Carolyn...Online

Someone bring me some pizza, I'm busy.

carolyn-mine@comcast.net (Carolyn...Online) — Tue, 10 Nov 2009 20:39:00 +0000

My blog is moving. I don't know the details exactly. It's kind of like the Witness Protection Program. They're going to swoop in and wisk me away to a designated location and I'm just riding in the back of the van with the cute agents and their US Government issued sunglasses.

I'm busy. Busy. Busy. Please send pizza to feed my family.

Actually, Desperately Seeking Wordpress is doing all of the work on the blog transfer. That's not why I'm busy.

I'm busy because my very mean friend Becky gave me the Twilight books for my birthday and I accidentally started reading and now I can't stop and it's just a sick and frantic flipping of pages for every spare hour I can find and I'm pretty sure that Scott is so sick of me living with my nose in a book that he will at some point this week put a pillow over my head and put me out of his misery.

So while I'm reading, and then gasping for breath, can you go in and change your subscriptions to Carolyn...Online? Technically I'm moving from CarolynOnline dot Blogspot dot com to CarolynOnline dot com. See? I'm ditching the "Blogspot" part.

Basically if you're subscribed to Carolyn...Online in any way - either getting it in your email or through your feedreader - you need to resubscribe. I'm sorry. What a pain in the ass right?

I'm sure this will cause untold issues and the mess will be months in the fixing and the growing pains with be quite intense. I hope I don't lose any of you. If I do I promise to be like that dog and cat in that Disney movie that chased their family across the Rocky Mountains when they got left behind after the family vacation.

This post is for the bloggers. If you're not a blogger come back next week and find out why the Dept. of Family and Child Services is after me. Again.

carolyn-mine@comcast.net (Carolyn...Online) — Fri, 06 Nov 2009 13:09:00 +0000

Ok bloggers, most of you know about a little manic daily blog thing in November called NowGoBloMe. Wait that's not it . . . NoMoreBloPops.

Oh I kid. It's called NaBloPoMo = Nationl Blog Posting Month. And there's it's little bastard cousin called NaNoWriMo = National Novel Writing Month.

I'm not participating in either of these November events because I'm lazy. But if you are then good for you and keep it up and mainline the coffee and all that.

But I have decided to create my own little November event in solidarity with this frantic blogging month. I'm calling it NaBloCoEmFxFrGdsSk = National Blog Comment Email Fix For God's Sake. I think it has quite a ring to it.

My goal is to get every blogger who reads this to fix their email comment reply settings. Why? Because when you leave me these funny comments I read them on my 'berry and I giggle and then I reply to you and your funniness. Then I realize that you have your comment reply settings set to go to the land of lost emails: "no reply at blogger dot com." And our whole line of communication is lost. I just can't have that.

So I'm instituting NaBloCoEmFxFrGdsSk.

I'm not even sure which setting controls the email monster. But I'm going to let you look at my settings because I'm all sharey like that.

Ok so I'm sharey but I'm not very techy so you can't read these images very well. But you'll get the gist of it

First, if you're on Blogger log into your account. Go into the Settings Tab (see the big fat red circle I drew to draw your eye to the Settings Tab?)

Second, scroll down until you see the two places where you can put your email address. I have no idea which one of these actually controls the comment email address so I would suggest you just change both of them to your real email address. And that's that. Go forth. Participate in NaBloCoEmFxFrGdsSk and let the conversation begin!

I'm just one Super Nova away from creating my own black hole.

carolyn-mine@comcast.net (Carolyn...Online) — Tue, 03 Nov 2009 17:42:00 +0000

You know what's weird? Aside from your obsession with all things vampire and my dog's ceaseless ball licking?

Gravity.

Gravity is weird because there seems to be a rift at my front door. Really. Gravity is stronger just after you pass over the threshold into my house. It's so strong in fact that it manages to pull things off of my children and onto the floor.

I don't see another explanation for it. They walk in the door like normal bipedal backpack carrying mammals and then swoosh! the second they cross the threshold their backpacks fall to the floor. Their shoes fly off. Their jackets are sucked to the earth. I see no other reasonable explanation.

Gravity, it seems, is stronger at my front door.

It's probably hard to get the better of a gravitational pull all drunk with power and running amok in my foyer like that but I'm going to try. I've decided that everything that gets sucked to the ground by this errant gravity field will be my booty. Because I'm like a Gravity Pirate. Arrgghh.

So I will diligently gather up my booty every day and take it to the caves where I will bury my treasure. Half of my stash will go into the cave known as Tempel's Bed and the other half will go into the cave known as Parker's Bed.

Tempel's Bed will conceal a bountiful treasure comprised of dirty Uggs, smelly Tupperware containers with sticky strawberry juice, candy wrappers, one red fuzzy sweatshirt jacket with the sleeves turned inside-out, and a backpack heavy with Pokemon cards.

Parker's Bed will be ripe with stinky shin guards, muddy soccer cleats, reams of papers and file folders, one Tupperware container filled with the crust of a peanut butter sandwich, and a backpack heavy with ill-begotten colored pencils.

I will tuck these treasures in their beds - I mean caves - under their pillows and stuffed animals and blankets. Then every night the girls can keep watch over the stinky sticky smelly loot to make sure it doesn't get sucked through the black hole in our foyer.

A mother's work is never done.

Lies I told on Halloween.

carolyn-mine@comcast.net (Carolyn...Online) — Mon, 02 Nov 2009 14:04:00 +0000

Snickers are poisonous.

That gorilla is totally real.

Reese's give you Salmonella.

Sorry honey, there's no more beer in the cooler.

Oh no, mommy doesn't mind the rain. You take the umbrella.

You're allowed to go to the same house twice if they're giving away chocolate.

We have to hurry because Trick-or-Treating ends at 8:00 sharp.

Um no, I don't think that skirt's too short.

Oh no, mommy's not cold. You take my scarf.

You just close your eyes and go to sleep little one. Your candy is safe here with me.

Tempel Takes Manhattan

carolyn-mine@comcast.net (Carolyn...Online) — Wed, 28 Oct 2009 12:54:00 +0000

Today is Tempel's tenth birthday. T-E-N.

10.

Ten is a big deal. Ten is double digits. And the annoying world of tween. And the funny word of figuring out sarcasm and rolling eyes and newly developed dry humor.

Ten is good.

Scott decided he wanted to do something special with Tempel to mark the occasion so he gave her the gift of experience. We surprised Tempel with a trip to New York. Just her and daddy.

It's a big world out there and there are an infinite number of things to see and do and some of these things Scott wants to show the girls first.

Before she could go to New York with some loser boyfriend in college. Or head up for the weekend with a girlfriend. Or her grandmother for a shopping spree. Scott wanted to be the one to give her this peek at the world. So off they went.

They saw Wicked and the Empire State Building and the Statue of Liberty and Times Square and and and. But most of all she got to spend time with her dad and cement in her little brain the memory of being special and being important and being cared for and loved.

Oh, and the most life changing part of the trip - visiting Nirvana. I mean Nintendo World.

It turns out I have the perfect voice for Silent Movies.

carolyn-mine@comcast.net (Carolyn...Online) — Sat, 24 Oct 2009 21:56:00 +0000

Ok, so their camera kept messing up. Or something. I can't remember but there was a reason we had to do the interview several times. Which made me dork out by the time they got to this version. And there were two wedding parties roaming through the room. It was really loud. And there was a rumor of a streaker at the elevator. But I never saw her. And it was at the end of a long day. And a lot of beer. And Darcy and I were trying really hard to keep our shit together and do one decent take. And my voice does not sound like that. Not even when I've been drinking. Which I'm not admitting to in any way.

Ahem.

This video interview was just posted on the website 5 Minutes For Mom. It was recorded at the tail end of the weekend at the BlogHer Conference in July. And my voice does not sound like that.

Oh, and you should go buy our Book. It grants wishes.

There are no stupid questions. Just stupid people doing their best.

carolyn-mine@comcast.net (Carolyn...Online) — Thu, 22 Oct 2009 12:16:00 +0000

Yesterday I walked into the Urgent Care Clinic three minutes after they opened coughing up the majority of my right lung, left eye swollen shut, face pink with fever, and looking as bad as I felt.

**********

Surly round Oompa Loompa receptionist lady: What seems to be the problem?

Me: Seriously? *cough*cough* I'm clearly infested with germs and viruses. I have twisted my ankle.

Oompa Looma: Sign in and have a seat.

Me: *cough*cough*

Way too perky nurse girl: Hey ma'am, how ya feelin' t'day? How's that ankle?

Me: I feel like I look. So pretty shitty. *cough*cough* I was kidding about the ankle. I feel sick.

Perky Nurse: Mmmm, ok. And your symptoms?

Me: Cough for two days, fever on and off, sore throat, aches, headache, head congestion.

Perky Nurse: Mmm hmm, any other symptoms?

Me: Well, that seems like plenty but now that you mention it I believe "irritable" can be added to the list.

Doctor: How are you feeling? It's not the ankle?

Me: *cough*cough* Um, no. And since you walked in here and found me in the fetal position with my coat over me coughing and wheezing I would think that fairly obvious. I feel sick.

Doctor: Do you have seasonal allergies?

Me: No. I mean I do in the spring but not in the fall.

Doctor: I think you have a sinus infection.

Me: A sinus infection? Really? That's so... pedestrian. I mean there's a pandemic going around and you think I have a sinus infection?

Doctor: Here's your prescription for a Z-pac.

Me: It's always the Z-pac. You should just get a giant Pez dispenser and put it by the door so people can grab their Z-pac on the way out.

Doctor: What's a Pez dispenser?

Me: Sigh. *cough*cough*

Ahhhh... Back to the land of hot showers and television.

carolyn-mine@comcast.net (Carolyn...Online) — Tue, 20 Oct 2009 14:15:00 +0000

I was not eaten by a bear. Or tossed in the lake. Or trampled by hundreds of screaming girls singing Party in the USA. All in all the Camporee was a great success.

The weather did not cooperate as much as I would have liked. Who do I talk to about that for next year? But the girls didn't seem to mind. They just bundled up and went on with their day.

Look, here's Parker all bundled and getting ready for a boat ride. Chilly smiles of pure joy.

And that's what this weekend is and why I keep doing it. Girls with beaming smiles as far as the eye can see.

And you know what else? There is no judging in camp-world. I mean let's say for instance that you have a daughter with a peculiar fashion sense. So peculiar that even in the near freezing and drizzling rain she wants to do the rock wall in her skirt and Uggs. You know what her friends did when they saw this spectacle? They cheered her on so she could ring the bell at the top. No laughing at the fact that the harness made it look like she's wearing a Depends. Those girls are nicer than her mother who did in fact laugh.

Sometimes, during mealtime, the girls would become so overwhelmed with the urge to dance that they would just pop up and bust a move. I love that.

It was carefree, unabashed, unashamed, un-egocentric, safe girl fun. And I don't know how learned you are in the girl species but that kind of easy carefree joy becomes harder and harder to come by as they go from big girls to baby women.

I love the way they can just go free at camp. No long lessons about boat safety or canoe rules, just man your oar and head out. They spent an hour rowing backwards in a circle and loved every minute of it.

Well, they are still just nine year old girls. And this is what nine year old girls do when left to unpack by themselves.

Camp. Is good.

**** I did, however, wake up on Monday with a splitting headache, a wet and violent cough, and a bit of a fever. I think I'll call it Shenandoah Mountain Spotted Camporee Girl Fever. ****

I lied about being the Outdoor Type.

carolyn-mine@comcast.net (Carolyn...Online) — Fri, 16 Oct 2009 13:37:00 +0000

It is T-minus 4 hours and counting until I leave to spend the cold wet weekend at a mountain lake camp with 350 girl scouts and I am a Camporee Hot Mess.

Oy.

I've seen Friday the 13th. I know shit can go bad. And I'm pretty sure there are bears in the mountains. Are there bears in the North Georgia mountains? Eh, they probably wouldn't mess with this group of shrill giggly chicks anyway. And you think they're bad? You should hear the kids.

Oh I kid. I'm not making fun of the moms that are brave enough to go with their girls on this trip. Most of the mom's are fantastic. Wonderful. Fun. Some... not so much. Some of them I kind of want to mess with. I thought about suggesting that it would be a good idea to have a Snuggy for Saturday night in the amphitheater. Just to see if a host of Buckhead Betty's would show up in Snuggies. But that would be mean. And not very scouty of me.

At this point, hours before I leave, after months of emails and planning and scheduling and phone calls, I wonder why. Why did I volunteer to be in charge of this thing? I don't even like the outdoors all that much.

But today I will pull into camp and they hand over the Blackhawk 5 mile maximum range handheld portable radio. Ahhh.

You civilians might call it a "walkie-talkie."

I get to wear it on my hip the whole weekend. I get to answer calls of, "Carolyn, what's your 20?" all day. Sometimes there is an issue of some delicacy and they tell me to transfer to a secure channel. It's a hip-slung little power shot of ego-boosting sin.

So yeah, I'm embarrassed to admit that I think I keep volunteering to head up this camp thing because they let me play with the walkie-talkie. It's not pretty but I'm just being honest.

The Atlanta Board of Education burned my hand. For reals.

carolyn-mine@comcast.net (Carolyn...Online) — Tue, 13 Oct 2009 15:59:00 +0000

We're at the tail end of a 4-day weekend. I'm not sure why. Maybe it's to celebrate Columbus's conquering of the New World with his germ warfare and fancy metal guns. Whatever. But my kids have been under my feet since Friday and it's been raining and that means anarchy and Wii for an ungodly number of hours and forts constructed of blankets and pillows and stocked with bowls of marshmallows. I didn't even know we had marshmallows.

So last night I was cooking dinner and because of the chaos and the forts and the ~~methamphetamines~~ marshmallows consumed in great number by my children I lost my head for a second and grabbed the metal handle of the saute pan that I had just removed from the 375 degree oven.

Ouch.

Except it was more like AAARRRGGGGOOOUUUCCCCHHHHHH!!!!!!

I had to keep it in cool water for two hours or the pain got too intense and I would start tearing up. How do people with real burns survive it?

I drugged myself with Tylenol PM and promptly took to the bed which was seen as an elaborate ruse to get out of washing the dinner dishes. Blasphemy, lies, and innuendo around here all the time.

As soon as the sleep inducing effects of the drugs started to kick in I was made aware of a rousing game of Go Fish being played on my bedroom floor. I kindly asked Scott and the girls if they could take the game elsewhere so that I could sleep. Apparently that came out as, "OH MY GOD! FUCK! GET OUT! SHUT UP!"

I may or may not have said that, Scott has such a vivid imagination.

So all I'm saying is that The Atlanta Board of Education decided to have a 4 day weekend which forced me into house arrest with my kids which distracted me and in turn made me burn my hand. So I think I deserve a homework pass for at least a month. Or my own parking space at the school. That's all I'm saying.

This is just me checking in so that you don't think my kids have locked me in the closet or anything. Because that could happen.

carolyn-mine@comcast.net (Carolyn...Online) — Fri, 09 Oct 2009 11:40:00 +0000

I'm starting to feel like the garage construction will never be finished. It's turned into some perverted version of The Winchester Mystery House. Except her construction went on 24 hours a day 7 days a week for years and years to keep the ghosts at bay. We aren't being bothered by ghosts OR construction crews. We just sit woefully quiet most days.

It mocks me.

Maybe I'll set up a chalupa truck in the front yard next to the Port-A-Potty to lure my drywall crew back...

I'm also up to here hand at neck in the final stages of the Girl Scout Camporee that I an in charge of. If there's anything more restful and serene than 325 Buckhead Girl Scouts alone at a mountain lake then I would like to know what it is.

I think we'll be ok up there as long as it doesn't rain. If it rains they could get bored. If they get bored they could turn. If they turn it'll be a coup and I'm retreating to the lake and paddling away.

And soccer has started. Parker is pretty darn cute playing soccer. That's her in the middle, covered in mud taking the ball back. Or tripping that other player. It's a similar move tactically speaking.

So that's what I've been up to. Busy busy busy. And now I've gotta run, those chalupas aren't going to make themselves and I have a garage to get sheetrocked.

8 Things that happen when you don't listen to your parents and things you should do for your parents.

carolyn-mine@comcast.net (Carolyn...Online) — Mon, 05 Oct 2009 12:26:00 +0000

I won't even bother describing the apocalyptic shit storm that precluded this note from Parker being shoved under my bedroom door. Let's just say it turned out to be a good learning experience.

Today is dedicated to Thing One.

carolyn-mine@comcast.net (Carolyn...Online) — Fri, 02 Oct 2009 04:01:00 +0000

I've been AWOL again this week. I know. Sue me. Not really. Please don't sue me.

Scott has Swine Flu. For real. It's been a long week. He sucks at "taking it easy." Yesterday I found him vacuuming the sod. I'm not kidding. I have a picture. Maybe Tamiflu is the pharmaceutical generic for Crack Cocaine. Just a thought.

Everyone said, "Your husband is sick? That's the worst!"

But it's not. You know what The Worst is? The Worst is your child being sick. Of course.

And so today the internet is banding together to help raise awareness of a disease affecting one little girl in our midst.

Kevin of Always Home and Uncool has done an amazing thing. He has asked many of his fellow bloggers to all publish the following post today as part of his effort to raise awareness in the blogosphere of juvenile myositis, a rare autoimmune disease his daughter was diagnosed with on this day seven years ago. The day also happens to be his wife's birthday. And when you read what he wrote you will know perhaps a bit more than you did a minute ago about a tricky disease, and you'll think to yourself, "What a wonderful birthday present for his wife."

So read on. Today the internet is dedicated to Thing 1.

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

Our pediatrician admitted it early on.

The rash on our 2-year-old daughter's cheeks, joints and legs was something he'd never seen before.

The next doctor wouldn't admit to not knowing.

He rattled off the names of several skins conditions -- none of them seemingly worth his time or bedside manner -- then quickly prescribed antibiotics and showed us the door.

The third doctor admitted she didn't know much.

The biopsy of the chunk of skin she had removed from our daughter's knee showed signs of an "allergic reaction" even though we had ruled out every allergy source -- obvious and otherwise -- that we could.

The fourth doctor had barely closed the door behind her when, looking at the limp blonde cherub in my lap, she admitted she had seen this before. At least one too many times before.

She brought in a gaggle of med students. She pointed out each of the physical symptoms in our daughter:

The rash across her face and temples resembling the silhouette of a butterfly.

The purple-brown spots and smears, called heliotrope, on her eyelids.

The reddish alligator-like skin, known as Gottron papules, covering the knuckles of her hands.

The onset of crippling muscle weakness in her legs and upper body.

She then had an assistant bring in a handful of pages photocopied from an old medical textbook. She handed them to my wife, whose birthday it happened to be that day.

This was her gift -- a diagnosis for her little girl.

That was seven years ago -- Oct. 2, 2002 -- the day our daughter was found to have juvenile dermatomyositis, one of a family of rare autoimmune diseases that can have debilitating and even fatal consequences when not treated quickly and effectively.

Our daughter's first year with the disease consisted of surgical procedures, intravenous infusions, staph infections, pulmonary treatments and worry. Her muscles were too weak for her to walk or swallow solid food for several months. When not in the hospital, she sat on our living room couch, propped up by pillows so she wouldn't tip over, as medicine or nourishment dripped from a bag into her body.

Our daughter, Thing 1, Megan, now age 9, remembers little of that today when she dances or sings or plays soccer. All that remain with her are scars, six to be exact, and the array of pills she takes twice a day to help keep the disease at bay.

What would have happened if it took us more than two months and four doctors before we lucked into someone who could piece all the symptoms together? I don't know.

I do know that the fourth doctor, the one who brought in others to see our daughter's condition so they could easily recognize it if they ever had the misfortune to be presented with it again, was a step toward making sure other parents also never have to find out.

That, too, is my purpose today.

It is also my birthday gift to my wife, My Love, Rhonda, for all you have done these past seven years to make others aware of juvenile myositis diseases and help find a cure for them once and for all.

To read more about children and families affected by juvenile myositis diseases, visit Cure JM Foundation at www.curejm.org.

To make a tax-deductible donation toward JM research, go to www.firstgiving.com/rhondaandkevinmckeever or www.curejm.com/team/donations.htm.

You people are going to be so jealous of me you might just throw up a little.

carolyn-mine@comcast.net (Carolyn...Online) — Mon, 28 Sep 2009 13:26:00 +0000

First of all, Happy Yom Kippur to my friends in the Tribe. I live across the street from a synagogue and I can always tell it's a High Holy Day because I can't get into my driveway for all the cars parked on the street.

And do you know what my Jewish Friends across the street love? They love large trucks. During their most holy of days. Really. They send whole squads of men and cute German Shepherds over to check and sniff and investigate all of the large construction trucks parked in front of my house. Nothing like pouring concrete on Yom Kippur. I don't want to scare them and I wish we could've poured the concrete last week but you know, Atlanta was busy getting rained on last week.

They seem a bit nervous about the Port-A-Potty in my front yard too. Or maybe they're just jeeallloooussss. You know, because there's a Port-A-Potty in my front yard.

And right now is when you start to get a little bit jealous. Because you probably don't have a Port-A-Potty in your front yard either.

But that's not what you're going to be really weak in the knees jealous about. This is: guess what I found in the basement while looking for fans to lend to our flood victims...

You'll never guess so I'll tell you.

My sticker collection from the 70's.

Oh yeah baby. Keep on Truckin' and Right On! And what in god's name is a Smoogie Van and why did I have a sticker for it at the ripe old age of 8?

Shut up you know your a little queasy with envy right now.

You know what's going to make you lose your mind and try to contact me and offer to trade your back pocket comb AND your fold out commemorative poster of Shawn Cassidy from Teen Beat?

My collection of Charlie's Angels trading cards.

Oh. Yeah. I mean, Jill disarming a bomb? Priceless. Can you tell that Sabrina was my favorite? I was always a sucker for the smart ones.

But at least...

carolyn-mine@comcast.net (Carolyn...Online) — Thu, 24 Sep 2009 12:03:00 +0000

Things are drying out in Atlanta. School is back in session. Thank any and all gods for that. And in every other house around here casseroles are being prepared. The southerners will not let their neighbors go without casseroles in a disaster.

The night of the flood Scott came home from helping friends move their furniture to the second floor and he was just speechless. After he showered off the Class A toxic mud he said, "But at least we're dry."

He was just shocked at the flooding. You wouldn't believe it. You're standing there and you can hear the water gurgling up in the vents. And then it just slowly starts to seep in. Like a horror movie. It was crazy. It was like watching someones house burn down. Um, or flood sweetie. But I didn't say that because interrupting him when he's revealing a shocking story would be rude.

When I saw our friend's house that night I just cried. Scott had to wade out of their front door and the water was to his chest. So I'm thinking of my very tiny girlfriend and imagining her swimming out of her house... And you know what she said? "But at least it flooded in the day and we had time to move things upstairs. Did you see the street on the creek?"

And the guy around the corner who's house is on the creek? He woke up at 4am to the sound of water rushing through his kitchen. He had to wake up his wife and kids and the two of them carried their children on their shoulders through the flood waters and out the door. And to what? I don't know where they went in their pj's. Their car was already gone. So they were on foot in the middle of the night in their pajamas with their kids assuming chicken-fight position. And do you know what he said? "But at least we got out ok and it only took the first floor. Have you seen the pictures of Austell?"

And in Austell there are entire neighborhoods that have flood waters to the rooftops of the two story homes. Whole streets wiped out. Completely submerged. And the guy in the rescue boat with the tears in his eyes as he pointed to the island that used to be his roof, do you know what he said? "But at least my kids are ok. We all got out and everyone is safe."

Because at the end of the day amidst the stinky mud and the molding walls and the months of rebuild and construction and clean up and replacing of stuff, everyone seems to be aware that people died in this thing. But at least is wasn't them.

Gurgle. Gurgle. Gurgle.

carolyn-mine@comcast.net (Carolyn...Online) — Tue, 22 Sep 2009 13:22:00 +0000

No. I have not quit blogging.

At the end of August I was launched out of a cannon (start of school) into an ocean (kid's soccer) infested with sharks (construction) and smack into the face of the Perfect Storm (the floods.)

Atlanta is under water. You probably heard about it. I know there's news coverage because I see the helicopters hovering but our power has been shoddy at best so I haven't actually seen much of the news. And then when the power comes on for a bit you just rush to charge your phone and run the dishwasher before it goes out again.

Roads are closed. Creeks are flooding. Bridges are washed out. School is cancelled. Trees are down. Power's out. People are being swept away in their cars and drowning.

What the hell?

I am very fortunate that we're on high ground and therefore dry. Many friends and neighbors... not so much.

This is a picture down the street from my house. Oh, hello Peachtree Creek. Whatcha doing this far from home?

It's a muddy mess. For some, a tragedy. For many, a disaster. For me, just a nuisance. So I'm not complaining.

And as you can see right now my power is on so I have to run and do some laundry and start making some food for those who don't have power. Or a kitchen. Or a first floor.

I'll be back soon to visit you peeps. What is going on out there in the rest of the world???

The Garagemahal has become a big fat time-sucking black hole even though Scott's the one who is "actually doing all the work."

carolyn-mine@comcast.net (Carolyn...Online) — Mon, 14 Sep 2009 15:21:00 +0000

I've have several people email me to ask where I've been. I've been here. Dealing with this:

This is the time-sucking black hole of which I speak. And we laid sod last week. And when I say "we" I mean the lovely and speedy crew from Ecuador.

It's supposed to be a drought tolerant species of grass so we won't have to water it. Much. Which is great since Atlanta has pretty much been in a watering ban for a decade. So we didn't install a sprinkler system. What's the point when you can't use it half the time anyway?

But the grass toupee needs to take root. Right now it's just laying on our slope, untethered to the ground. It needs to be watered everyday until "squishy but not spongy." I don't even know what that means. But I do know that it means moving the sprinklers around the yard for FOUR HOURS A DAY.

And the dog can't go out there lest he pee on the grass. Or peel it off.

So where am I? Right now I'm probably on my cell phone holding with the cabinet maker while texting my contractor and walking the dog down the block mentally willing him to go on and do his business so I can get back and move the sprinklers before I take a quick shower for my meeting up at the school and calculating if I have enough time to stop by Home Depot after the meeting but before the bus or if I'll have to wait and do that after I drop Parker at soccer and Tempel at tennis and figuring out if I have anything to make for dinner - not that anyone would eat it anyway - or if I have to run by the grocery store.

You know. Same thing you're doing.

Feral Neanderhobbit: FAIL

carolyn-mine@comcast.net (Carolyn...Online) — Tue, 08 Sep 2009 11:57:00 +0000

I am VERY sorry to report that we didn't get to go to Bubba's house yesterday. This is what I get for building it up for a week. I'm being punished. I know there are Seven Deadly Sins but is discussing your in-laws on the internet one of them? Sheesh, karmic revenge. Back off.

Anyway, Parker woke up on Sunday morning with a high fever. And it just so happens that H1N1 has made an appearance at her school. So here I was with a hot limp potentially contagious little Pickle.

We had to cancel. Even though Parker woke up Monday morning nice and cool. No fever. We couldn't risk it. My mother-in-law has Advanced Rheumatoid Arthritis and if we are carriers for some sort of influenza it can be very serious for her.

Dammit.

And as much as I was drooling over the potential of that train wreck of a day it wasn't worth risking my mother-in-law's life. Probably. No, definitely. I mean it definitely wasn't worth risking her life. Probably.

So I still haven't gotten to meet the feral Neanderhobbit twin from the old country. And I didn't get to watch Bubba just be Bubba. And I was hoping to videotape an interview with my nephew. Because he might have the cutest little country accent you ever heard.

Oh well. I still did the drawing. We put 34 numbers in the bowl.

And Parker mixed them up really well. (See how healthy she is now? We couldn't have had the flu get us next weekend?)

And voila! we have a winner. Comment Number 12. Which happens to be Captain Dumbass. Ok Cappy, I'll email you.

I really do feel awful for promising you such a great story and coming up empty. Here's a little consolation. It's Bubba sleeping on the couch in my playroom after Thanksgiving Dinner one year. Niiice.

The Reveal. Such as it is... And a little Giveaway of The Book.

carolyn-mine@comcast.net (Carolyn...Online) — Fri, 04 Sep 2009 12:21:00 +0000

Ok, no more caginess. The point of me introducing you to my in-laws over the last few days: This weekend we are going to my sister-in-law's for a Labor Day Bar-B-Que.

I know. That sounds uneventful. But it won't be. I mean you've met the players.

And now that you have a taste for what Bubba (my brother-in-law) and the Neanderhobbit (my mother-in-law's husband) are capable of guess who else will be there.... The Neanderhobbit's Twin Brother from Germany.

I can't contain my excitement at the impending train wreck.

Bubba doesn't like The Neanderhobbit. And the feeling is quite mutual. And there will be TWO Neanderhobbit's in Bubba's house. And Mary, my mother-in-law, doesn't really like any of them. Well, she likes the 'hobbit obviously but not really any of the others so her subtle sabotage will be intriguing. There's just no telling which kind of ailment she'll pretend to have in order to throw a wrench into the day.

If I didn't have a blog I would be dreading it. I would fight with Scott for the full hour that it takes to get to Bubba's house. But now? Now I'm just going to make popcorn and watch the show and take copious notes so that I can fill you all in on Tuesday.

Is it mean? Is it wrong of me to put stories of this crazy family I've married into on the Internet? I'm not sure. But at least it's honest. And you people can benefit from my pain. Laugh at my expense.

Some things you can probably count on:

Bubba will say some wildly inappropriate things. I will write them down so I can better remember them. He also has the potential of cooking some wildly inappropriate vittles.

Mary will claim to be sick. Or allergic to something. I can't make too much fun of her crazy because it's an actual case of crazy so it holds a softspot to my bitchy snarky self. But whatever she pulls will singlehandedly change the course of the day.

The WonderTwin powers of the Neanderhobbits, fueled by copious amounts of whiskey and/or German malt beverages, will wreak havoc the likes of which I can only imagine.

It will take my girls a good half hour before they are accustomed to their cousin's accent and can understand what the hell he's saying.

Actually, there's just no telling what will happen. Which is why the whole thing is so magically delicious.

I will have a full accounting on Tuesday. Hopefully with video. Definitely with pictures.

Anyway, to the Giveaway of The Book. Leave me a comment and I'll pick a name out of the hat on Tuesday and mail you your very own copy of the tome that Ms. Picket and I compiled over the course of a year.

Viva la dysfunction!

.

And now Blog, meet the Neanderhobbit.

carolyn-mine@comcast.net (Carolyn...Online) — Wed, 02 Sep 2009 21:28:00 +0000

Yes. I said N.e.a.n.d.e.r.h.o.b.b.i.t. It's a little word amalgamation I created to better describe my ~~father-in-law~~ the man that my husband's mother is married to. You people have to know the Neanderhobbit so you'll be ready for the reveal on Friday. The cliffhanger. Because if my pain isn't funny to you people then I just don't know what to do with you. This is a repost of a little something I wrote after our Christmas dinner last year.

So read on. Blog, meet the Neanderhobbit.

*******************
I'm sorry did you just call me a Socialist AND fat?

People may wonder why oh why I would fight with my sweet husband about having dinner with his family for Christmas. Just because that whole trip to Jamaica was an elaborate plan to avoid any and all family time at Christmas. And even though it was well planned and nicely executed it ran the risk of the whole thing blowing up by a last minute invitation to dinner by his mother. I mean I know the poor guy lost his father this year. And his mother is cooking dinner. And all the players will be there: Scott's mom and her husband, Scott's sister and her husband Bubba, and their son Jordan. So why would I fight with him about going to one holiday dinner?

Yeah well...

I lost the fight so we went to dinner. But if you want to know why I waged the fight to begin with then read on.

The first thing you have to know about having dinner at my MIL's house is that she smokes. I don't mean she has a few cigarettes a day. I mean she's a pseudo shut-in who's been sitting at her spot on the couch chain smoking in that house for the past 17 years. The makeup of the air in that environment has been chemically altered. It's thick. It burns your eyes and throat. When you leave her house the stink comes with you. Like Pigpen from the Peanuts. It sticks to the car seats. You have to wash your clothes. And take a shower before you go to bed. The cigarette smoke is an actual physical entity in the house. So there's that. Which is nice.

Anyway, we get there and the girls will not pull their noses out of their respective Nintendo DS's which is very rude and disrespectful and I don't give a shit. Sure, I'll have a beer. Wow, you don't usually drink when you're here. Yep, make it two. The girls are both sneezing from the smoke. My eyes are watering. My MIL lights up a fresh one.

My sister-in-law and her family show up and now the fun really begins. My SIL might be the sweetest person on the planet. It's unconfirmed but I suspect it. She's certainly the sweetest person in the room. Bubba, my infamous brother-in-law, walks in and immediately begins to show Tempel a series of pictures on his digital camera. Tempel is making a strange face. What are you showing her, Bubba? Oh. It's a dear. In various dead poses being prepared to be mounted by the taxidermist. Great. This kid doesn't want to kill a Christmas tree and you're showing her the Faces of Death. Well played Bubba.

My 8 year old nephew is too excited to wait and tries to wrestle the camera away from his dad.

I wanna show em wh'I got!

You best git boy. Don't go grabbin' at m'camera! You're like tuh break it. Here, now you cain show em.

Jordan shows the girls a photo of himself sitting on a four-wheeler. Tempel says, So you got a tractor?

No! Gah. Is'a fo' wheeler!

Oh.

Scott is absolutely horrified. Mr. Safety is informing his sister that the four-wheeler is quite possibly the most dangerous thing they could have given to their son and that statistically they would have been better off giving the kid a chainsaw. This is not the last we'll all be hearing about the four wheeler.

And dinner is served. Here's another thing about eating at the MIL's house. There's never really enough food. She's married to Michael. Who's part German, part Hobbit. He's a Neanderhobbit. It's a rare and elusive breed. It eats a lot. It loves food. It takes pictures of food. There's never enough food.

We get our small portions loaded up on our fine Chinette paper plates and our drinks in our large Styrofoam cups and squish together at the table. Paper plates. For Christmas dinner. Why.

The conversation was typical: I ain't never seen people wearin' tshirts uh'the president before. I'm sure this is being stated to give me proof that Obama is the anti-Christ since the anti-Christ is supposed to be such a popular fellow you know, before he leads us all to hell and damnation. Jordan is nodding along to whatever his parents say. You know Jordan, I voted for Obama. Blank stare. And now all of the rants he's heard about his Aunt Carolyn being a wacko Socialist nutjob are confirmed. I ain't never goin' t'China. Why not Jordan? Cuz all them Chinese hate e'rybody and all they wanna do is shoot people. What are you talking about? Welp, them can make a folder for like 4 cents. I have no idea what the cheap cost of labor has to do with anything but you know the Chinese, most of them, are just like us. They don't hate anybody. Blank stare. Why am I arguing with an 8 year old?

Read the following with an Arnold Schwarzenegger accent: Dem damn foreigners mit de fucking scarves und de fucking anti-Americans mit dat hate America. But ~~Neanderhobbit~~ Michael, just because someone is foreign, or Muslim, doesn't mean they hate America. Dey shouldt become American or go back to deir where dey come from. But that's the whole point of America is the freedom to believe what you choose without having to fear your government. Isn't there room for everyone - and for tolerance - here of all places? But dey hate us and dey shouldt go away. Dere are stupid idiots everywier mit dem stupids. Now I'm arguing with a half drunk Neanderhobbit who keeps lapsing into German.

But the best part of my evening was when Bubba leaned across his Chinette and with a mouth full of food said in front of god and everyone, "So Carolyn. You gained what like 'bout ten pounds?"

Fa la la la laaaaaa

Blog, meet Bubba.

carolyn-mine@comcast.net (Carolyn...Online) — Mon, 31 Aug 2009 22:49:00 +0000

I'm spending this week introducing you to some of my in-laws via some reposts. Why you may ask? Well, that's for the big reveal later. And that folks? That's called a cliffhanger. Or a teaser.

I wrote this post after Thanksgiving 2007 and it includes one of my all time favorite brother-in-law stories. My brother-in-law, Bubba. Seriously. Bubba. Anyway, read on. Blog, meet Bubba.

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

Well, we got through Thanksgiving yesterday. Tragically I was coming down with an epic cold and was not up to participating in our annual underground drinking game. Scott and I have a covert drinking game that gets us through the reality of having alllllll of the extended family in the house for Thanksgiving. I suppose it's just as well that I didn't feel up to it because I don't know that we would have had enough booze on hand for the antics displayed here.

Our game is simple enough, every time one of our family members does one of their typically annoying things Scott and I make eye contact and have a sip. Last year we had an elaborate set of rules but I just couldn't rise to the occasion this time around. All of the annoying things still occurred, however.

My mother in law - after 15 years of knowing her - has NEVER had a sip of any drink of any kind from my house. She brings her own beverages in her own disposable cups. Every time. Perhaps she thinks Scott and I are going to slip her a micky... Hard to say.

And my dad was here. Which. Was. Fine.

But hands down the best part of the night, as usual, goes to Bubba.

Bubba is my brother-in-law. I'm not being disparaging, that's his name. Bubba. Well, his real name is James but I've only heard him referred to as James once, during his wedding vows. Bubba is a bit country as you can imagine. Likable enough fella. Bubba and Scott's sister live about an hour outside of Atlanta in the sort-of country. I call it the sort-of country because it's out in the middle of nowhere but they still have the strip malls and subdivisions of suburbia. They live in a lovely generic, anywhere subdivision with cul-de-sacs and winding roads, and matching mailboxes.

So every year Bubba treats us with some appetizer concocted from his latest kill. Did I mention he's a hunter? Yeah. Now I know that it's totally hypocritical of me to be opposed to his hunting. I eat meat, I wear leather, I am a party to the killing of stuff. I get it. But I have never been able to get on board with his various meals of venison. Eww. And he knows it so pestering me gives him endless pleasure. In kind of a Beavis and Butthead giggling adolescent way.

So he shows up with his "fresh kill" and would like me to try it. No thanks. But it's the best yet because it's so fresh. No thanks. Seriously it's the best yet. No thanks. As he's heating up the bits of deer meat covered in BBQ sauce in my microwave he informs me that he killed it just this morning. Eeks. I am totally skeeved. I want him to get that shit out of my microwave. I prepare food in there for god's sake.

Then as he presents the guests with his dish he sets out telling the story of how he hunted down this deer in the woods behind his house, shot it, and then dressed it hanging from a tree in his front yard.

Houston, we have just left my comfort zone.

To "dress a deer" I'm guessing is to hang the carcass, take your knife, and hack into the animal to prepare the meat fer eatin'. I'm guessing you cut out the organs and what not and get the meat into oven ready pieces?

THEY LIVE IN A S-U-B-D-I-V-I-S-I-O-N.

I'm trying to picture him in his front yard next to his wrought iron mailbox surrounded by its bed of pansies dressed in his camouflage with the guts and head of this poor animal all around him in a bloody mess while he puts his nice fillets into a mass of Tupperware.

Had I been properly playing the game this story alone would've gotten me and Scott through two bottles of wine. Sadly, I was drinking water and therefore able to remember the whole icky thing.

Yep. Bubba's "shoes" that he wore to Thanksgiving dinner. Scott wouldn't let him wear them in the house because they were coated in mud. And most probably bits of bone, cartilage, and the guts of his fresh kill.

Conversations with my mother #8.

carolyn-mine@comcast.net (Carolyn...Online) — Fri, 28 Aug 2009 13:17:00 +0000

These are email conversations between me and my mom that I publish on the internet without her knowledge. Because she's funny. And I'm sneaky.

And as a little background: she works for the governor and likes to pretend to declare things in the name of the office. Also, she's Ms. Magoo. Every time she walks out of a store she can't find her car. Every. Single. Time.

From mom to me: C - Read this!

“Deputy Jared Stevens darted across a windswept expanse near the Chatham County Sheriff's Department complex Wednesday afternoon, led by a handheld network of metal antennas.The object of Stevens' pursuit - a small bracelet designed to be worn by patients with Alzheimer's disease, autism or others prone to
wandering.”

This is what I need for my car!!!!!!

ME: Your car is not prone to wandering. Your attention is.

MOM: You are so wrong--my car does too move. Because you were so disrespectful I have declared school out. My Grandchildren will now be home full time until further notice.

ME: It's not nice to pull your clout with the governor and make school be finished. I like school. I like my kids being gone for six hours. You're mean.

MOM: Never forget I am older, sneakier, and have more time to devote to vengeance. I love you.

.

Ding. Dong.

carolyn-mine@comcast.net (Carolyn...Online) — Wed, 26 Aug 2009 16:59:00 +0000

My doorbell rings constantly. It's usually one of the nice construction workers asking me to move my car, plug in the cord, find a hose, flip the breaker.

Ding. Dong.

Through the square panes of glass I can see nothing but a midsection. This is not one of my usual lean short workers.

Drooping belly. Wrinkled khaki shorts straining under the pressure. The button has long since retracted into a crevasse never to return. The bunched up creases in the legs from sitting down are too pronounced to every fully go away.

Ugh. I don't want whatever you're selling old lady. Go away.

Gasp.

It's not an old lady. It's my father.

Shit.

I haven't seen him in over a year. Has it been that long? Longer? What are you doing here? No call? You just show up? My house is a wreck. I'm sweaty and muddy. I'm in the middle of cleaning my kitchen. Scott's not here to be my buffer. The kids aren't here to spin and chatter and distract us endlessly with calls of, "Look! Something shiny."

What are you doing here?

"Hi dad. What are you doing here?"

...ham radio store... needed a new T-104 coupler...

His hair has been cut. It looks nice. It looks the way mom always wanted him to cut it. Figures.

...you remember Father Bart? He's a Monsignor now...

I wonder what my father the ex-CIA man and ~~Father~~ Monsignor Bart the ex-CIA man were doing those years ago in Rome. I won't ask him. I don't want to start the story telling.

...not drinking anymore I wouldn't mind going back to Peshawar for a few...

It's ironic that none of that killed you. That you're standing here in my kitchen while I wash and dry these stupid wine glasses by hand just to give myself something to do. Something to keep my hands busy.

...three or four years and it will be big, nuclear....

You don't sound as crazy when your eyes aren't glassed over. Shit. The knowledge you have, that you could offer, and you've chosen to smuggle yourself away up there all alone in that depressed neighborhood doing what? Talking to Japan on the ham radio?

...a few of mine ended up in Guantanamo...

What did you do? Who were you? Who were you when you weren't that tired lump of a man sleeping on the couch in the study ignoring mom and quietly drunkenly desperately tolerating your life?

...garage looks nice. Your mom going to live there?....

No dad. Mom is just fine. She's great as a matter of fact and doesn't need my charity. She's got friends and a job and a life. And she's lovely and warm and kind and she's a saint and I pick her. Because of the way you left. But she's strong and doesn't need anything from me. Or you. Godammit.

"No dad. Mom likes where she is. That's just a garage."

...have to be running along...

"Good to see you. Bye."

Bye.

.

If you give Carolyn a Fo-tee.

carolyn-mine@comcast.net (Carolyn...Online) — Mon, 24 Aug 2009 15:18:00 +0000

When Carolyn is turning 40 she will decide she needs a 40 oz beer.
While shopping for a 40 oz. beer Carolyn will decide to throw a happy hour.

If she's going to throw a happy hour she'll need food to serve her friends.
She'll go to buy pork bar-b-que.

When her friends come to happy hour they will bring her many many
40 oz. bottles of beer to help her celebrate.

While celebrating, Carolyn decides that it is hilarious to
refer to them as Fo'tees because beer + Carolyn = hilarious.

When Carolyn wakes up the next day she will decide to do hot yoga
for the first time to get rid of the toxins she has just poured into her body.

When signing up for hot yoga she'll read that she is supposed
to drink 2 liters of water beforehand to hydrate.

Carolyn doesn't usually drink water in metric form and
will go online to figure out just how much water that is.

When she goes online she'll realize that Facebook
has alerted everyone in the known universe to Carolyn's big day.

When Carolyn realizes that the whole internet knows she is turning 40
she will decide to go ahead and do the yoga instead of blowing it off. Again.

When the yoga starts and the room temperature is 105 degrees
Carolyn will start to sweat out the toxins.

When Carolyn sweats out the toxins
she will realize that they smell like pork bar-b-que.

And if Carolyn starts to smell pork bar-b-que
she'll need a Fo'tee to go with it.

Yellow Fever might be the best thing ever.

carolyn-mine@comcast.net (Carolyn...Online) — Thu, 20 Aug 2009 15:20:00 +0000

Parker, who is eight, has a big fat pimple right smack in the middle of her forehead. How did this happen? She looks just. like. me. so in theory she shouldn't get pimples. Right? Isn't that how it works? She should get big nasty swollen fever blisters on her lip every time she gets tired or sunburned or stressed just like mommy. But zits? Nope. I didn't have much to do with those.

Plus she's 8 so she shouldn't even be producing whatever the heck it is that makes pimples.

So we have two problems here:

1.) I told her that I didn't know much about how to treat the pimple because I was more of a herpes simplex 1 girl so even though she looks just. like. mommy. I can't help her in this department. She burst into tears. I know little one. I'm sorry you have already gotten your first blemish and that you didn't inherit mommy's blemish free but herpes infested skin. "No mom! Gah! I hate it when people tell me I look like you! I don't want to look like you! And I don't want to look like you when I grow up!"

Oh. Well. Um. Ok then.

2.) The other problem is that Tempel is reading some book about a Yellow Fever outbreak (which I'm reading too because hello? pandemic alert and all but it seems age appropriate - I mean as age appropriate as a book about disease and death can be.) So when Tempel spotted this lovely red bump prominently displayed in the center of Parker's head she diagnosed it immediately as Yellow Fever.

And now Parker keeps checking the mirror to see if her eyes are turning yellow. I'm imagining that in her mind Yellow Fever is like when Eric Bana's eyes go green and he turns into The Hulk and Parker is just waiting for that first yellow tinge so she can have the strength of 10 men and then she can properly beat up her big sister.