I don’t know about you, but my first car was a holy nightmare.

It was an early 70′s Plymouth Grand Fury, electric blue, and most notably, a former police car which meant that the V8 engine sucked gas at rates that put my modest bank account into shock. Not only that, but the muffler had issues which meant that I had to carry around a gallon of water at all times since my floorboards would literally start on FIRE.

No big deal, except that Minnesota is frozen for six months out of the year and it’s difficult to pour solid ice on a fire. So I scoped out all the car washes in my driving vicinity and made many detours to them as the vehicle filled with smoke.

It takes alot of Love’s Baby Soft perfume to cover up the scent of smoke.

But I didn’t complain because having my own wheels meant freedom. And many near death experiences. That which doesn’t kill you makes you smell alot like beef jerky and baby powder.

A friend of mine gave Kevin a car this year and while it looked to be in good shape, it has provided essential life experiences in car repair: frame repair, shocks and struts, transmission and most recently the heater coil. Every time Kevin comes home from school, there’s a new car repair project for Darren.

So the family is divided upon Kev’s arrival. I get giddy with joy that my baby is home. Darren cringes because he knows that his weekend will be spent trying to find the necessary tools to make the repairs. I’m sure it only happens in our home, but wrenches, sockets, screwdrivers and pliers have a uncanny way of disappearing.

Nothing puts a man in a foul mood like not being able to find his tools, AMIRIGHT?

Today the tension level was building in our makeshift car repair shop because Kevin thinks he knows it all and Darren actually does. It amazes me that they can go at each other for hours at a time and still manage to sit in the same room afterwards. If girls talked to each other like that, feelings would get hurt and relationships would end but these guys just take it in stride and get over the spats in an instant… like when Kevin decides to assuage the tension with a song like this (if foul language offends you, I suggest you don’t watch):

In the end, a teenager’s shitty car builds character, patience and a much needed sense of humor.

Not to mention moments that I couldn’t possibly explain with mere words.

Cue the banjo music.

Why do people in movies who get amnesia always remember the word “amnesia”?

Why don’t doctors ever prescribe roller skates for depression?

If you don’t try, at least you’ll never know that you can’t, right?

Eating a sandwich under protest is probably the worst way to eat a sandwich.

Kevin came home from college for the weekend and in the two hours that he’s been here, we haven’t argued once. I call that PROGRESS, people.
Our lives are about to become unmanageable with Kevin wrestling in venues that take us out of state at the same time we have four other boys playing football AT FOUR DIFFERENT LEVELS. That means FOUR different football schedules which means we will be watching football games almost every weeknight AND Saturdays until November. It’s getting to the point where my Google calendar pops up with a “REALLY?” message every time I enter a new event but I’m married to a man who is convinced that Child Protective Services will be called if we miss a kid’s sporting event.

I’m more of the mind that if I can keep us supplied with milk and toilet paper, I’m exceeding parental expectations.
Did you know that schools have the right to insist that each child has a separate pair of shoes to be worn only in the gym during the school year?? ~insert F Bomb~ Ten pairs of shoes, even cheap ones, adds up to almost a week’s worth of groceries. Janitors these days…. back when I was in school, we left black marks and sand and mud on the gym floors and the custodians called it job security!

This is my favorite story of the day: Momma Knows Best

And my favorite video today:

Have a great weekend!

My friend, Michele, has decided to blog each day during the month of September. She suggested that I do the same and while I’m a day late and a dollar short, I’ve decided that I need a bit of discipline in my life, even if that means I thrust my mundane life in your lap DAILY.

Keep your expectations low, Internet. The kids are heading back to school which means my days will be filled with things like holding staring contests with McGee (he’s not much of a blinker so it’s a lot harder than it sounds), watching daytime TV (punishment for the unemployed) and trying to work the word antidisestablishmentarianism into a haiku.

My not-well-thought-out-goal for this month is to be genuine. Like, I’ve been stifling a desire to randomly shout out the F word lately, for many reasons, and while I only say it occasionally (while playing Halo)  I think it…alot.

I wanted you to know that.

Also, Kelly Ripa needs to eat a burger, and soon:

Thank you, Michele, for encouraging me to be disciplined in one area of my life. Unfortunately, wild horses could not drag me into doing the P90X workout. Thank you for not suggesting THAT.

McGee’s first momma, Connie, sent me a photo of her new baby, Louise, because Connie is just mean like that.

I’m starting to think that McGee needs a wife.

Darren doesn’t think so because he’s just mean like that.

I’m surrounded by mean people!

I think baby Basset Hounds are the cutest things on earth and this world needs more cute things.

I have to plot and scheme very, very carefully.

Unfortunately I can’t embed this video but it’s so cool that you simply must make the effort to click here and watch it.

Kevin leaves for college on Saturday and that simple fact has caused me to turn into a broody mother hen.

I’m trying to be good and not pass on my fears to him, or project any sense of nervousness about it because he’s dealing with his own issues of packing and planning, of instilling a healthy fear into his siblings about touching his stuff while he’s away, and of wondering how he’ll manage academics with college wrestling.

He’s already made it clear to me that he’s not going to school to learn, but to wrestle- a thought that festers in the wee hours of the morning. And in the afternoon. And the evening.

We send him away with high hopes for a successful future but what if he takes his new found freedom and turns into a complete idiot?

What if he doesn’t make the cut on the wrestling team?

What if someone slips him a Ruffie?

What if his car breaks down during a blizzard?

What if he can’t get his printer to work and I can’t walk him through it over the phone?

What if he goes to bed hungry?

What if he oversleeps?

What if he drops out and becomes a permanent basement dweller?

What if he gets a job near school and doesn’t come home next summer?

What if he meets a girl, falls in love and gets married without telling us?

What if aliens abduct him?

What if aliens abduct me and there’s no one to tell him to look both ways when crossing the busy school parking lot?

There is an infinite amount of what-ifs to consider. This isn’t a dress rehearsal. It’s the real deal. But I don’t know how to make peace with not being able to make sure he made it home before I go to sleep, or to wonder if he’s okay when I haven’t talked to him for days. I’ll try to decipher his Facebook statuses the best I can, but I won’t really know what’s happening in his life or be able to monitor his choices as I have the past 19 years. I liked it much better when I had to help him pull up his pants and clap for him after he pooped in the potty.

My mother is quick to remind me that being a teenager is the death of a child and the birth of an adult- which would explain the mental contractions taking place in my head right now.

Screw this natural “adult birth”.

I WANT A BRAIN EPIDURAL RIGHT NOW!

This graph made me laugh out loud. It was created by a guy named Josh over at Status Illustrated. I think he’s pretty funny. I mean, he wrote this:

Power Out: An @yoyoha Live Tweet Event

About a month ago, just before we put the kids to bed, the power went out.  This is a log of the events that followed, in a live tweet format.

Power out. Minute one. All is lost.

7:49 PM Jun 27th via Twitterrific

Power out. Minute three. Four of us huddled around soft glow of iPod video screen. Earbuds are warm from sharing. I am getting nauseous.

7:52 PM Jun 27th via Twitterrific

Power out. Minute six. Children are uneasy. Wife & I are exchanging sorrowful looks and remembering happier times twenty minutes ago.

7:55 PM Jun 27th via Twitterrific

Power out. Minute ten. My suggestion of burning dining room set for fuel likely will not help us restart the air conditioner.

8:00 PM Jun 27th via Twitterrific

Power out. Minute 15. Wife and I almost come to blows over decision to use last of iPod battery on instrumental cuts from Yellow Submarine.

8:05 PM Jun 27th via Twitterrific

Power out. Minute 19. Interrupting kids bedtime stories every few pages to yell WHY HATH YOU FORSAKEN ME at light fixture.

8:10 PM Jun 27th via Twitterrific

Power out. Minute 26. So thirsty. Regretting decision to be first one on block with electric plumbing fixtures.

8:17 PM Jun 27th via Twitterrific

Power out. Minute 30. Kids sleeping. Now drawing favorite Ross & Rachel ‘We were on a break’ scene on tv screen with grease pencil. Sobbing

8:21 PM Jun 27th via Twitterrific

Power out. min 41. Drinking highball of warm vodka in effort to dull bi-minutely urge to “just put a DVD in.”

8:32 PM Jun 27th via Twitterrific

Power out. Minute 53. Getting weak. Making kids Baby Einstein puppets say awful, awful things to each other. Send help.

June 27, 2010 8:44:00 PM EDT via Twitterrific

Power out. Minute 72. Shrouded in darkness. Using candle to make shadows of famous cultural icons with genitals. Hysteria is near.

June 27, 2010 9:03:25 PM EDT via Twitterrific

Power out. Minute 88. Very quiet now. Every few minutes I hear someone screaming YAHTZEE across the street. Doors locked shotgun is loaded.

June 27, 2010 9:19:37 PM EDT via Twitterrific

Power out. Minute 106. Almost killed recreating final scene from The Graduate on neighbors patio doors. His wife, Elaine, noticeably shaken.

June 27, 2010 9:37:47 PM EDT via Twitterrific

Power out. Minute 121. Trying to pop bag of microwave popcorn with prayer.

June 27, 2010 10:02:26 PM EDT via Twitterrific

Power out. Minute 143. Self-diagnosed malignant tumor in forearm with big flashlite. Using it as excuse to eat rest of 3yo’s birthday cake.

June 27, 2010 10:24:21 PM EDT via Twitterrific

Power out. Last breaths of night evaporating like morning’s mist from a window pane. Minutes of phone life left. Drowning in thought. Death

June 27, 2010 11:28:41 PM EDT via Twitterrific

POWER BACK ON. Sweet. That was close.

June 27, 2010 11:30:05 PM EDT via web

Power still on. Stayed up extra late to turn on every electrical appliance in effort to repress carbon footprint back into Earth’s face.

June 28, 2010 8:14:39 AM EDT via Twitterrific

~ fin ~

This is what I watch every day before vacuuming.

I’m guessing Tammy doesn’t watch the Food Network much.

Common sense prevails! Isn’t that comforting?

So funni!

Sarah Mclachlan would be so proud!