It's good that they feel comfortable saying stuff to me...right?

Went out with 3 of the Sons this afternoon, which means I found myself in Popeye's, picking up dinner.

Son #2 had this HUGE grin on his face, as we waited for our order. I asked him why he was smiling so much, and he said,

"I don't know how they do it, but they must fry this chicken in sex, or something. It smells that good."

Let us hope that he is operating on theory.

The Infallible Logic of the 13-Year-Old Boy

"If PETA has attractive women wearing nothing but lettuce leaves, saying they will continue to wear nothing but lettuce leaves until I decide to stop eating meat, I am going to go to their meetings and ask for a steak."

Yup, Son #3 is smart. And has obviously discovered women.

It's not mean if I was ASLEEP

Last night I dreamed that Hubby asked me if today was a school holiday. In the dream, I figured, "He knows what he's talking about. He must have consulted the calendar." So I agreed with him. And then he told the Sons they could stay up late, since they had no school today (we homeschool the 2 younger ones, but follow the high school calendar so they have off when the oldest 2 are home).

Today I woke up to discover it was not a dream. Although I was asleep for the entire conversation, it actually occurred. So, um, Son #2 is at school on 4 hours of sleep.

And Hubby kept telling him how MEAN I was, to tell them they had a day off and then take it back.

It's a banner day, I tells ya.

Oh, we are just a PAIR

Hubby keeps throwing out his back. Thank God for lidocaine patches. And then yesterday I tripped over a wayward branch and fell onto the concrete steps in front of our house. Couldn't break my fall because I was carrying a stack of pizzas. So I landed, HARD, on both knees and elbows.

Little Miss No Drugs is sucking down ibuprophen like a pro. And walking like a 90-year-old. I'd ask Hubby to kiss my knees and make them better, but I think if he bent over that far he'd never be able to make it back up to a standing position.

Celtic Festival

Yesterday was Son #4's birthday, and the annual Celtic Festival. I brought my camera but didn't get the urge to take any photos. Had a good time, bought the boys weapons and fed everyone cake, and listened to Scotland the Brave until even I kind of wished the bagpipers would learn something else. Waterloo, maybe, or Rebel Yell.

We all got sunburns, but since I wear sunscreen all the time mine is just that little bit of pink across the nose. The perfect opener to summer. I think it's gonna be a good one.

A room of her own, and time

The other night, while not entirely typical, wasn't too far off of a normal day.

Son #1 wanted to see his girlfriend.
Son #2 wanted to attend a National Art Society thing at school.
Sons #3 and 4 had tae kwon do.

So, I took Son #1 to The Girl's house. Went home, started emptying the dishwasher, in preparation for making dinner. Piled the remaining Sons into the car, drove to the school, and then to the tae kwon do school, and then home. Back to the dishwasher. Son #4 called: he had been injured. So, back to tkd, and then home. More dishes. Time to pick up Son #3. Home. Dishes. Pick up Son #1. Thankfully, Son #2 found a ride home with a friend. Also great: Hubby ordered pizza. Because clearly I was never going to get dinner on the table.

So what would I do, if I had actual time? All the time I wanted, to do what I want?

I would read the manual
I love Hubby's camera. Use it more than he does, lately. But I would love to spend a day reading the manual and figuring out more about it.
Same goes with the computer.
The web cam.


I would catch up on all the housework
This sounds deathly boring, and it IS. But it would be nice to feel like everything was in its place, and smelled of scented candle instead of dog.

I would spend time in the city, alone
The Happy Boondocks are fine for raising children, but I really miss DC. I miss Baltimore. I would love to spend a day, every month or so, just walking the streets of a city. Stopping somewhere for lunch. Taking photos of the architecture. Visiting museums. Just roaming the city to see what catches my eye.

I would go dancing a lot more
Especially to fantastic blues music.

Speaking of which, I would follow ACME Blues Company and the Idle Americans like a Deadhead.
Hubby says I already pretty much do that. But he has no idea how often I think, "They're only playing an hour from here. I could go!"

I would go on long, meandering drives. I love to drive. I even enjoy the Beltway.

I would write more

I would take more pictures

I would spend a lot more time at the gym.

I think I would do some artsy stuff--nothing really impressive, but learn to silkscreen with Fiddlin' Writer like we keep saying we're going to do.

And most importantly I would spend a LOT of time with my Man. And since this is not officially a sex blog, I will leave the details up to your imaginations.

Dating Advice from my 16-Year-Old

Son #1 and The Girl have been together for 2 months. This is momentous, of course. And although The Girl's family is the source of concerned amusement, she herself seems like a very nice young lady, and she clearly makes Son #1 happy. So I am happy.

Today, Son #1 missed the bus, so we had some time in the car together. And this is what he had to say, after chuckling at the thought of Hubby and I once being young and in love and kissing in public and all that:

"I think dating is more luck, than skill. It's not hard, really. Ya just gotta not be angry with each other. Because if you love her, there is nothing to be angry about. And if you DO get angry, you should just talk it over with her. And if you're angry with each other all the time, well, maybe she is not the girl for you.

You need to be able to tell her how much you love her. All the girls I know have the problem that their boyfriends can't communicate. If you love her, you need to be able to tell her. And you need to be able to talk to her about how you think and feel and everything.

And random acts of kindness are good, too."

The Boy may spend half his waking life plotting the utter destruction of his three younger brothers, and his ultimate domination of the entire human race, but clearly he has some sense when it comes to women.

Also interesting, while I'm on the subject of The Girl:

She is afraid of me. Apparently I sound scary, on the phone. Probably because the only time she hears me on the phone is when she has called at some godforsaken hour and I pick up the phone to say "THAT IS IT!" But, hey, she hasn't called at 5 am since :)

The natural response to a girl who is afraid of me is...to be nice to her, right? But unfortunately the flip side of "your mom scares me on the phone" is "your mom is too nice, in person". Because her mother's partner is "nice in person", but also bipolar and violent and prone to moving out and moving back in. So, you know, "nice in person", to this girl, is code for "and probably therefore crazy". So, I can't be nice to her to make up for my scary telephone persona.

Also a roadblock: The Girl's mother disapproves of me, and so The Girl is not allowed to spend time at our house.

For those who are keeping score:
The Girl is 13. Her mother is 27. Her father is, according to Son #1, "a very nice man, very smart, easy to talk to when he's sober, but effed up because of all the alcohol and drugs. It's really sad." And The Girl doesn't get to see him much, because she lives with her mom, and her mom's girlfriend, when said girlfriend isn't beating the tar out of her mom and moving out.

The Girl's grandmother is a former stripper. I met her briefly and she seemed like a very nice person, but...she is 51 and easily could pass for 80. And, of course, she raised The Girl's mom. 'Nuff said.

Last weekend, Son #1 went with The Girl and her mother to a local festival. They had a great time, even though The Girl's mother kept telling Son #1 that his penis was "too small for me! Maybe big enough for her, but too small for me!" and, when her bra started to irritate her, she removed her underwire and handed it to Son #1 "because you probably would appreciate it."

It's not that she's a lesbian, it's the fact that she is a man-hating lesbian who likes to tease adolescent boys about adult topics, that bothers me. Chick needs to learn to self-censor, I think.

THAT woman. SHE disapproves of ME.

Great Political Discussion of the Day (or, everyone I know is on the far ends of the spectrum)

I made a new friend, this spring. He and I chat a lot. He's great. He thinks I am great. We have a blast, online.

He told me this evening that he won't be online for a few days, because he'll be in PA helping Obama.

"I hope you don't mind I'm not a Hillary supporter," he said.

"I hope you don't mind I'm a lifelong Republican," I responded. Because, as my loyal readers have surmised by now, I would gladly vote for Zombie Reagan, were he running from beyond the grave.

We got a good laugh out of it. And I told him about my blog, today, too.

So,

WELCOME, HONEY! WELCOME TO THE BLOG! I love you, even though we are going to skip to our respective polling places this November and cancel each other out.

Must Be the Tea

Your Slogan Should Be

Christine Keeps Going and Going and Going

The Slogan Generator

Actually, I do enjoy watching some sports

Yesterday I was on the treadmill watching the World's Strongest Man competition.

I LOVE THAT!

I always feel a little stupid, when Hub is watching football or baseball. I can't keep track of all the ruuuuuuules. And the guys are all going in all kinds of directions and I can't keep them straight. And there is all this special lingo. It's just not fun.

I don't like team sports. I like World's Strongest Man. I like wrestling. Running. Speed skating. Biathlon.

There's not a lot of complicated thinking. There's not much strategy. No teamwork. Just:

Is he faster?
Is he stronger?
Is he better than the other guy?

I love that.

I was totally into World's Strongest Man, yesterday. Is that guy gonna get all 10 barrels over the wall? Can he hump those Atlas Stones onto the pillars fast enough? And GOOD GOD, deadlifting 750 lbs. That is some kinda strong.

Yay, ESPN!

And, FYI, NO, this does not qualify as a mmmmmmmmmmmmen post. I love to watch World's Strongest Man, but those guys do not qualify as Christine's Sexiest Guys. Too darn bulky.

The Boy Needs a Scratching Post

Years ago, up-to-our-eyeballs in a Son who seems bent on destruction of everything we own, we started calling him The Boy--after Homer Simpson's references to Bart.

He is now almost as tall as Hubby, and starting to look like a man, a little, but I swear to you he is still The Boy. Let me give you a For Instance.

This morning, I needed nail clippers. A few months ago, aware that The Boy has a tendency to pick things up, use them, and then either abandon them wherever he happens to lose interest in them, or, alternatively, break them into tiny pieces and abandon THEM wherever they will be most unattractive, I bought 7 pairs of nail clippers.

I put one on my desk.

I put one in the basket where I keep my nail polish and stuff.

I hid 5 behind that basket.

In recent weeks, I have been finding broken pieces of nail clipper all over the house. Fortunately, I have had my shoes on when I found them, because even a broken nail clipper would be uncomfortable under a bare foot.

Today, I officially have NO nail clippers. They have all been dismantled, or at the very least hidden away in his basement lair.

Hubby says what we need is something big we can give him to destroy, so he won't destroy the stuff we actually need. A sort of Scratching Post. Do they make such a thing? The image of him standing in the middle of the living room, scratching on a 7-foot-tall tube of cardboard as thick as a Sequoia, had me busting a gut laughing, this morning.

On an unrelated note, Walk Hard: The Dewey Cox Story is also hilarious. Key Quote:

"I'm cut in half, pretty bad."

Who's hardcore? I AM HARDCORE, BeOTCHES!

This morning I got some writing done--personal writing, and some creative stuff that I may be able to publish at some point. It was all a warm-up for the Chamber of Commerce stuff I will be working on all week.

I didn't really have time for breakfast, before my weights class, so I grabbed a can of V-8 and an apple. Ate the apple in the car on the way to the gym. Saved the V-8 for after class.

About 40 minutes into class, I felt light headed. I walked out, had a seat on a bench in the lobby, and passed out.

Woke up a minute or so later, hurling Granny Smith bits all over myself.

Got up, cleaned off the bench, vacuumed the apple off the carpet, drank my bottle of water, and drove home to blog about it.

How was YOUR workout today?

RAAAAAAAH!

I had to cackle

Hubby got me Microsoft Office today, for the new computer. So, you know, I can't complain any more and I have to actually get some work done. That's cool.

Hubby being Hubby, he is not one to just give me Word and Excell. I also get a bunch of stuff I'll never need. He just can't help himself. But the new machine has lots of hard drive space, so it's no big deal. He can load this puppy up, I won't care.

"I'm putting Alcohol on here, too."

"What's that?"

"I don't know why they call it Alcohol, actually."

"Well, what does it do?"

"It lets you mount--"

He got that far. I could not stop cackling, except to chime in with,

"software that didn't seem all that attractive, earlier in the evening?"

Nuts, I tells ya!

Son #3 noticed, this morning, that our jar of peanut butter had a warning label. It contains peanuts, you know.

"I kinda think that if you can't see the GIANT PICTURE OF A PEANUT on the label, the warning isn't going to do you any good."

That boy. He can think.

Schadenfreude

Son #1 is thrilled that all the jerky people he knows are experiencing difficulties. The drug dealer is up on charges. The girl who cut herself for popularity's sake is now cutting herself because she's miserable. The guy who drives everyone nuts got suspended for cursing over the school PA system.

Son #4 looks up at him and says, "You really shouldn't have so much schadenfreude."

Damn, I feel good.

Charlton Heston

Charlton Heston is dead.

I should say something deep and meaningful. But all I can come up with is, "Get your hands off me, you damned dirty apes!"

Gimme 5!

Cyndie tagged me, and how could I resist her? That woman is a force of nature.

The rules are as follows:

1. Each player answers the questions about themselves: five items per answer!
2. At the end of the post, the player then tags five people and posts their names, then goes to their blogs and leaves a comment letting them know they've been tagged and to ask them to play along and to read your blog.

10 Years Ago:
I still had kids in diapers.
I spent way too much time driving to school, preschool, BoyScouts & soccer.
I spent about 3 months in a miserable funk over turning 30.
Son #2 gave me a ring pop and asked me to marry him (they each did that at age 4).
I volunteered at school.

Today's To-Do List:
Finish laundry
Reload the dishwasher
Pick Son #1 and Fiddlin' Writer's Boy up from the party they're attending
Walk the dog one more time
Clear some papers off of my desk

Snacks I Enjoy:
Jalapeno poppers
bananas
Potstickers
Onion rings from Dub's Roadhouse Grill
hummus

If I Were a Billionaire, I Would:
Get a mansion, yo!
Ask Warren Buffet to help me design my investment portfolio
Hire Lynette to do my hair and makeup every morning, right in my house
Take the family on a grand tour of Thailand
Instantly become The Good Daughter-In-Law

My Bad Habits:
I don't floss as regularly as I should.
I tend to pick and scratch at things. Ick. Even I know that's gross.
I have a bit of a potty mouth.
I am distractable.
I procrastinate.

Places I've Lived:
Greenbelt, MD (tiwce!)
Gambrills, MD
College Park, MD
Silver Spring, MD (twice!)
Chieng Mai, Thailand

Jobs I've Had:
Receptionist (twice)
Kmart Grill hash-slinger
Retail clerk (twice)
Bank teller
English teacher

I tag Amy, Penelope, Andrea, Sue, and Jill. I would tag ALF, but she hates blog tag.

"Did you do it?" you ask?

Did I trim Hubby's toenails? Yes, as a matter of fact I did. And it's not the first time, either. Although, yeah, he has a sore back. So, maybe, it was called for, THIS TIME.

Can't Mom Do It?

Last night, before leaving to take the three youngest Sons to tae kwon do, I asked Son #1 to empty the dishwasher.

Naturally, he did not.

After dinner, late again because of said tae kwon do schedule, I was beat. Pretty much collapsed into bed just a hair after 9, dishes only partially done.

Woke up this morning, sat bleary-eyed at the computer to get my daily email fix, and Son #1's first words were:

"You sure are making this hard. You do everybody's laundry but mine."

Which means, of course, that I do whatever laundry makes it into the laundry room.

Gave Son #2 lunch money. Checked the gym schedule, the kids' schedule (Son #3 gets new spacers on today, for his upcoming braces) while everyone else got ready for their day. Made some minor preparations for lunch-to-come. Woke Son #3 up so he would take a shower. Got back to reading the news of the day. Because, you know, I am sleepy.

Hubby came down the hall a little miffed.

"You forgot to make the coffee!"

Yes, I usually make the coffee, even though I don't drink coffee. It started out as something he asked me to do, and I did to be nice, but has turned into something he expects me to do, and won't do himself, because our current coffeemaker requires a thorough daily cleaning or it does not function.

We bickered. Which is not the way either of us wants to start the day. He is now willing to make his own coffee, some mornings, so long as he can invest in a new coffeepot that is not as big a pain in the butt to operate. That's fair. Then, I can go back to making coffee for him out of niceness, instead of feeling like it has become yet another thing I am expected to do, even though I don't benefit from it and the person who does benefit could do it for himself.

Much hugging and making up ensued. Hubby assured me he would be more self-reliant and do for himself those things he can. I apologized for taking out my frustrations with children who practically expect me to chew their food for them, on him. I brought my breakfast into the bedroom, so we could have a few relaxing moments together while Hubby got dressed for work. He looked down at his feet.

"Sweetie, can you trim my toenails for me?"