My birthday boys (and Succinctly Yours!)

This week we will celebrate not one, but two birthdays-those of my husband and son. We usually do just one cake since they're only two days apart (too much cake lying around is not a good thing), but my son wins out on the cake type because his day comes first. Now my husband has always been a good sport about the whole thing because he's not much of a cake eater anyway, but I have always felt a small stab of guilt. In year's past, I made his favorite pie, but this year he says he is making his own cake-a pudding cake?

Okay, first of all, my husband is not the cook or baker around here, it's me. I usually make my own cake because the cakes he has made in the past didn't quite turn out. (I do remember one cake who's top layer slid right off, but there were a few that turned out well-LOL!) And this pudding cake?  He tried to make it several years ago-the kids don't remember but I do-and no one would touch it...

My son keeps asking me if I am going to do his cake, and there is genuine fear in his eyes. So what do we do about dad? He has brought it up a couple times but I am taking a "wait and see" approach to it all, and if the man wants to make himself a pudding cake, then I'm going to step back and let him do it. (I'm just hoping it all turns out for the best...) Who is the designated baker in your families?

Now time for Succinctly Yours, another writing meme that piggy backs on the idea of Susan of the Stony River Blog.

Grandma Goulash posts a picture and you are to write a 140 character or word story about it. You can also use the word of the day in your post if you wish. This week's word is practice. Here this week's picture and my take this week:

It was more than a few decades before Emma could revisit places from her past, but like her old school, she had withstood the test of time.(138 characters)

It's getting late, so I will come by your blogs tomorrow!

A bike, a cell phone, and vermin: what every girl wants

I apologize for being around just long enough to post for my favorite writing memes, but since Monday was my daughter’s 12th birthday, I was running around on my "free time" trying to decide what to get her. 12 is hard-she isn’t a little girl any more and yet she still is (so many opposites to deal with at this age!)

My husband and I were really at a loss about what we should get, and my daughter didn’t make it any easier-we kept pumping her for information, but all we got was "I dunno,"-enough said. (I started developing a little twitch after hearing this phrase repeated, so for my sanity’s sake…)

My husband and I happened on gift idea number one by accident-it had been an abnormally warm day back in February, and we all decided to go for a bike ride. We soon discovered that my daughter's current bike was much too small for her current height (gift #1 a bike, check!)

We also tossed around the idea of getting her a laptop, but we already have two computers, and she got an iPod for Christmas, so this seemed a little like overkill to me. Then the talk of a cell phone came up-I thought my daughter was too young for a cell phone but my husband did not. But since she’ll be in 7th grade next year and her involvement in gymnastics will continue, I thought I would look to see if there were any good deals. I was able to get her a pretty nice texting phone (don’t worry-our family plan has unlimited texts) without having to pay for a data plan-she doesn’t need the Internet because she has the iPod. (Gift #2 a cell phone, check!)

I picked up a few smaller gifts to round things off and really thought we were done-I was wrong! Now I might not have been entirely truthful when I said my daughter wasn’t telling us what she wanted for her birthday. The fact is, the one and only thing she asked for she was absolutely, without a shadow of a doubt, not going to get, over my dead body.

You see, after visit to my brother-in-laws in December all my daughter could talk about was their pet rat, and wouldn’t it be nice if…? Everyone likes this thing except for me-I mean the big ears are one thing, but that long, hairless tail just gives me the creeps! I listened to all the talk about how smart it is (almost as smart as a dog-not seeing it) and how sweet it is (it curls up and sleeps along my nephews neck-um, yuck!), and it actually comes when it’s called (my brother-in-law just yells, "Here kitty, kitty," and it comes running!) but it’s a RAT!

I had pet guinea pigs when I was younger and a parakeet when I fist got married, and the nastiness of cleaning out their cages every week kept me from pursuing any other tiny creature in a cage. I thought my husband was behind me on this, until I heard he and my daughter were stopping by pet shops on the way home from her practices "just to look" (turncoat!)

Well, I persevered up until my daughter’s last meet-the day before her birthday. She was doing fantastic on floor and beam but faltered on the vault-for some reason she earned only a 7.0 on what my daughter’s coaches thought was a clean routine. She was pretty devastated-you are pretty much out of medal contention in the all-around with a score like that, and we all knew it.

She had only one routine left-the bars-and after some of the high scores she received on two previous meets, we all felt pretty confident. Well, my daughter didn’t and she faltered, slipping off the low bar on the way to the high bar-a tremendous deduction and a final score of 7.6. But everyone has a bad meet every now and then so you just chalk it up to that and move on.

Hairy is the top and Mouch below

My daughter did manage to get on the podium twice, and I was proud of her, but I soon found out how upset she was when we went to lunch afterward. She actually broke into tears when we pointed out how she medaled in two events, and I did everything I could to console her, including going to the pet shop nearby (gift #3, oh brother!)

I didn’t say anything to her, but in my mind I decided that if she wanted some vermin (no rat, but maybe a couple gerbils so that my son could have one too) I would bend. So here I sit, the mother of two humans and now mother to Hairy and (Dominique)Moceanu (can you guess which one is my daughters?), two members of the rodent persuasion. They (the rodents that is) have a three-story condo, complete with a wheel, bedding area, and a couple toys to keep them occupied, and they are currently residing in my son’s bedroom. I wrinkle up my nose every time I walk in there, but I am trying, even after they (aka the rodents) both decided to see if I was edible or not!

I'm still alive even after the over my dead body comment, and I am still wondering how a little girl’s tears can have such power. I mean what about my convictions? Oh well, I can’t wait to clean out the cage (wimper...)

Aging and Oddities: A losing battle?

It’s been ages since I did a truly personal post and that’s because I’m struggling with the direction I want my blog to take. I started a blog to get back into writing, share common experiences, and give helpful feedback concerning goods and services that you as a mother might be interested in.

At first things started slowly, and I kept things strictly business-like with reviews of my favorite vacation destination-Cape May, New Jersey. Then I bounced between day-to-day issues about being a mom and an occasional review. Then when we all headed back to school (me included) I didn’t have the time to be posting every night, and my interest in blogging waned.

Then something sparked my interest again, and that was a writing meme, and I was so excited that my posts became this and nothing more, so I decided to step back and think about what purpose I want my blog to serve. I decided on this plan of action-Sundays/Mondays I am reserving for the writing meme (writing the post and reading other member entries), Wednesday I will try to hop over to read updates on all of your blogs, Thursday will be my "personal" entry (anything from my life could end up here), and Saturday I will set aside for a review post (technology, books, etc.)

So that’s the plan, and since it’s Thursday I thought I would catch you up to speed with what’s been going round my head lately. Some of you may remember that I celebrated my birthday in December and it was a milestone birthday- one where you feel both excitement and dread at the same time, especially when you glance at all the candles covering your birthday cake! After blowing those candles out, I have come to realize something about aging. I am convinced that aging and personal oddities go hand in hand!

Let me explain. Everyone has their own sets of likes and dislikes and idiosyncrasies ("quirks"), and as I get older, I notice that mine have doubled, maybe even tripled in number. I’ve listed some of my old habits along with my new habits-see if you can identify with any of these (and I am really hoping you do!):

Then: I never liked getting my hands dirty.
Now: Hand washing has become a compulsion, and having kids hasn’t helped-something yucky was always coming out of them, at the top or the bottom!
Now: I can’t stand for my hands to be sticky or wet either, and I have to drop everything and wash them off. And speaking of wet, I literally can’t stand if my sleeves get wet. It’s like I get this sickening feeling in my gut when water drips down my sleeves and down my arm…

Then: I always wear socks on my feet because when my feet are cold, my whole body gets cold.
Now: I rarely walk around anywhere, even on the beach, without something on my feet. In fact, while my kids and husband run around the house in bare feet, I sit here with both shoes and socks on!

Then: I reach for the magazine at the back of the rack because it’s crisper and less smudgy.
Now: I don’t take the first of anything in a rack or shelf-books, cards, clothing, etc, and I can’t stand for someone to wrinkle up the newspaper before I have read it. And don’t let me go on about reading my magazine before I do either! (I think this one might be genetic because I remember my father having a fit if we went through his paper before he did.)

Now: I disagree that this is a bizarre habit, but my husband says that I just started doing this a couple months ago and it’s weird (in his opinion of course.) If we use a regular plate as a serving dish, I put these in the sink to wash instead of putting it in the dishwasher, although I don’t see anything wrong with this…

Well, I know there are others, but I'm getting tired and I don't want you to think I'm a total crack pot.  Tell me, am I alone, or do you see yourself doing odd things too?  Well, I have to go wash my hands and head to bed, so goodnight everybody!

Happy birthday to me...

Christmas Eve is very different for me-not only is it the last day before all the hoopla of the Christmas holiday, but it’s also my birthday. Over the years I’ve learned to live with it, but when I was little and trying to plan a birthday party, I had to worry about snowstorms and people canceling due to family holiday plans. I don’t have to worry about that now, but my birthdays are either fantastic or just one of those days, and there is no predicting how they will turn out.

Today turned out to be one of those humdrum birthdays, although things started out promising. My husband let me sleep in (it was glorious!) but things turned sour pretty quickly after a phone call from my mother. She wished me a happy birthday then we talked for a little bit about my plans for the holiday.

First some background knowledge. We don’t live near family-my parents and sisters are around 4 ½ hours away, and my husband’s family is about 5 hours away, so we celebrate Christmas with our kids at home and travel between the two families a few days later. Because my sisters and I are not close (and never have been due to someone always getting upset with someone else about something), the time spent at my parents house has dwindled down to only one day-my nerves can’t take much more than this. Unfortunately I have usually been the one someone was mad at (and I do admit that I am not entirely without fault in these situations), but it happens every time all of us get together (it’s funny because a one-on-one visit always goes well…) This year, despite my mother’s objections, I decided not to partake in all the drama of a group visit, and asked my mother if the visit could just be with my older sister and the grandparents (my older sister and I get along the best.)

Now how I was going to pull this off I didn’t know, but since I talk to my two younger sisters once in a blue moon, I didn’t think it would be a problem, that is until my mother started scheming ways in which my sisters would innocently pop over the house. My mother kind of let things slip when she was talking to me this morning, and I nearly went ballistic. I mean, I just want the kids to be able to visit with their grandparents alone without the other grandkids there and without all the arguing that always follows-it’s not even Christmas and I’m already arguing with my mother! Why should my kids have to witness this? And this whole affair bothers my mother more than anyone-my youngest sister and her husband said it would be fine with them-I think they don’t mind skipping what has become a custom either. I feel badly about arguing with my mother, but she never really listens to me-and believe me when I say that this has been going on my whole life.

From there things sort of nose dived-my kids weren’t listening to me, my husband had a headache and nausea, and I sat alone staring at my Christmas lights. My husband did pull through by late afternoon, and he did his best to salvage what was left of my day with dinner out. My kids started arguing at the table (even threats to my youngest about Santa watching did no good) and my response was, um, to laugh. I started laughing, saying in between guffaws, that this year’s birthday really stinks and then my husband started laughing! Oh well, thank goodness for my odd sense of humor, and thanks to a few of you bloggers out there who corresponded with me today (MOTPG, Nichol), and a very happy birthday to Laurie! Thanks for letting me vent-I'm off to watch The Christmas story. I hope you all have a wonderful, "pain-free" Christmas!

“An optimist laughs to forget, a pessimist forgets to laugh.”

Life is funny, it really is, and if you can learn to laugh at some of the small annoyances, in the great perspective of things, they become even smaller. My muse for tonight’s post is my paper wars, and I decided to share it with you because, well…because I want to. But although this post may dwell in the land of the potty, rest assured that my discussion only involves the tools used to complete the process and not the process itself.

I know you’re curious about the war I’m raging, and I know you’re wondering just what makes this annoyance funny. Within the past year, the teacher bathrooms and the teacher’s lounge have undergone a slight change-the purchase of new paper towel and toilet paper dispensers. The reason for the change, I haven’t a clue, although at first the new toilet paper dispensers seemed a logical solution. You see the one predicament that can strike fear into even the toughest bruiser is casually glancing over and seeing an empty toilet paper roll, and even though our wonderful custodial staff often kept spare rolls on a shelf above the bathroom mirror, you still had to figure out how the heck you were going to reach that shelf!

The new toilet paper dispenser seemed to solve all that. It could hold five rolls of paper, and if one roll was empty, you could turn a dial and a full roll would drop down. I remember a lot of "oohs" and "ahhs" when they put this baby in, and it did take away everyone’s biggest fear, that is until we had to use the thing. You see, now the roll didn’t spin freely on it’s holder-it had a much smaller space in which to move, so getting an adequate amount of paper was a daunting task. And for those people, such as myself, who "build a nest" prior to taking a seat, the ability to get enough paper from the roll to do this was nearly impossible. Factor in the fact that the birth of two children has adversely affected my holding ability, and now the situation of feathering my so-called nest is downright scary. There have been times that I didn’t think I could make it, but did so with only seconds to spare.

Let’s not forget that we need enough paper to finish the job. The situation goes something like this:
rip, swear, rip, and swear some more, rip, rip, rip, rip, swear, swear, and swear…
 
Confidence in a job well done is certainly not something I feel when I am through, but I move onto the next task at hand, washing up. It’s simple; you wet your hands, lather, rinse, and then head for the towel dispenser. Gone is the push-the-lever-down- and-the-paper-comes-out machine, and in its place is a seemingly trouble-free container where you are to grab a two-inch section of towel and pull. But you have to pull with both hands or you will get just that two-inch section of towel, and you spend another two minutes trying to retrieve the rest of the towel. It’s gotten so bad that I actually repeat a new mantra, "I will pull with both hands," over and over as I head for the towels.

Now an annoyance is still an annoyance until you share it with somebody, and after sharing my plight with my co-workers at lunch, I found I was not alone, and we all got a stress relieving chuckle over the whole thing. In fact, things took such a hilarious turn that I shouted, "I just want a piece of paper, a square to spare!"as the period bell rang, just so my point was made clear. (If you were a loyal Seinfeld junkie, that line should bring back memories of Elaine in a public bathroom begging the stall next to her for a spare square-a classic...)

I am currently raging a similar battle on the home front because I came face to face with an empty toilet paper roll on two occasions (thanks to my children) and both times were almost back-to-back. The remedy? All spare rolls are now occupying the towel basket, minus the towels of course, but I am willing to trudge out to our hall linen closet for a towel-toilet paper retrieval is another story…

Bad Chi

Have you ever heard someone referring to his or her "chi?" Well, essentially this is the word for life energy, and Chinese philosophy states there is a life force in all things, and it is essential to have a balance of both negative and positive in the body to have good health. You have probably heard of chi, but just don't realize it. In Japan it’s ki, in India it’s Prana, in ancient Egypt it was known as ka, the ancient Greeks called it Puma, Native Americans name it the Great Spirit, Christians call it the Holy Spirit, in Africa it’s known as ashe, and Hawaiians call it mana. Anyway, the Chinese say that if anything affects that balance, you will suffer in terms of health problems and discomfort in your environment.

So why am I quoting Chinese philosophy tonight? Well, I am convinced, without a shadow of a doubt, that I am suffering from the effects of "bad chi." Alright, now I can picture the looks on your faces right now, and a few of you are probably rolling your eyes as you read this-I have not gone off my rocker on this one, and I can prove it.

It all started with a fateful misstep (or two) when I went down to my basement laundry room on July 16. I am thinking that a normal person (a person with a large amount of good chi I’m guessing), would have carried the empty laundry basket with one hand, and grabbed the handrail with the other. Oh, and did I happen to mention that flip-flops, well known for their slippage ability, were also worn that day? And don’t forget the fact that this was the day before we were to leave for vacation… And what about the end result-my Peroneus longus tendon (yes, this name is for real-it's the tendon that runs from the ankle to the side of the foot) was damaged so badly that it tore a piece of my anklebone off. One broken bone plus a badly damaged tendon is equal to wearing a boot until the middle of October, several weeks of physical therapy, and the inability to wear cute shoes or heels! Those of you taller than five feet one (and a half) wouldn’t understand my pain.

And speaking of pain, now I understand why some people say it would have actually been better if I had just broken my anklebone. I still can’t lay my foot on it’s side or place the top of my foot flush with a surface when I kneel down, not to mention the pain from walking, and the doctor said it would be a year before my foot gets back to business as usual-UGH! I need to go shopping for some comfortable, but still hot, flats-is there such a thing? I refuse to wear anything with orthopedic in the name-heck, I don’t plan to wear anything with orthopedic in the name when I’m orthopedic!

Now I know what you’re thinking-this is just one isolated incident, and you are wrong! Like I said, I just got into sort of "regular" shoes a few weeks back, and things were looking good chi wise that is, until the incident of October 24. It was a beautiful Sunday with temperatures in the high 70’s, and we were outside the whole day working on our pumpkins. I had just sat down in a lawn chair and I was enjoying a glass of iced tea when the kids decided to play a game of hide and seek-so far so good, until my husband decided to join in. We had the dog outside with us on a really long lead, and my husband walked over to me and looped the lead around my left wrist-he didn’t want the dog following him as he ran around to the front of the house. The next few moments are still sort of a blur-I remember lifting the glass to my lips as my husband ran off, and then without notice the dog took off running. He pulled my left wrist down onto the arm of the chair, and shattered my iced tea glass.

I vaguely remember my daughter and husband calling out to me, but I just grabbed my wrist and started making my way to the house-I was in that much pain. And since I’m a full-blooded wimp, the tears came down in buckets as my family hovered around me, and then I started laughing-I mean, what the heck was going on here? With a lot of ice and an ace bandage I felt a little better by that evening, and I decided on a wait and see approach before going back to the doctor because frankly this was just a little embarrassing. Things were decidedly worse on Monday, so Tuesday I was back in the doctor’s office at 8:15 AM and scheduled for x-rays.

Well, my good chi and bad chi must be doing battle, because I didn’t break any bones but I still had a nasty wrist sprain-I mean I couldn’t move it up or down or twist it back and forth, so driving was real fun that day. The result of sitting in a lawn chair that wonderful Sunday afternoon-a beautiful wrist splint that I have to wear for two weeks. I have a tentative appointment for a recheck November 10, but already the swelling has gone down and I have been taking the splint off periodically as instructed, and movement is improving. My husband says only I can get injured while sitting in a chair, and he yells, "Don’t hurt yourself," every time I leave the house.

Turkey vultures watching me after the doctors visit

Now those have been my health issues, but what about that "discomfort in my environment" symptom I mentioned earlier? Things at work and the home front are spinning out of control. The kids in my classes have been especially unruly the past few weeks, and I have had to make office referrals for issues relating to immaturity and how many of my students don’t seem to know what is acceptable behavior in the classroom. Were talking incidents involving pretty crude humor that I can’t even write about. All I can say is that my student’s response has been, "I didn't do anything that bad…" And my own kids?  My son is getting reprimanded for calling out and not listening to the teacher, while my daughter is only showing us her good schoolwork-the rest she keeps to herself.

And then there are the daily agitations that seem like bigger problems when they are lumped with all the others. Last night I hit an all time low when I went to the bathroom and saw this after I finished doing you-know-what! I had to carefully tear small bits and hope for the best as I ventured out in the hallway where our linen closet is, and our toilet paper supply…

So here I sit, worried that I still haven’t balanced all my positive and negative parts, and hoping that a co-worker who is experiencing some bad chi right now doesn’t send it back my way-I mean, how much worse can it get? Uh oh, if I knock on fake wood does it still count?

Just between friends

Shelly over at Tropical Mum recently passed me the Circle of Friends award, and to say I was tickled about it is an understatement. Okay, maybe I’m a bit late with this but I have really good excuses-just let me think a minute…um, broken ankle, remember? Anyway, the rules are that I am to list five things that make me happy, try to do one of them today, and then pass this on to five other bloggers who brighten my day, but I’m going to tweak this just a bit. Instead, I am going to share five exasperations over the course of the day, and hopefully I will give you and me a little chuckle.

I may or may not be the cool mom I think I am, and I came to this realization after a discussion with my daughter today. Here is an excerpt:

Me: Hey, hurry up so we can get to the pool early. (This is the first time I have done the pool thing in two weeks and I decided to brave the heat because the kids are driving me nuts.)

Daughter: Can you go to the pool with your crutches?

Me: Yes, I can go to the pool. I’m not going to get in but I can still take you. Why?

Daughter: It’s embarrassing.

Me: What’s embarrassing? (She just stared at me) Me? I embarrass you?

Daughter: It’s just that the last time we were at the mall I saw one of my friends. She’s not one of my best friends, but she is a friend, and she stared when you were walking with your crutches.

Okay, she's eleven going on sixteen, but still...

Me: Aw, so sorry my darling… I’ll limp 10 paces behind you when we get to the pool, okay? (Gee whiz, I thought big, black air casts were all the rage this summer!)

My son has started to repeat my name over and over again even if I answer him and I don't know why. Does he like the sound of my name or should I get his hearing checked? Today in the car went something like this:

My son: Mom?

Me: What?

My son: Mom?

Me (a little louder): What?

My son: Mom?

Me (louder still): What? What? What?

My son: Are you unbeatable until someone beats you up?

Me (huh?): Um, yes, I guess so. I think people would say that you were undefeated though and not unbeatable.

My son: Oh… 

(And then quiet. I don't know what is in his little mind right now, and I’m not sure I want to know.)

The kids have been taking turns helping get the dog out to do his business, but just in case someone should do it more than the other, my daughter is keeping a running tally on our big wipe off board in the kitchen. The thing is, even though it might be the other person’s turn, if said person is not around, there has been a problem. I can’t remember what I did yesterday let alone remember who took the dog out last so things got kind of sticky this afternoon right before we had to leave to take my daughter to practice.

Me (to my son): Can you take the dog out while your sister gets ready?

My son: But I took him out the last two times.
(Maybe he did, but I can’t remember…)

My daughter (shouting from the bathroom): No you didn’t. I took him out last.

My son: I did too. You weren't here yesterday when I did-you owe me two times.

My daughter: Well, you owe me two times from a couple days ago.

I blocked the rest of the conversation out, and by this time I am sitting very quietly in a darkened corner, hoping that someone takes the poor dog out. My son lost and finally took the dog out, but I don’t know if my daughter now owes him three times, or if mom is going to put a stop to this recording who does what business. My money is on mom...

I know that’s only three, but I thought I would end with the three things you should remember when you arrive at a pool with a bum ankle, so really that’s six…anyway here they are:

Never forget how low a beach chair actually is.
I knew my daughter would be the one who had to lug a chair around, so I told her to just grab one of the beach chairs-wrong! It took me nearly five minutes to figure out how I was going to sit my butt in that chair without killing myself, and I really can’t remember how I accomplished it-I think some kneeling was involved.

Just as in real estate, remember, location is everything.
I was a bit nervous about my kids being in the pool and me sitting out so I had my daughter set my chair on the pavement near the pool’s edge. I slowly baked from the heat, and people kept stepping over me, but after all the time it took to get in the seat, I wasn’t moving until it was time to go!

This last one is a three-fer (is that a word?)  Water is the best thirst quencher, people with broken ankles need both hands to walk, and hornets are not your friends.

Okay, I know I said I wasn’t moving until it was time to go, but it was nearly 2:00 and I was dying of thirst-remember the hot pavement? Anyway, with the help of my daughter, I managed to get out of the chair and I hobbled over to the snack bar to get something to drink. First of all, a normal person would have ordered water, but I think all the time in the sun bleached my brain because I ordered a root beer-in a cup. So here I am with my cup of root beer and it dawns on me-how the heck was I going to carry this? Thankfully I had been hanging around a friend of ours and she rushed over to help me carry it-that’s when I saw the hornets surrounding just about every picnic table available. And what do hornets just love on hot, sticky days? Well sugar of course, and a little bit of root beer will do nicely…

By the time I sat down to take a drink, I had one hornet on the lip of my cup, another on the straw, and a third on the big ice chip sticking out of the cup, and in my haste to get away from them, crutches went tumbling down and I had hopped (cup in hand) to the entrance of the ladies room-I had worked hard for this drink and if I got stung, so be it. I was drinking that root beer and the hornets weren’t. I got about half down before the hornets (and my friend) found me again, so agreed that they (the hornets I mean) could have what was left, and I chucked the remaining liquid refreshment into the nearest trash can. What a day.

Now it's time for me to pass this award on to five blogs that make me happy. Here are five ladies whose blogs I turn to again and again. Feel free to follow my lead or stick to the rules-it's up to you-but be sure to link your post back to Shelly.  Thanks ladies!

Septembermom at My Voice, My View
The Girl with the flour in her hair over at Peeling An Orange With A Screwdriver
Molly over at I'm a Sleeper Baker
Amo over at Where a woman shakes her tablecloth
And Mom of the Perpetually Grounded

What do these three have in common?

So what does a wheel chair, stomach virus, and Strep throat all have in common? If you guessed that all three occurred during our trip to Virginia Beach a couple weeks ago, pat yourself on the back for being so perceptive, then read on-and if you didn’t guess, well better luck next time.

Now I know bad luck often comes in threes for some reason, therefore I’m always waiting for the other shoe to drop so to speak. The thing is, I thought I had my three before our vacation-my son’s foot, our leaking furnace, and the problems with our satellite TV-but I guess the powers of the universe weren’t done with us yet. You already know about my ankle from my last Virginia post, but now I’m going to tell you about our actual trip, and yes, I’m laughing about it now. And my husband, who is still not too crazy about my blogging fixation, said near the end of our vacation, "I hope your taking notes for your blog," so I'm using that as the go ahead to reveal all…

Like I said previously, it took a lot of convincing on my part just to get my husband thinking about attempting this trip with my bum ankle, but with the help of my daughter, we were able to get the rest of our stuff packed. My husband then did some research online and he found a rental company that rented wheel chairs and beach wheel chairs for the week-I wasn’t to thrilled about a wheel chair, but after falling that night using my crutches in the bathroom, I agreed. I called the next day during our trip down, and as it turned out, the company had both a regular wheel chair and beach wheel chair available (according to the woman on the phone, the beach wheel chairs never hang around long, so this one must have been destined for me-I can’t say that I was ecstatic, but this was our first piece of good luck in a while…)

But that good luck started to run out during the trip down-what should have been a 5-6 hour trip soon turned into an 8 1/2 hour trip, and by the time we arrived, my son was complaining about a sore stomach and headache. We tried to get him to eat dinner, but he refused, and about an hour after we settled in our condo, he was throwing up. My husband was giving me the "I told you we shouldn’t have come" glare, but I still tried to remain positive.

Once again our luck turned-by next morning my son was back to his old self, so we headed for the beach. I love watching the waves, but I did start feeling a little sorry for myself as I watched my husband, daughter, and son enjoying themselves in the ocean. Plus, it got a little hot in my beach wheel chair (105 degree temps everyday will do that), especially since I had to keep battling our beach umbrella every time the wind blew, but I didn’t let on to my family.

We stuck mainly to the beach for our daily entertainment (other entertainment was who would push mommy in her wheel chair), as we got used to the two wheel chairs, but by Tuesday I was bored, so we decided we would head to the aquarium that morning. It turns out that the daycare and summer camps in the area had also decided on a Tuesday morning trip so the place was packed. My husband was worried someone was going to bump my foot (a daily occurrence from my son, so I was always wary of where he was at all times), my daughter started complaining about a sore throat and wanted to sit on my lap, and my son kept complaining about the crowd and how he wanted a snack. The perfect family outing!

We were also supposed to take a boat ride through the canal after lunch, but we were all pretty sick of one another by then, so we opted to go back to the condo. But it turns out that this might not have been the best decision-a freak storm had hit while we were in the aquarium, and although it was sunny out, none of the buildings on the boardwalk had electric including all the hotels and our condo, and the traffic lights weren’t working. So we headed away from the beach and drove to an area where we could watch the navy fighter jets landing, but by now my daughter was complaining of a back ache and curled up in the fetal position in the van, and my son was whining. And then I was looking frantically for a bag so my daughter could throw up-ah, the memories!

This was our clue to head back to the beach (and quickly), and we were relieved to see the traffic lights working again. But just as we thought we were in the clear, we noticed that the northern end of the boardwalk-where we were staying-was still dark. There was still no electric in our condo, we were on the 8th floor, and I didn’t have my crutches with me! My husband made the decision to high tail it up eight flights accompanied by my son and the flashlight on his cell phone (the stair wells were all dark-the emergency lights are on a battery and only work for so long), while my daughter and I waited at a boardwalk bench. It wasn’t until they both came back down that I realized I too would have to get up those stairs… It took me twenty minutes to tackle those stairs, and I was both sweaty and crying by the time I reached the top. And you know what? The electricity came back on exactly five minutes after we got there! My husband headed back down (this time in the elevator) to get us subs for dinner, and that’s when I got a flashlight to look at my daughter’s throat. Her tonsils were swollen and covered with white spots, so I called my husband and talked about taking her to the emergency room after dinner-he agreed.

The hospital was ten minutes from the beach and even though it was crowded in the emergency room, two triages-for severe cases and for cases like my daughter’s-meant we didn’t wait long. We decided on seats near a man in a wheel chair sleeping with his head on a waiting room chair-he looked harmless enough. But on closer inspection, the stub of his missing right leg sat on the chair as well, so I graciously said I would stay in my wheel chair, while my daughter and husband dove for the empty seats furthest away from the man. My son shot us a look (thank goodness he didn’t say anything) as he took the chair next to the man. My husband and I looked at each other and then at my son and almost lost it-I had to bite my tongue pretty hard to keep from laughing as my son glared at me. When we got in a room, my son said, "I can’t believe you made me sit by the man with one leg-he was looking at me," and even my daughter was laughing!

Better daughter, new umbrella, braver me!

When we were seen, my daughter’s temperature was 103 (note to self, stash a thermometer in your suitcase next time), and the doctor said that since she had 8 out of 10 symptoms for Strep throat, she was just going to go ahead and treat her for that-hallelujah! We were also able to get her prescription filled at a 24 hour CVS, and they had all my daughter’s records in their computer. She spent the better part of Wednesday sleeping and watching TV, while I watched my husband and son playing in the ocean below. We were tossing around the idea of going home Thursday morning, but my daughter started feeling better by that evening, and cried when we mentioned cutting our vacation short. So we took it slowly Thursday and Friday, spending the mornings on the beach and heading down the boardwalk for some entertainment in the evenings, and as it turns out, those two days were the best days of our trip-my daughter and son were both smiling again!

Now there is a bit more about Thursday and Friday than that, but I will save it for when I review Virginia Beach as a vacation destination. Until then, wash your hands and watch your step (okay, I think that’s funny, but I have so little entertainment these days…)

Wee Witty Wednesday

Why is it that when multiple things are going wrong humor is right around the corner? I know it’s only been a couple days since my last post, but I couldn’t resist sharing some of the witty that has happened in my life during the past 24 hours (and a little beyond that)-I hope it cheers you too!

Many of my anecdotes revolve around my son because he has been the focus of a lot of bad luck lately, and just about everything that comes out of his mouth these days cracks me up-his sister thinks he’s more weird than funny, but I disagree. Now remember, humor comes from sadness sometimes, and the first tale starts off a little sad…

My husband made a doctor’s appointment for my son about his foot “condition”, and he was the elected escort just in case things got ugly. Anyway, while my son sat on the examining table the doctor whispered, “I’m going to yank this scab off.” My husband nodded and held my son’s arms while the doctor gave the scab a couple tugs. My husband said that people outside the building probably heard my son’s screams. (Oh, did I mention that both my kids have very low thresholds when it comes to pain, and if a mere splinter can send them into convulsions, I know how loud he would have been screaming over this!) The good news is that the wicked wart is dead, but we still need to keep the area covered and apply antibacterial cream-now on to the funny finally.

My husband phoned me to say that my son was in good spirits, he survived the trauma, and that he was able to put weight on his foot-something he hasn’t done for a couple days. But as soon as my husband came home, in came my son walking like Igore, dragging his bad foot behind him, his arms clutching his chest, and he was moaning! My husband and I watched in silence as my son hobbled out of the room, and then we shared some silent belly laughter-you know the kind when you’re laughing but no sound comes out? Love that!

Now some more funnies from today:

My son, "I want to dress like a kipsie."
Me, "Like who?"
My daughter, "He calls hippies ‘kipsies’."
Me, "Do you even know what hippies are?"
My son, "Yea, they are the guys that say, ‘Yo, yo dog.’"
I’m cracking up while my daughter sternly corrects my son.
My daughter, "Those are rapsters."
Me, "Rappers."
My son and daughter, "Oh…"

WARNING, this next story involves potty humor, so if you’re not into this, skip down a couple paragraphs.

My son (yelling from the bathroom while we were at the dinner table), "Dad!"
Thank goodness he was yelling for his father!
My husband, "What?"
My son, "Come here!"
My husband, "Why?"
My son, "You have got to look at this!"

I am half disgusted and half cracking up as I look over at my husband.

My husband yells back, "It’s dinner time. Finish up and get in here."
My son, "Please! You have got to see the size of this."

Now when you live with boys you quickly realize how much this kind of thing fascinates them. I told my husband just to go so that my son could come back and eat, and this is the last of the conversation:

My husband yelling from the bathroom, "Holy cow! All right buddy! "
My son, "I told you."

My comment? I guess I must be the killer of all male bonding! Thank goodness I have a daughter to even out the testosterone in this household, although if you count our male dog, the scales are leaning slightly in their favor. (Maybe not since the dog is fixed, but my daughter and I better stake our claim around here, and do so fast!)

This one is a little older but still funny.

My son, "I talked to the maids at school today."
Me (More than a little confused), "There are maids at school? You mean custodians, right?"
My son, "No I don’t. You know, maids."

My daughter walks into the room so I ask her to translate for me. She talks to him and starts laughing-it’s pretty rare for her to be laughing at her brother’s antics.

My daughter, "He’s calling the aids at the school maids!"
My son just shrugs-nothing seems to faze him.

Then we have the times when my son repeats everything he hears, over and over throughout the day, like the commercial for a show called Adventure Time he saw on Cartoon Network. (I didn't know he was watching TV-he tends to slip into our family room when I am otherwise "indisposed"-like when I take a shower!)

Anyway, anytime anyone asked him a question, he would say: "I’m going to say something fun. Oh yea, I’m having a good time, oh yea, oh yea," and he did so using an Ed Sullivan like accent.  I thought it was cute-the first five times-but this went on for hours. I just waited it out, although my daughter was annoyed beyond belief. (By the way, she now thinks it’s funny-what gives?)

I have a couple more but it’s late and nobody ever sleeps in over here. Instead, I will leave you with this quote about sons:
"Boys are found everywhere -- on top of, underneath, inside of, climbing on, swinging from, running around or jumping to. Mothers love them, little girls hate them, older sisters and brothers tolerate them, adults ignore them and Heaven protects them. A boy is Truth with dirt on its face, Beauty with a cut on its finger, Wisdom with bubble gum in its hair and the Hope of the future with a frog in its pocket," Alan Marshall Beck   Boy oh boy...
Goodnight everybody!

Ho Hum...

I have a very weary soul.I guess you could say I’ve been a bit stressed the past couple days (my stressors are both technical and human)-I should be exclaiming "So hum" (I am that) and enjoying time with my family, but I’m muttering "Ho hum" and secretly hoping for some peace. Writing is just one of the ways I use to deal with all of this, and the other is cheesecake, but since cheesecake keeps my tummy gummy, I’ll stick with the writing (at least for tonight.)Just be prepared for a pretty jumbled post…

I am slowly starting to comprehend why everyone says that little boys are harder than little girls because my son exhausts me in so many different ways. We have been living through the "week of the wart" as we try to home medicate a wart on my son’s heal. I am searching for just the right word to describe my experience with this malady but one just won’t do. Okay, I know I’m the mommy, and I should be taking care of these kinds of things without a second thought, but I’m dealing with a mixed bag of emotional stuff that includes revulsion, guilt at being revolted, annoyance for having to deal with something this "yucky," and finally concern and worry because I think my son may have to see a foot doctor (and I know that won’t be fun!) And of course, this is all happening just a short time before our beach vacation…

I am also realizing that my son’s little mind is a vast array of disjointed thoughts and unanswered questions, and the more time I spend with him, the more confused I get. I can’t quite figure out if he wants answers to his questions or not, even though he does ask me directly-it’s almost if he needs to ask the questions so that he can formulate his own answers, and our discussions have me going, "Huh?" Okay, here are some excerpts of a few of our conversations this past week:

I was getting ready to take the kids to the movies Friday afternoon when my son started asking or um, telling me about time.

"Mom, how long will the movie take?"

"The movie is an hour and a half, so if it starts at 1:55 it will be over around 3:30."

"Oh, so it will be half an hour."

"No, it’s an hour and a half."

"Okay." He sits and watches me get ready for a few minutes then says, "So if it’s a half hour it will be thirty minutes long since a half hour is thirty minutes."

I stared at him with my mouth hanging open and my brain went, "Huh?" Then my brain told me I wasn’t going to get anywhere with this one, so I numbly nodded my head in agreement. (Sometimes it’s best not to pursue that which cannot be pursued…)

Here’s another equally puzzling exchange that took place in the car. We were driving down the road in silence (a rarity I assure you) when my son asks me a question.

"Mom, who’s that lady who was born in the 1900s but died in 2000?"

"What lady?"

"You know, the one who lived in the 1900s." And then my brain went, "Huh?"

Now being quite schooled in history, my daughter pipes up, "Is it Betsy Ross?"

So someone needs a little refresher when it comes to American history, but she was trying to help, so I just said, "I’m pretty sure she died quite a long time ago since she lived during the American Revolution."

My daughter was relentless, "What about Susan B. Anthony?"

My son was elated, "Yes, that’s her. Didn’t she make the American flag or something?"

Okay, history isn’t a big thing with my son either.

"She was a suffragette."

My son wasn’t letting this one go. "She suffered from what?"

"She was one of the first women suffragettes," (I was sort of a proud that I knew the answer to this one) "and she fought for women’s rights."

"But how did she suffer?"

Well, how am I supposed to know that? So I gave a decidedly sophisticated answer, "I don’t know," and my brain once again told me to just let it go… (I'll Google it later.)

My son’s thinking is not the only thing that puzzles me-his behavior these days has been unique. He develops these little habits, and one he started doing this week is "pretend" crying, making these breathless, whimpering noises whenever I tell him to do something. And when I tell him to do anything, his immediate response is, "No," and it’s aggravating, as, well, you know... The consequence for the first sign of a whimper or a no answer is to lie down on his bed until I say he can get up-and for a guy who doesn’t take naps or likes to sleep in general, this is torture, so I’m hoping he stops this soon (at least before daddy has a coronary!)

Now I do have two children, and although my daughter doesn’t have the behavioral issues that her brother has, her tween brain is just as confusing and frustrating. She has become a walking, talking "get me" machine-every time we go anywhere she starts her requests, and it’s usually for junky, tidbit type stuff that would end up getting lost in the black hole in our house-formerly known as her room. Clothing and shoe purchases I’ll agree to because she is growing like a weed, but I stay tough when it comes to the junk (but daddy easily caves…)


And let’s get back to the black hole, otherwise known as her room. Do you know where she finds most of her lost items? In her bed! We're talking pencils, items of clothing, you name it and she sleeps alongside it every night, and my brain once again goes, "Huh?"

Last but not least are the technical troubles we’ve been having lately such as a leaking furnace, a faulty satellite dish, printer issues, and a fun time with Blogger. (You do know I’m throwing a mega dose of sarcasm your way, don’t you?) Well, the satellite dish issue has been fixed, we are working on the furnace issue, I gave up on the printer, and my Blog has me shaking my head. I wanted to just tweak my blog a bit just to make it more professional looking, but that one tweak took me nearly six hours to fix. I tried out one of the new designs Blogger has but mistakenly clicked on "Apply" because I thought I could just go back to my original format-silly me! I first thought the design was doable until I checked my website with MSN-none of my sidebar widgets worked and my buttons were piled all over each other. I still can’t figure out why because everything looked great with Firefox and on my smart phone. Can you say, "Huh?" Thank goodness I kept a copy of one of my reworked formats, although I still had to work with it for over an hour before everything looked decent enough. I think I’m going to make a dummy site to rework some designs before applying them to my site, but right now I will keep my tired look a tad longer.

I had wanted to add my husband in here as well, but he keeps looking over my shoulder, my neck is stiff, and it’s getting late so I will leave off issues with him for now. Sorry about the length of this post but I did warn you. Wish me luck as I add the stress of packing to my long list of stressors. Goodnight everybody!