Retooling

Here's what's going on my head.

Should I blog? Nah, it's too much work. Easier to drink at night and then fall asleep drooling on the pillow.

Wait, someone might think I have a problem. (Define, problem? I'm above ground, how bad can it be?)

I can't blog about nearly 15 year old boys because that's embarrassing. Somehow, along the line, I became embarrassing. This probably occurred around the time I dropped some kids off at school in my Christmas pajamas and it was May and sunny at 7:30 in the morning and everyone could see that my jammies had Christmas ornaments on them.

It's been an interesting few months. I won't bore you but suffice it to say we're all still kicking. This reminds me, speaking of kicking, hold one moment, while I scream the following (it's like in real time!)

Me: PETER! ARE YOU PLANNING ON DOING ANYTHING WITH YOUR LAUNDRY?

Peter: Ya, when this show is over.

Me: THAT'S STUPID. JUST GO PUT YOUR CLOTHES IN THE DRYER.

Peter: 5 minutes.

Honestly. Turn off the lights. Pick up the shoes. Push in the chair. Don't smoke dope. Use your napkin. Stay away from whores.  It's really rather simple.

I thought if I turned to God that maybe I'd have a better chance of raising the urchins or at least keeping one of them out of prison. I'm pretty sure you have to push the chairs in at prison. I'm pretty sure that God doesn't think I've got this under control.

At dinner tonight:

Me: PLEASE DON'T USE DOPE. I read some article about high school students and reefer and I'm totally freaked out.

Kid: I don't use marijuana, Mom.

Me: Well then stop watching that reefer madness show and telling me how much money you could make if you moved to California and opened your own dope pharmacy.

Kid: It's just a show.

Me: I'm turning off the cable. Don't do stupid stuff.

Kid: Like in college when you hid in the bushes so you didn't get arrested? Dumb like that Mom?


So, to blog or not to blog. What comes out of my head and onto the fingertips may be a problem.

Summer Squash

A&P were about the size of a summer squash when they were born- together. Separately, probably the size of a couple of large sweet potatoes.

Then they got big. So big, I can't really compare them to food anymore.

Big enough that they could pack their stuff into over sized bags and go away on a bus for two weeks.

Eeek. I need a moment.

OK, I'm back.

Then, it's off on their adventure, see ya, thanks for the memories, can I have some more cash, later gator, outa here, ta-ta, TTFN, blow a kiss, gone Daddy gone. Gone.

I need a moment. And a sedative.

OK, I'm back.

Here's the link for you grandparent types that might want to know where A&P are spending the next 10 days. They're in Subcamp 13 (Ohio and West Virginia), Troop 1324 to be exact.

So there's the story. They were born the size of a squash, they got big and then they stepped on a bus and went away to the 100th Anniversary Boy Scout Jamboree. I'm just positively speechless.
*************
I would like to point out that in every single picture, Andrew is on the left!

When is Halftime?

My Christmas present from A&P was symphony tickets. However, the kicker was that they had to come along. Peter has been complaining for a week.

Last night's performance was spectacular and joyous and perfect for a cold winter's night. Before I lose you and you think that I've gotten soft on you, I should regale you with my companions actions during the evening. I was seriously afraid that we would witness Peter completely pop a cork.

We survived to intermission without incident. (A&P called it "half time.") I said "Watch the first violinist all the way in the back by the door- the guy with the long, puffy hair." I've never been able to figure this guy out. Over the years of attending the symphony, he's always there and he's always completely clueless. Not only are his bowings completely opposite from everyone else, he uses about 3 inches of his bow and looks like he's a seat warmer. I don't get it because this is a symphony where people get paid.

So, with A&P playing cello and violin respectively over the last few years, I figured they would appreciate the vision of the violin slacker. We were off to the races with a series of nearly silent giggles and snorts. Once that starts, everything else is riotously funny- the old guy who can't stop clearing his throat right in front of us. OK, not that funny, but the other old guy two people away who physically turns and scowls at the choking old guy every time he coughs? Super hilarious.

The soloist with the high forehead and a penchant for ridiculous faces? When you're nearly 13, it doesn't get any funnier than that. We were a mess of stifled laughter. I couldn't look at them. Peter was biting through his lip. This went on for 45 minutes.

I don't have bladder control issues, but I did last night.

As soon as it was over? We kept ourselves in pretty decent shape until exiting the concert hall (Arena, as per A&P) and stumbled across the loud wife of the trumpet player inviting family back to her house for pizza. "What kind of pizza will you eat?" Peter says loud enough for the loud wife to hear, "Pepperoni!" Andrew adds "Get some sausage and we'll be there in 15 minutes!" We crumbled. We were a mess. We burst into the night air like yelping seals.

Then, to top it all off, you know what we saw on the way home? A very nice house on Front Street in our town has the leg lamp from "Christmas Story" in the living room window. Peter said, "I thought this was going to be terrible, but this was the best night EVER."

Merry Christmas indeed.

Needlessly Pleased with Myself

(Names changed to protect the innocent- Except for mine) Yesterday...

Dials phone number on document

Them: Member Services
Me: What company is this?
Them: Universal
Me: Universal? You're supposed to be Larry's Super Fantastic Insurance Company- LSF
Them: Oh, well, we're really Universal
Me: So you're not LSF?
Them: Who is this?
Me: (Name and Company)
Them: I am going to transfer you.

I get transferred to a phone tree and give/hang up in self righteous disgust. They're busted- they're supposed to answer LSF on that phone number. But, I'll horse around with that later and I go back to my other work.

Two hours later...my phone rings. I don't answer it because someone is in my office and I'm busy and my assistant is busy. The phone rings again. And then again. Sheesh! Is someone calling me from a prison? Maybe I finally won the cruise from the fishbowl of business cards at the mall, I pick it up....

Them: This is George Jetson, CEO at Universal. Did you call a while ago?
Me: Yes.
George: You scared the hell out of our phone person.
Me: Oops.
George: She was so upset all we got out of her was "Jennifer..."
Me: (Silence- but muffling a guffaw. They never call me this fast. Ever.)
George:... and I figured it must be you. You're the only Jennifer in town that would call and scare the hell out of Customer Service.

Our conversation continued with them apologizing all over themselves for the Universal vs. LSF thing which I can't explain here, because it's a convoluted nightmare mess. Needless to say, I am now a ONE NAME WONDER! Like OPRAH or SHAKIRA or MARMADUKE!

Now if you'll excuse me, my family doesn't care one lick about this and they call me the one word name of MOM and someone wants to eat and said something about clean clothes and needing money. Does this happen to Oprah?

Overactive Bladder? Underactive Colon?

Every time I ask one of the children to something, do you know where he goes? He goes to the bathroom. He spends hours in the bathroom. He is the only child who does this (Since there are only two of them, that means that 50% of my children torture me with this little game.) It makes me want to scream.

Can I tell you a secret? Sometimes I do scream. This bathroom lock up is so annoying, it makes me sweat and itch just to think about it. EVERY SINGLE TIME I ask him to do something that is not related to eating junk food or playing XBox, he disappears.

Either he has a serious problem with an internal back up, probably requiring the assistance of a skilled surgeon or Fiber One cereal (or both), or it is an evasion tactic. I'm leaning towards evasion. (I would pass out if this kid ever ate Fiber One anything, but I digress. Again.)

Here is how it works..

Me: Hey, it's time to practice your violin.

Kid: OK

Time passes....

Me: I don't hear anything. Where are you?

Kid: I had to go to the bathroom.

More time passes...

Me: Did you fall in?

Kid: Nope, really had to go.

Me: For 2 hours?

This evasion technique, as developed by Kid #2, is so effective it completely subverts or deflects many of the following activities..

• Room cleaning


• Dishwasher emptying


• Dinner table setting/clearing


• Lawn mowing/raking/snow removal


• Violin practice


• Book reading


• Homework completion


• Aeronautical design


• Rocketry

OK, those last two are things that he will probably miss because he's in the bathroom.

And, he's got me right where he wants me...if I yell at the kid in the bathroom I'll mess up his elimination activities forever. Yes, forever.

Is this melodramatic? Oh yes. Now if you would excuse me, I need to go pound on the bathroom door.

A Letter to my Turkey

Dear Fresh, Never Frozen Turkey:

You may be big and scary, but I'm on to you. You may slide around on the rack and teeter precariously on the edge of your roaster, but I'm watching your every move. So help me if you end up on the floor.

The thermometer is like a nanny cam. You can't hide from me and I'll know when the juices run clear because I'm sitting 4 feet away from the oven and have been since 7 o'clock this morning.

I do have a question. Was it necessary for your Amish keepers to stuff your neck in? I didn't need to see that. I think there's soup I could make with that but the thought of it holding up your head was more than I could stomach so thanks for that.

I have at least 14 cookbooks splayed all over the kitchen and we've obsessively read every turkey cooking article on the Food Network website. Alton Brown? Giada? I can't decide who's better. Betty Crocker? To cover or not to cover? Baste? Where the heck is the baster? You're browing too early! What's wrong with my oven? Are my aromatics, aromatic enough? I grew my own thyme. Does that count extra?

With my arms covered in butter and turkey fat, I massaged you with butter just like Julia Child taught me on the poultry episode. She was molesting a capon, but I think this will work. Maybe I should do a good luck turkey dance in the front yard in my jammies.

Alas, everyone has a first turkey. I've cooked plenty of chickens so I will crown you a giant Thanksgiving chicken. Now, for more basting.

Sincerely, Foul Slayer

Foul!

I went to meat market to buy a turkey for Thanksgiving. I wanted a fresh Amish turkey.

I ran into the market 3 minutes before it closed at 6:30 pm. I knew they had fresh turkeys because a friend told me to get off my rump and buy one before they were all gone.

The meat market guy was very helpful and he managed to locate an 18 pound turkey. As he wrapped it up, I said "Hey! How long has that thing been thawing?"

He looked at me a bit strange. "It's fresh. Never frozen." Oh duh. "Yes, ma'am."

My poultry folly reminded me of a story told by my very first boss, Doris. Doris was one fierce lady, but that's a story for another day. Anyway, when Doris was first married she went to the butcher to buy a chicken. She asked the butcher to chop it apart (there's a name for that I'm sure, so that she had parts and not the whole chicken. )

As she watched the butcher work, she snorted "Hey, you shorted me some legs!"

"What?" he replied, amused.

Doris persisted. "I may be young, but I know that I'm supposed to have 4 legs on that chicken and you only gave me two. You're crooked!"

The butcher looked at her from behind the counter and started to laugh. It was then that Doris realized that chickens have only two legs.

I wonder if the chicken was fresh, never frozen?

EABNAJT

My stitches came out of my jaw today. Hooray!

The follow up for this Exceedingly Annoying But Now Absent Jaw Tumor (EABNAJT) is aggressive due it's friendly nature. Bummer. Apparently the EABNAJT has a tendency to come back. Tim suggested a trap door in my face to keep easy access for its removal. Fantastic idea.

A button broke in half on my suit this morning. I glued it back together and used tape until the glue set. I felt very handy.

I read "Flowers for Algernon" this weekend. I had never read it before even as an English major. Clearly something was lacking. It is a fascinating read. Tim said it made him sad when he read it once a long time ago. I was OK.

I was not OK at "The Blind Side." Obviously I was in need of a serious catharsis and a box of tissue. I cried all the way through that crazy movie. I had to keep myself from sobbing out loud so Peter didn't think I was a crazy person. (I was sitting next to him and some lady. I didn't care what the lady thought. She was too chatty. If she would have said anything to me I would have said "I am sad because you can't shut your yammering skull cave." I'm sure that would have been appropriate.)

So, even with the EABNAJT, there's always fun around the corner.

Why We Bombed the Moon

What to Expect When You're Expecting has been on the paperback nonfiction best seller list for like 300 years. I read that book and it left me completely unprepared. Not unprepared for the baby thing, although I have admitted to letting my kid roll off the footstool once or twice. No, I was unprepared for all the stuff that comes WAY after the kid is old enough to tell you the ottoman is not a good perch for a roly poly infant or that they need to eat every few hours. Whatever, Lucky Charms comes in an easy open box for a reason.

Walking though a bookstore today, I felt underwhelmed, put-out and generally under-served by the book publishing industry (This means you Random House). I can go into a bookstore and learn how to make my own hominy (pass the lye, please) and then dry it in the sun and whack it with a rock to make my own grits. I can get a book to teach me how to raise sheep, weave my own cloth, dye it with onion peels and sew my own root vegetable clothes. I can learn how to read the Bible and speak Yiddish.

But there are no books called What to Expect When your Kid is about to turn 13. If this book existed it would need chapters like "I Hate You Means I Love You" or "Just Because I Throw Up in Your Car Doesn't Mean I Speed Ate 14 Hot Dogs at the Football Game After You Specifically Told Me Not to."

No one writes these books because what happens when you raise boys to be about 12 or 13 is supposed to happen in secret. No one wants to know how it happens at your house, they just want to see the finished product in the shiny, polite Eagle Scout. And, if someone did write this book and someone else who was considering procreation read the book, there might not be any more people. Come to think of it, I bet the CIA would come and take any manuscript away and fire it at the moon so that no one really knows what goes on in houses with 12 or 13 or 14 year olds.

And, I think I finally understand why we bombed our moon a week ago. Someone had the audacity to write a book about how to raise kids to be decent Eagle Scouts but included chapters about all the crap you have to go through to get there and the government took the book and shot it into a crater on the moon to save humanity. Good thing they did so that I can remain as clueless as ever for the next 7 years or so.

Headlines

I'd like to see a few of these...

Boy Picks Up Laundry, Cites Mom for Inspiration

Boy Does Homework Without Complaining! Mom Needs Immediate Resuscitation!

Boy Eats Leafy Greens- Says "Yummy!"

XBox Extinct!

DuPont Introduces Self Cleaning White Carpet!

Ten Martinis a Week Recommended by Physicians

Vodka Industry Needs Help- Perrysburg Mom Fills Glass

Self Correcting Cameras Shave 15 Pounds from anyone over 35

Boss Says "Yes, You May Dance at the Office on Fridays!"

Human Body Temperature Corrected! It's 96.7!

Levi's Declares All Adolescent Boys Get Free Jeans Until Age 18!

Sock Company Invents Impervious, Magnetic Pairing, Sock!

Blogger Requests No More Use of Exclamation Points!

Backyard Tomato Plants Sprout Cash!

Your Mom Was Wrong! Your Life WILL be EASY!

If You Have Checks Left, Bank says "You still have money!"

Television and Lucky Charms Will Make You Smart!

Perrysburg Mom Has Nickel for Every time Kid Says "You're Mean!" She's RICHER Than OPRAH!

Chef Boyardee Newest Iron Chef!

Mom Says "I Hope You Have One Just Like You!" and It Comes True, Twice!