondered if I was still asleep.

I dialed Grady Memorial Hospital and actually got a helpful operator who paged Joseph, but got no response.

I told the operator I was his wife and that it was an emergency. I held the line while they looked for him.

John was Joseph’s college roommate and had just been a groomsman in our wedding a few
months earlier.

John cried when he said goodbye to us in Atlanta.

I remember wondering why he was so upset. He had acted like it was the last time he’d ever see us.

The operator returned to the line, “Your husband has left for the day, M’am.”

“Thanks,” I said and hung up.

I dialed home.

“Hello,” his voice answered.

“Babe?”

“Yeah?”

“Did you hear?”

“Yup.”

“When?”

“A friend of John’s just called.”

“Are you o.k.?”

“I don’t know.”

“Therese said Chicago is planning to go to the service in Aspen.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I’m coming home this afternoon. We should go too.”

“I don’t want to go.”

“But… why not?”

“Everyone will be depressed and upset. I don’t want to remember John that way.”

“That’s not how you’ll remember John," I said softly. "Going would just give us a chance to be around other people who will miss him."

“I don’t need that. I’m too mad at him. What a stupid f*cker! F*cking drowned! F*cking &sshole!”

“Babe,” I started.

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

There was a silence.

“Okay, listen, I said. "I was up late last night with Lori and David. I’m going to get some food and coffee and then I’m coming home.”

“You don’t have to come home. You needed to get away. There’s nothing you can do here.”

“I want to be with you.”

“I’m fine.”

“Okay, but I’m coming home.”

“Fine. Whatever.”

“I love you.”

“I love you, too. See you later.”

The line disconnected.

I felt bewildered by Joseph’s reaction. I couldn’t understand him not wanting to go to the service. John had been one of his best friends.

Joseph grew up in a small town in Illinois.

John’s mom had also grown up there and her parents, John’s grandparent’s, still lived there.

John’s grandfather was an historian who knew all there was to know about Abraham Lincoln. Joseph had grown up knowing him.

When the two families learned that John, who grew up in Montana, and Joseph were both going to the University of Illinois, they suggested the two young men look each other up.

Joseph and John met early during their freshman year.

They became fast friends, hung out together constantly and developed a crush on the same girl in the dorm cafeteria (a friend of mine from high school as it would turn out.)

During sophomore year, John and Joseph roomed together and built a common group of friends.

Like many U of I graduates, most of the crowd moved to the city after college and the few of us in Atlanta called them, collectively, “Chicago.”

A few moved to Aspen, Colorado in a quest to remain young and free of responsibility.

To please his parents, John took a job as a recruiter for a college in Winter Park, Florida.

He suffered through a year of wearing a tie, keeping a respectable nine to five schedule and the insult of failing to get laid despite the sun, sand and abundant availability of fruity cocktail beverages.

In the end, John traded the career path in for a ticket to Aspen and a job bartending at a place called Cooper Street.

At our wedding, John bragged about his relaxed life, the skiing, the women and the decadence of Aspen.

He could mix and match party favors like a wardrobe, partying harder and longer than anyone.

He lived outrageously and gave out hugs and kisses like candy.

Before our wedding, John flew to Florida to visit his mom.

He drove up to Atlanta in a rented convertible and arrived with a severe sunburn.

“Who’s the really pink guy?” people asked us.

There was a party the night before the wedding and though John wasn’t the host, he ran the party.

He challenged everyone to drink more, do more.

He spent the final hours of the night driving his rented convertible around and around I-285, Atlanta’s perimeter.

Joseph had to give John eight glasses of water to get him up to get ready for the ceremony in the morning.

He washed his hair with one hand while the other held his weary body up, braced against the tile.

By the time he got to the wedding, I suppose he was restored.

He was beet red in all the wedding photos, but grinning from ear to ear.

I remembered his red face as I trudged back to Lori’s guest bedroom and fell back onto the bed.

Lori’s puffy morning face and fuzzy pink robe appeared in the doorway for the second time that morning.

“Everything okay?” she asked.

“Did you meet John Campbell at my wedding?”

“The guy with the sunburn?”

“Yeah. Him. He drowned yesterday.”

“Oh, my God. I’m so sorry. What happened?”

“I’ll tell you later. I need a little more sleep so I can drive back to Atlanta.”

“O.K.” she said, leaving me.

I closed my eyes and opened them two hours later.

Lori was in the shower.

I smelled coffee, so I dressed and went to the kitchen.

David was in his underwear at the kitchen table.

“Morning. Want some coffee?” he asked.

“Yes. Definitely.”

David got up to get me a cup.

He was almost forty, which seemed pretty old to me at twenty six.

Although he was almost ten years older than Lori, I had liked him immediately when she introduced him as her fiancé.

He was a photographer, musician, nightclub owner and full time graduate student.

He had degrees in things like anthropology and sociology and was particularly interested in Mexico's culture, history and people.

He spent a lot of time traveling, gathering data for his thesis and writing articles for magazines.

To me, David was unpredictable, creative and perfect for Lori.

“I heard about your friend,” he said. “I’m sorry.”

“Yeah. Thanks.”

“Is this the first friend of yours that’s died?”

“Yeah, I guess it is.”

“That’s rough,” David said handing me a cup. “I’ve had a couple die on me already. It’s hard. It makes you think about your own mortality, the meaning of life and all that. It makes you wonder if you’re living your life the best way you can.”

I took a sip of coffee.

“I had a friend who over dosed,” he said, “another drowned and another died of liver failure. Each time, I couldn’t f*cking believe it. The guy that over dosed… well, I guess he was the best off because he was too messed up to suffer. The guy that drowned was drunk and fell off a boat. Pieces of him floated up to shore the rest of the week. The last guy was the hardest. He died slowly and we all had to sit up there in that hospital room and watch. Man, that was awful. He knew he was going to die and he was so mad because there was so much he still wanted to do.”

I finished my coffee, packed up my things and started the long journey home.

King of the Forest

OhTheJoys@gmail.com (Oh, The Joys) — Tue, 16 Jun 2009 15:34:00 +0000

It was a glorious summer day in the White Mountains of New Hampshire.

Late August, I believe.

I had my son slung on my back in a papoose contraption and I had my daughter slung from a sling like contraption around my chest.

Together, my children weighed about forty-five pounds.

We hiked along some forest trails, up ravines, and over river gorge log bridges.

The air was fresh and clean and smelled of pine needles.

The children were curious and asked many questions about the woods and the plants therein.

My wife constructed a crown made of wild flowers and crowned me King of the Forest.

I could not help but do a rendition of the same song from the "Wizard of OZ" sung by Bert Lahr.

Naturally, my children thought Daddy was very funny acting like a cowardly lion in the middle of the forest.

Our day was filled with wonder.

That evening, after dinner, we sat around a roaring campfire as the evening grew chillier and chillier.

Marshmallows and s'mores were the event of the night and were enjoyed by all.

We tucked the children into their sleeping bags and kissed them goodnight.

My wife and I sat quietly by the fire afterwards sipping a fine red wine.

It's easy to lose yourself while watching a fire outdoors in the dark of night when all your loved ones are safe and sound.

Peace surrounds you and there is little or no time for worry about tomorrow.

The weather turned cold overnight and I remember that my nose was freezing as that was the only part of my body sticking out of my mummy bag.

Being a good camper, I had taken off every stitch of clothing before retiring so that in the morning when I left the warmth and comfort of my sleeping bag, my body would insist that I dress as quickly as possible and not feel the cold.

I made a pot of coffee and drank a goodly amount with sugar.

It's wonderful to be up just before sunrise when the forest is still and the aroma and taste of coffee is rich and satisfying.

Before the rest of the family arose, I grabbed my towel and toiletries and headed down the gravel road to the showers.

The air was brisk and crisp that morning.

I inhaled greedily enjoying the mountain air.

I got in the shower and turned the hot water on as hot it could be and washed.

Afterwards, I rubbed down with a big fluffy Turkish towel and dressed quickly.

As I left the shower building, the clouds were forming over the ridges in the mountains and the Sun was just rising.

The heat from my shower was still on my body as it met the cool air of the mountains.

What an exhilarating feeling!

It felt as though the world was perfect and I might really be the King of the Forest.

I returned to our campsite and looked in on my children as they snuggled down deeply in their sleeping bags.

They both looked like angels to me and I realized that, indeed, I was the King of the Forest.

A guest post written by my Father, The King.

How To Make Your Wedding Family Friendly

OhTheJoys@gmail.com (Oh, The Joys) — Sun, 14 Jun 2009 16:12:00 +0000

One of my best friend's from college is getting married soon.

She recently sent an e-mail to those of us attending with children.

Her message sets a high bar for creating a family friendly wedding.

I replied, gushing -- "OMG! THANK YOU!! I FEEL LIKE IT IS MY WEDDING!!!"

Because she thought of everything, I thought I should share her e-mail and let it stand as THE guide to planning a wedding that both allows children to attend as well as ensures their parents a good time.

E-mail from the bride...

Hi everyone,

I thought you would appreciate a quick note to tell you about our plans for helping the kids enjoy themselves during the wedding weekend, and to check in on your needs for babysitting.

A reminder of Friday’s meet and greet at [the restaurant] beginning at 4pm, we’ll have some hors d’oeurves early on, and the pub serves organic sandwiches, salad, and chips. It’s a small town and kids will be completely welcome there until evening. One thing to know is that the pub is upstairs so there are steep stairs to keep little ones away from.

On Saturday, we’ll have a regular chair for each child during the 30-minute ceremony and we don’t mind if there is a little noise from restless children. During the reception my nieces (ages 17, 15, and 12) have games planned to keep the little kids (ten children ages 2-6) entertained from 4 to 7pm, and they will give the kids their meal. We’ve planned two 24” high banquet tables and 20 chairs so there’s room for you to drop in. We did not plan big-people chairs for them in the banquet area. We’ve also got four babies under 2, and we’ll have three girls to look after them. We’ll spread a blanket or two for them to relax and play with their toys.

For the kid's meal, we are planning quality hot dogs off the grill, macaroni and cheese, organic fruit salad, and fizzy water served on paper plates and paper cups. If your child uses a sippy cup, please bring it and we can put masking tape with your child’s name on it. We expect the babies’ parents will have their food packed with them. With your permission we’ll also give the kids goodie bags with healthy goodies (graham crackers, yogurt pretzels, trail mix and a juice box).

The high temperature should be somewhere between 75 and 85, and as the sun goes down it will drop to 50. It’s hot in the sun and cool in the shade. The back yard has pine trees which should offer shade to the kids, and if necessary we’ll move two patio umbrellas over the tables/blankets. I recommend sun block and we’ll have some available appropriate for young children. In the house we’ll have a changing table and a potty chair. We’ve also got 2 pack n plays and a lot of beds if you think your child might take a nap.

Sunday is Father’s Day, and we’ll honor the dads at brunch beginning at 10am. We’re serving eggs benedict for brunch, which we hope will be appropriate for kids. Come any time… (I think we’ll ask people to RSVP for brunch in a separate email so we know how much food to prepare.)

Regarding babysitting, we’ve received some requests and I’ll confirm them here. If you want some help with babysitting during the weekend please let me know this week, and I’ll confirm with you.

Can’t wait to see you all! All our love,
The Bride & Groom

I bow down and prostrate myself at the feet of the Bride and Groom!

Formal Follow Up

OhTheJoys@gmail.com (Oh, The Joys) — Thu, 11 Jun 2009 01:00:00 +0000

Awhile back I mentioned that I had the opportunity to re-live the prom.

Well, the prom pictures recently came back...

Here I am only two prom attendees away from Joey Ramone! How cool am I?!

Look at the way I look at my date... that hunka-hunka burnin' love still has it going on!

Raise your hand if you're sure!

Raise your hand if you're my friend Gail and you're also sure!

(It should be noted that this is Gail's ACTUAL prom dress from high school.)

Who's the guy in the piano tie?

And... wait... what's this? DORK ALERT!

Thump and Pummel

OhTheJoys@gmail.com (Oh, The Joys) — Tue, 09 Jun 2009 01:00:00 +0000

The other morning at summer camp, The Mayor greeted another boy with a chest thump.

The two of them actually jumped into the air and bumped into each other, on purpose, chest first.

This was a greeting.

[Odd animals, these things called boys.]

Similarly, we went away a few weekends ago with a family that we don't often see.

They have a boy who is 18 months older than The Mayor and, though they've met before, this weekend was the longest they've ever spent together.

They acquainted themselves with one another through a series of elaborate wrestling maneuvers, gut punches and general body thrashings.

When they weren't doing bodily harm to one another they were shooting each other with guns fashioned from drinking straws, twigs, tinker toys -- anything they could find -- because despite my politically correct, Mom 2.0-ness...

WE DO NOT PLAY WITH GUNS IN THIS FAMILY!

GUNS ARE NOT TOYS!

GUNS ARE DANGEROUS!

...my child can and does pretend that anything he is holding is a gun.

Through all their general body thrashings, the two boys were radiantly smiling and maniacally laughing.

At one point, the other mother and I watched the two boys thump and pummel each other with our mouths agape.

When I finally looked over at her with my brows knitted in confusion, she said,

"Boys are SO strange."

Indeed.

The Mayor is such a BOY.

Though technically I've known he was male since he came out (and ruined my lady parts forever), something has only recently really clicked about it for me.

I was feeling all smug as we headed into the summer this year because I managed to sign The Mayor up for a number of weeks going to summer camp at a local, boutique art program where there is a long waiting list.

When I picked The Mayor up on the first afternoon, most of the children were gathered around a picnic table on the back porch stringing beads and making decorated masks.

The Mayor and another boy were in the yard, happily beating each other with lacrosse sticks.

All of these recent experiences have collectively impressed upon me my urgent need to secure a true understanding of the whole notion of boyhood.

I hope there isn't a steep learning curve to it because I ignored all (the stupid) boys, including my (annoying) little brother, and dismissed all that was male until I was a tween.

[Because I was totally, like rilly, rilly busy putting naked Ken and naked Barbie in the upstairs bedroom of the Barbie Dream House to see what would happen. OMG! Barbie has to go to the clinic!!]

Maybe by next summer I will have achieved more enlightenment on the boyness thing.

Hopefully I'll have signed The Mayor up for the sports camps he wishes he was enrolled in now.

Until then, maybe I should give in completely and buy him two toy pistols and a holster because I think I'm learning that "Bang! Bang!" means "I love you, Dude!" in the language of young boys.

Cheers

OhTheJoys@gmail.com (Oh, The Joys) — Mon, 01 Jun 2009 02:26:00 +0000

My fellow Georgians,

Recently, an official in Georgia's water infrastructure department let a certain cat, as it were, out of the bag. Apparently, the "maverick" state of California is set to put in place a water conservation program known officially as something along the lines of "potable reuse." Needless to say, only a bureaucrat could come up with such a euphemism. Promoters of the concept have, however, taken a tip from Hollywood advertisers to come up with the vivid and unforgettable slogan, "Ass to Glass." Now it transpires that, with their typical cultural arrogance, Californians are getting ready to export their program--including their so-called "vivid" slogan--to every other state.

I'm sure you share my feeling that while we in the sovereign state of Georgia may see the value of a waste water reuse program in the face of drought, we will NEVER accept the cultural hegemony of another state no matter how big it is! Accordingly, we at GLOP--Georgian League for Organizing Poop--are launching a campaign to create a slogan of which Atlantans can be as proud as they were at the completion of the 17th St. bridge.

To encourage Georgians to submit their slogans for the campaign, we are going to get, as it were, the ball rolling with a few slogans of our own. We in no way claim to have exhausted the possibilities. Here are the sample candidates:

Poop to Soup
Fart to Tart
Smelly Sh*t to Banana Split
Bowel to Bowl
Sphincter to supper

And my personal favorite, with a certain je ne sais quois:

Crap to Crepe

Please spread the news of the campaign as widely as possible.

Sincerely,

A Proud Georgian

(A very silly guest post, from a very silly friend of mine who is struggling with the whole notion of potable reuse.)

Small Discovery

OhTheJoys@gmail.com (Oh, The Joys) — Wed, 27 May 2009 17:50:00 +0000

"C'mere!" she commanded.

I followed my brother's two and a half year old daughter Kimmy to the kitchen.

She pointed at the microwave.

"Push the button!" she insisted.

So I pushed it.

As you might expect, the microwave door popped open.

Kimmy's whole face lit up.

She flung her arms out to her sides and yelled,

"TA DA!!!!!"

Oh, the miracle of the modern kitchen appliance!

Proposition

OhTheJoys@gmail.com (Oh, The Joys) — Tue, 26 May 2009 01:53:00 +0000

Peter sidled up beside me while I sat on the curb.

I was watching my children burn off the last of their jet fuel on the playground.

"Want to have dinner with me?" Peter asked.

I looked straight into his large, very blue eyes.

I noticed that his lips were as full as Angelina Jolie's.

Peter took another step towards me.

"I have macaroniand Arthur," he said with confidence.

A grin spread across my face.

How could I resist a proposition like this?

"It's bug shaped macaroni!" Peter said, leaning in close to my ear.

"I'd love to eat with you," I said smiling.

Peter, my daughter's three year old classmate, beamed.

Left Handed

OhTheJoys@gmail.com (Oh, The Joys) — Tue, 19 May 2009 01:30:00 +0000

The Rooster is left handed.

I didn't think anyone else in our family was left handed until my father recently told me that his mother was a lefty.

My best friend from high school, who is left handed, taught me to associate being left-handed with being artistic.

I'm not sure if that is a myth or if it is true.

My father's mother, my grandmother, wasn't someone that I'd describe as an artist, though she was gifted in the art of crochet.

Artistic or not, my left handed Rooster spends a lot of time thinking about colors.

"Do white and red make pink?" she asks?

"Does red and blue make purple?"

While The Mayor painstakingly labors over detailed renderings of the world around him, The Rooster draws in quick, bold strokes.

Great swaths of color combine with unlikely companions to form patterns and shapes that I wouldn't expect to appreciate, but I always do.

Maybe it's just because I am her mother that I admire her artwork.

I prefer to imagine that she sees the world through a different lens than the rest of us -- the three, very literal and linear people with whom she shares a house.

I wonder where her different lens will lead her. How will it shape her? What will she see and make of the world?

When we went to the beach a few weeks ago, The Mayor spent his time digging holes, burying his father in sand and building sandcastles surrounded by moats.

The Rooster wandered off on her own to gather seashells.

Eventually, she settled in near us to sort them by size and color.

Soon, our towels and mats were bordered by an unexpected flower garden.

Return of Joyzilla

OhTheJoys@gmail.com (Oh, The Joys) — Thu, 14 May 2009 11:43:00 +0000

This morning, while my children were eating their breakfast at the dining room table and my husband was shaving, I was getting dressed.

Because I am a complete and total dork, I danced naked into the bathroom singing a song entitled, "I'm doing a naked dance" with every intention of amusing my husband.

K, focused on the razor gliding over his face, paid absolutely no attention to me.

So I stepped it up.

I sang another one of my top 40 hits, this one entitled, "I'm shakin' my booty at you" while wagging my rear as if the prehensile tail was still there.

Though he may have smiled benevolently at me, K continued to shave.

Still motivated to have my naked Hannah Montana moment, I brought out the big guns and sang a number entitled, "I'm boppin' you with my booty."

This number got a reaction, though not the one I was anticipating.

Suddenly I heard a small voice say,

"What's going on in here?"

I turned to see my two small children standing in the bathroom doorway gazing in horror at Joyzilla, the terrifying naked woman.

Busted.

40 Year Old Prom

OhTheJoys@gmail.com (Oh, The Joys) — Fri, 08 May 2009 01:43:00 +0000

Over the weekend, my friend Aaron celebrated his 40th birthday.

For the occasion, his wife threw him a 1987 Prom.

She rented a hotel ballroom and decorated it with balloons, steamers and confetti.

She even built a decorated arch and hired a professional photographer.

The rest of us spent a lot of time looking for ruffled, taffeta ball gowns at the local thrift stores.

After visiting three different thrift stores I found only one formal dress that fit.

Though there was nothing about it that signified 1987 specifically, I was tired of shopping and decided I would have to focus my efforts on building big hair.

We went out for our pre-prom dinner with Merrily and Gepetto and turned quite a few heads.

[Because, I mean... look at them!]

When we arrived at the prom and parted the tinsel curtain hanging in the door, we stepped back in time.

Everything was just as it should be, just as it was.

There were women sporting pony tails tied high and to the side, teal ruffled monstrosities with dyed to match shoes and men with eyeliner and highlights.

Hairspray and frosted lipstick were in plentiful supply.

K and I got our prom picture taken and though no one was dancing yet, I pulled him onto the floor for the first slow dance.

Both of us went to the prom in high school, but we both went with friends for the sake of going.

Neither of us were in love with our dates – or even dating them for that matter.

Swaying on the dance floor with K, my arms high and around his neck in true high school fashion, I felt a kind of secret gladness to relive the prom with him.

My husband is my own personal, ultimate prom fantasy date.

There I was, at the prom, with him, the one.

THE ONE!

[Squeeee!]

Sticking to the spirit of 1987, the D.J. played songs that seemed to strictly adhere to the year.

At first, no one could really remember how we used to dance to that 80’s music, but gradually, the punk, alterna-teen moves of yesteryear returned.

K and I danced all night, skipping only a few songs.

We stayed out and awake far later than usual.

[It was prom after all.]

The next morning, when I heard The Rooster calling for me, I lifted my body up out of the bed, clutched my back and yelled.

“OW.”

K’s body was equally angry.

Therein lies the difference between 17 year old prom and 40 year old prom.

Oy vay... my achin' back.

Goodbye Old Paint

OhTheJoys@gmail.com (Oh, The Joys) — Thu, 07 May 2009 01:37:00 +0000

“I added a few things to your grocery list,” K said just before I left for the market.

“I need you to get two bags of kitty litter, the cheapest you can find.”

I looked at him, slightly puzzled.

We don’t have a cat.

“I need a proper place to pee in the backyard and I’m going to use the litter to set it up,” he said.

I stared at the calm, sincere face of my husband for a long ten seconds wondering about his sanity before his face betrayed him with a grin.

“I had you!” he laughed.

I brushed him off and headed for the door.

“Don’t forget the kitty litter!” he called after me.

Looking down, I realized kitty litter had actually been added to my list.

I looked at him quizzically.

“Paint,” he said still laughing, “I need it to get rid of old paint.”

Reassurance

OhTheJoys@gmail.com (Oh, The Joys) — Wed, 06 May 2009 01:20:00 +0000

“This toast is too buttery, Mama!” she scolded.

[Too buttery? Is there such a thing?]

“I’m very sorry, Roo.” I responded.

“Next time you should use just a little less butter!” she said, instructively.

“O.K. Roo.”

She eyed me in a suspicious way, considering our exchange and then jumped down out of her chair, walked over to mine and beckoned for me to lean towards her.

When I was close enough, she whispered in my ear.

“I still love you,” she said.

Light Bulb

OhTheJoys@gmail.com (Oh, The Joys) — Wed, 29 Apr 2009 02:06:00 +0000

At The Mayor's parent-teacher conference tonight, his teacher told us about a recent assignment.

"I asked the children in the class what they would do if they were president," she said."

"One child told me that if he were President he would wear a hat. Another said he would buy everyone light bulbs."

[What do we want? LIGHT BULBS! When do we want them? NOW!]

"Do you know what The Mayor said?" she asked.

We couldn't even begin to guess.

"The Mayor said that if he were President, he would try to find the right answers."

Acceleration

OhTheJoys@gmail.com (Oh, The Joys) — Tue, 28 Apr 2009 02:00:00 +0000

When my children were smaller (and they are still so small, it feels weird to say that), I had more time somehow.

I remember the relentlessness of the newborn schedule, the sleeplessness and the constant need, but somehow room to think was built in to the routine.

[As long as I had a little sleep.]

I find it difficult to think at all lately.

I'm back at work, more or less full time.

The children are involved in different activities, they have different friends and this summer they will, for the first time, attend two different programs.

Soon I will drop them off at two different locations each morning -- and the locations will change from week to week.

Things fall apart.

I have been to the grocery store every single day for the last 10 days.

It's as if the salsa-to chip-ratio problem (also pervasive in the hot-dog-to-bun sphere) has infected my entire grocery list.

I can no longer get the shopping right in a single, weekly trip like a normal, well adjusted Woman of the House.

[Oh, my failure as the Woman of the House!]

On Saturday morning in a fit of household management vertigo, I engaged the kids in a massive calendar making activity, mapping out the diagram of our summer.

It didn't make me feel in any greater command of the details, but we did use crayons!

Sigh.

Every night when K and I crash land in our bed (far too late), we talk like any couple, about the day, the children, our incessant need for another carton of eggs, coffee, string cheese...

"I don't know what I think or feel about anything," I lamented.

"I am like a computer processing unit," K replied. "I take in information, synthesize it and spit it back out all day long."

"We're almost out of eggs."

"I forgot to pay the daycare tuition."

"Well, goodnight."

"Goodnight."

[The bodies are set to hibernate for six hours, then rise irritatingly early and begin again.]

What was that Socrates said about the unexamined life?

What They Would Rescue You From

OhTheJoys@gmail.com (Oh, The Joys) — Thu, 23 Apr 2009 01:00:00 +0000

The Mayor's class is visiting a senior center on Friday as a class service project, though to him it is simply a field trip.

[FIELD TRIP!!! ]

Because he is going on a field trip and she is not, The Mayor feels compelled to taunt his sister about said visit to the senior center.

Sometimes The Rooster lets his taunts get her down but tonight, she shot out of her chair, raised a fist in the air and shouted,

"SENIOR CITIZENS TO THE RESCUE!"

[???]

I tried to imagine specific rescue missions senior citizen super heroes might undertake.

"What will the senior citizens rescue you from?" I asked.

The Mayor answered first.

"They rescue you from being old," he shrugged, as if this was common knowledge. "They are old instead of you."

Then my husband chimed in,

"I think they share their experience and wisdom to rescue you from mistakes you might otherwise make."

Then K laughed at himself and, faking the voice of an older person, shouted,

"MAKE SURE YOU TAKE GOOD CARE OF YOUR TEETH FOR CRYING OUT LOUD!"

I smiled imagining a collective, world-wide, senior-citizen super hero eye roll.

"To the rescue? As if you young people would actually listen? Ppppffffftttt."

School of Dolphins

OhTheJoys@gmail.com (Oh, The Joys) — Wed, 22 Apr 2009 00:54:00 +0000

I washed the dinner dishes tonight while listening to the children regale their father with urgent announcements.

K was away for three days and they both had a tremendous amount to say.

Somehow they stumbled on the subject of dolphins and were reminiscing about having once sighted a lone dolphin.

This triggered another most urgent announcement from The Rooster.

"Dad!" she shouted with excitement, "when we were at the beach Marion showed us a whole SCHOOL of dolphins!"

Because she emphasized the word school, I imagined her wonder at seeing not just one, but a whole group of dolphins.

The Rooster continued,

"They were swimming in a line out in the ocean but no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't tell which one was the teacher."

Oh, my sweet girl.

Always With The Blah Blah Blah

OhTheJoys@gmail.com (Oh, The Joys) — Tue, 21 Apr 2009 02:18:00 +0000

The doctor's appointment was going to make me late for work so I thought I'd better call my boss.

"They're just going to do a quick peek into his ear," I told her. "I shouldn't be too late."

Then I heard a wry Mayor pipe up from the backseat,

"Then there's the loooong chat you'll have with the doctor."

[Insert pre-kindergarten eye roll.]

Grown ups, man.

Always with the "Blah, blah, blah."

BTW - the doctor was extremely pleased with the way The Mayor's ear is healing. Hurrah!

P.S. - sorry I haven't been posting. I don't know what is up with me on the writing front.

[Maybe I'm simply listless and despondent from the persistent butt kicking The Mayor is serving up in our non-stop Connect Four-a-thon...]

[Maybe I'm too in love with my Netflix queue...]

Grace At Last

OhTheJoys@gmail.com (Oh, The Joys) — Wed, 15 Apr 2009 00:00:00 +0000

Lately, K's been saying we need a little grace around here.

It is well known that we are vaguely stuck in the religious practice department.

Still, K would like it if our family shared a little moment before we ate and said something that focused us on our meal and our time together in an intentional way.

"I want to write a grace for us to say," he told me.

"Okay," I said.

K describes his own decision making process as geological because it often happens as quickly as continents shift position through plate tectonics.

Tonight, The Mayor hastened things along.

"I know what we can say for grace!" he shouted.

"Great! What is it?" I asked.

"Free at last, free at last, thank God Almighty I'm free at last!"

A goofy smile spread crookedly across my face as I imagined our family saying this every night.

K brought our plates to the table and sat down just as I started singing those words in the style of the Blind Boys of Alabama.

The children jumped down from their chairs and did a soulful dance around the table.

K looked slightly confused.

When this new grace wound down, the children climbed back into their chairs and met their dinner plates.

"Thank GOD," my hungry Rooster Girl said eying her plate, "food at LAST!"

Free At Last - The Blind Boys of Alabama

Where Has The Joy Been?

OhTheJoys@gmail.com (Oh, The Joys) — Mon, 13 Apr 2009 02:00:00 +0000

I used forced entry last week.

I didn’t mean to, but...

I found out that there wasn't going to be anyone to take care of my children during this thing called "Spring Break."

[The nerve of these school management types!]

At first I thought I should get out my old day planner and organize a series of activities that would fill each of their days with a combination of outings, instructional opportunities and free play.

[Ha Ha Ha Ha.]

That is not at all what I really thought.

I really thought we should go to Florida.

And I convinced other families that they should go too.

Then the nurse from The Mayor’s surgeon’s office said that there was no way The Mayor could (or should) go within 5,000 miles of the beach until he was 70 billion years post surgery.

I thought this was excessive, but since I’m ~~like such a totally kick ass parent~~ compliant with the medical community, I told the other families they would have to do without the ABSOLUTE JOY of our familial company.

They, like rationale headed people, made reservations for a small house that would comfortably accommodate two families, not three, and that was fine.

There was order in my universe.

However, right after The Mayor's surgery, the surgeon said,

“So. When are you leaving for the beach?”

[Oh, WHAT?!]

After I “used my words” with him, The Surgeon told me that the nurse must have made a mistake, that it was fine for The Mayor to go TO the ocean, he just couldn't go IN it.

[Long string of expletives!!!!!]

I spent the following many days weaseling my way into the small house that my friends (perhaps former friends?) rented.

I hope they still like me...

March ROFL Awards (Lite)

OhTheJoys@gmail.com (Oh, The Joys) — Fri, 10 Apr 2009 15:50:00 +0000

March wasn't a very funny month.

Plunging economy? Not funny.

Rash of gun violence? Not funny.

There were a few submissions for the ROFL Awards this month...

mothergoosemouse awarded Sarah and The Goon Squad

Can't Remember Didley awarded Schmutzie

Sayre Smiles awarded Sandcastle Momma

Oh, The Joys awarded T Time in England

*****************************

Next month make sure you recognize a fellow blogger for a post that made you laugh.

All you need to do is e-mail me -- OhTheJoys(at)gmail(dot)com -- and ask to be added to the ROFL Awards mailing list.

I'll e-mail you every month when it's time to send in your pick of the funny.

[Do it. What are you waiting for? You are getting sleepy... you are e-mailing me... you are sending in the links to the funny posts...]

You want more information? I got it right here.

The ROFL Awards are happily brought to you by Oh, The Joys and Chicky Chicky Baby.

Croatian Teenagers Dig Me

OhTheJoys@gmail.com (Oh, The Joys) — Tue, 07 Apr 2009 11:00:00 +0000

From: Webfreak
Date: Fri, Apr 3, 2009 at 9:01 AM
Subject: Heloo from Croatia
To: OhTheJoys(at)gmail(dot)com

Heloo, I don't know why I am writeing this :0) but I saw your post on your blog.

I'm sorry if my english is very bad but ... I am writeing this to you and hopeing that you will see this and answer. This is the post I saw, and I just have to tell you how many of woman do not know how to chose ther outfit. Skirt is something what looks so nice on the woman of every age, I didn't belive when I saw that you are 41 :0) On your last picture in this post you luck like a girl ;0) your houseband can be very happy and proud with you :0)

I know that this can sound crasy because you can think that I am crasy teenager, but I study IT and I was just looking skirts on the internet for my friend and I acidently found yours pics. I must be honest, you look very sexy :0)

I hope you will read this silly mail :0)

Webfreak from Croatia, bye.

[I will be asking my houseband if he can be very happy and proud with me!]

Getting The Rooster Down

OhTheJoys@gmail.com (Oh, The Joys) — Mon, 06 Apr 2009 11:00:00 +0000

[There is a great thrashing of three year old arms and legs.]

"It's time to go to sleep, Roo."

"MOMMY, YOU HURT MY FEELINGS!"

"I AM CHOKING, MAMA!"

"It's time to go to sleep, Roo."

"NOW YOU HURT MY FEELINGS TWO TIMES!"

"I AM DYING!"

"It's time to go to sleep, Roo."

"MAMA! YOU HURT MY FEELINGS THREE TIMES!"

[There is a very sudden and rhythmic snoring...]

Right now, in states far away, my parents enjoy a satisfied laugh.

"Karmic justice," they say.