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?"

I hate Word Pad

Last week, I spilled a beverage near my computer. Not ON, mind you. NEAR. And apparently some seeped under it and killed it.

I am in a mood most foul.

I am on my second loaner computer. My data is safe. But I don't have Microsoft Word on here, or the program to use my printer, or the program to look at the photos I took to go along with the article I'm working on.

Everything takes extra steps. And I am stuck writing in Word Pad. I HATE Word Pad. It is taking me forever to finish writing, because it's just not smoooooth, like MS Word.

On the bright side, hating my computer means I'm spending less time chatting and more time doing laundry. Our towels are April Fresh.

I hate Word Pad.

The nicest thing anyone said to me, all weekend

"If your ass gets any smaller, I'm going to print up signs saying 'Christine is a bitch.'"

Fiddlin' Writer, you know EXACTLY what to say.

What launched hubby out of bed, this afternoon?

"You are being a TOTAL MONSTER on this, Mom! SCREW YOU!"

Seconds later, Hubby was across the hall, hands on a certain Son's collar, explaining that he. will. not. tolerate. that. kind. of. talk.

And I am glad he stepped up for me. The Sons need to know that Dad and Mom are on the same page.

The funny thing is, Dad is the one who had come down harder. Dad was the one who made the decision the Son didn't like. I guess it is easier to shout down at your Mom, than up at your Dad.

At issue? He wanted a ride to a friend's house, and for Very Valid Reasons we told him he had to ride his bike, instead.

I'm a total monster. So screw me.

It made sense at the time: Big Mac a Big Mistake

Several people have said, lately, that since I go to the gym almost every day and dancing at least a couple times a month, I must be "able to eat anything I want". This is not exactly true.

It does mean, however, that if I want a Big Mac, I can say, "Well, shoot! I haven't had one of those in a good 3 years. And I don't want fries. And I'll wash it all down with a diet soda or some unsweetened tea. And all I had for breakfast was a yogurt. And I'm on my way to spinning class, which I know is going to burn 500 calories or so. What the heck?!"

Unfortunately.

If you eat a Big Mac in the parking lot at the gym, and then 10 minutes later you are in class with Scottie, whose idea of instruction is to SHOUT AT YOU TO GO FASTER! DON'T SLOW DOWN! DON'T SLACK OFF! WE ARE IN A RACE! DON'T LET THEM BEAT YOU! RAAAAAA! for 45 minutes, you will spend the entire class feeling like you are going to puke.

Like, maybe, puking is a GREAT idea. Like getting rid of that Big Mac by any means necessary would make the whole ride a lot easier. And like the people in the class would see you puke all over yourself and cheer, while Scottie yelled, "YEAH! PUSH THROUGH IT! FEEL THOSE HAMSTRINGS! GO NOW! RAAAAAA!"

I just got home. I am sipping on the remains of my diet Coke---it stayed ice cold, in the car. I think I will never eat a Big Mac again.

Don't get me wrong, though. I think Scottie is awesome.

Not so great name for a band? Ugh

Well, we polled the electorate. Or, at least, we polled my readers on the blog, Hubby's coworkers, several bartenders and everyone at open mic night this past Thursday.

We presented that extremely long list (of names suggested by myself, Hubby's friends, and every member of the band), and accepted new ideas on the fly, and had people say what they liked of the bunch.

A lot of the names got a vote or two. A lot of new names went on the list.

The two big winners, though, were FrankenFish (Hubby's idea) and Oyster Shooter (mine).

Naturally, Hubby brought all this data to his last band practice and no one liked either one of those.

The drummer suggested a name. The rest of the band agreed to it. And so...at this point...Hubby's band is going to be called...

Ugh, I can hardly type it. The drummer's suggestions all had a certain ickiness to them. They all seemed perfectly suited to an early-80s, blue-collar, hair metal band. Which is totally unlike the music Hubby's band will play, but absolutely in line with the drummer's persona.

Not that he's not a nice guy and a talented drummer. I'm just sayin'.

The jury is still out. Maybe Hubby can talk some sense into the rest of the band. After all, they want something memorable, and clever, and easy to spell, and something that lends itself to a good logo for t-shirts and such, and something that is not already a band name on the interweb. Something that communicates the fact that this is a group of men in their early 30s to mid 40s, playing classic and modern rock and the occasional blues tune.

In other words, the last thing they want, is to call the band....

Infexious

Dave Brubeck's Happy Easter

Happy Easter, everybody!

My sister and my parents are coming down for the evening, bringing a pork roast and the Egg Hunt and a pie. I am in charge of everything else, which is why I am blogging, instead of scrubbing my bathrooms or peeling potatoes.

So let me just say that Blue Rondo a la Turk is great kitchen music on an Easter Sunday. I'm in here on a borrowed computer, because my own machine died on me last night (something about a spilled beverage)...and with Dave's assistance, I feel a little less like I am going through the holiday motions when my heart's not in it, and a little more like it's a beautiful spring day.

Oh, and I love those malted milk balls.

At about this point, Poky Redhead is shaking her head. "Christine? Do you have ADD or something? What does any of this have to do with anything?"

And it doesn't. I'm just rambling. So, Happy Easter to all of you. Lots of love. From Christine.

Urban Dictionary Says It's True

Urban Dictionary says it, so it must be true: I am the coolest, sexiest person around.

Then again, it also says I am hairy testicles. Which can be cool and sexy if you're into that, but can also be...something you really don't ever want to encounter. So, hey, it is what it is.

Amy Winehouse Knows Some Stuff

I know, I know, Girlfriend is a hot mess and it's irresponsible to like her and we should all shun her until she gets herself together and she's no Nina Simone and all that. But I love this song today.

Great Name for a Band

Hubby's band is getting ready to play out, soon. I am BEYOND PSYCHED about this. I have wanted Hubby to be in a band with this particular singer for years.


WOOOOOOO!

Ok. But although they are having a great time and getting tight together, they can't choose a band name. Nothing fits, yet.

So this morning Hubby sent me a list of the latest contenders. Which do you like? And, if you can think of any others, PLEASE SEND THEM TO ME.

Downward Spiral
Attention Deficit
Repeat Offender
Dry Heaves
Drunken Stupor
Storm Warning
Wanderlust
Mid Atlantic Dawn
Abandon
Crush
Chasing Sky
Cold Fire
Nether World
Ghost Water
Wicked Season
Lusbians
Earthshine
Never Surrender
Basket Case
Flight
Bloodline
Terra Firma
FrankenFish
Chumming for Rock
Hung Jury
The Coolidge Effect
Killer Plankton
Oyster Shooter
Slack Tide
Dead Reckoning
Poet's Justice
Rock Box
Misfit Toys
Noble Savage
The Klink
Flood
Precious Bodily Fluids
Half Deaf
Mood Disorder
The Fast and the Curious
Rock in a Hard Place
Private Snowball
Major Malfunction
Lost Weekend
Backdoor Men
Cock and Bull
Hair of the Dog
Reverse Cowgirl
Fender Bender
Show us Your Tits
Not the Father
Miscellany
Spam Filer
Designated Drinker
Witness Protection Program
Worth the Hangover
Boxers, not Briefs
The Hung Dynasty
Happy Ending
Storm Surge

Sky Lab
Toxic Shock
Chumming for Rock
Trouble in the Cockpit
Reach Around
Follow The Money
Show Me The Money
Heat Seeking (or Seekers, Seekers, etc)
Category 5 (or 6)
Napalm in the Morning
Sometimes you eat the Bear
Dude!
Coin Slot
Botox
The Myth of Fingerprints
The Coolidge Effect
Slack Tide
Reverse Cowgirl
Hard Crabs
Spam Filter
Witness Protection Program
Designated Drinker
Worth the Hangover
Boxers not Briefs
The Hung Dynasty
Happy Ending
Storm Surge
Butt Floss
Voodoo Highway
Nimpho-tainment
The Stalkers
Repeat Offender

1040 Blues

I have spent today organizing paperwork for the annual taxation onslaught. I am LUCKY, I know, because Hubby has done so much work for a local CPA that they are doing our taxes for us this year. But by the same token, I am tired of it and still not done.

I wanted to embed a Robert Cray video--1040 Blues. But Youtube does not have it. So, you know, hum it if you know it.

Sparkly pink fingernails

Someone asked me, yesterday, if I painted my nails pink "for your husband, or your boyfriend".

And so I told him the truth--I did it for me.

JUST LIKE HER

Growing up, just about the angriest thing my mother could say to me was that I was JUST LIKE HER--my grandmother. She always meant that I was exhibiting some of her mother-in-law's worst qualities.

I am starting to think that, for good or ill, I am a lot like Granma Bolz. And even though that includes her faults, I don't mind.

When she passed away, she left me one of her coctail rings. It was a little loose to be a pinky ring, and too tight to wear anywhere else, so I stuck it in a drawer. But this week I had it sized to fit my middle finger. I've been wearing it and it feels like it belongs on me. I think that if she were a 40-year-old woman, we'd get along famously and understand each other.

And probably also drive my mother nuts.

Wonder Twin Powers, ACTIVATE!

Honesty Meme

I stole this from Sue. Because, after last night, I need something light-hearted to focus on.

“40 Secrets About Yourself”
Be HONEST no matter what.

1. What Is your natural hair color?

Exactly the color you see. Brown.

2. What is your middle name?

Elizabeth. It sounds so much more sophisticated than I feel.

3. Your current relationship status?

Married 19 years

4. What is your current mood?
Fairly calm & focused, in a "Monday morning, tons of work" kind of way.

5. What color underwear are you wearing?
I have a brown bra and blue boyshorts with tulips on them

6. What makes you happy?

Sex, kissing, and public displays of affection. Dancing. Great live music. Hanging out with friends. Writing. Getting PAID for said writing. Photography. Compliments. Blog comments. Those emails telling me I have MySpace messages from people I like. And the gym.

7. What are you doing right now?

Eating a chocolate chip bagel and suppressing the urge to scream.

9. If you could go back in time, and change something what would you change?

I'm not sure. Mostly, I think I would go with the way I did things.

10. If you MUST be an animal for ONE day- what would you be?

A big, bad-ass tiger.

11. Ever had a near death experience?

Nope.

12. Something you do a lot?

Laundry. Dishes. Futz around on the Internet. And hit the gym.

13. What’s the name of the song stuck in your head right now?

Fuck Me Pumps


14. Who did you copy and paste this from?

Sue

15. Name someone with the same b-day as you?

John Lennon, and his son, Sean. Too bad I have no musical talent.

16. When was the last time you cried?

Couple of weeks ago, I think

17. Have you ever sung in front of a large audience?

Yup, in school, in choir.

18. If you could have one super power what would it be?

I would be able to read minds. But only when I wanted to. Not all the time.

19. What’s the first thing you notice about the opposite/same sex?

My gut feeling about them, whoever they may be.

20. What do you usually order from Starbucks? A Really Big, skinny, caramel latte.

21. What’s your biggest secret?

Ha. Like I'd tell the internet.

22. Favorite color?

I think the teal on the wall in my living room. At sunset and sunrise, it matches the sky outside and the wall disappears.

23. When was the last time you lied?

Let's just say that sometimes I let people keep their assumptions of me, instead of correcting them.

24. Do you still watch kiddy movies or TV shows?
I do if the kids watch them in my bed.

25. When did you last see someone you wanted to date?

This morning. I see him every day.

26. What are you eating or drinking at the moment? Chocolate chip bagel and milk.

27. Do you speak any other language? I used to be able to speak Thai, but I haven't used it in 15 years.

28. What are your favorite smells?

Hubby. Son #4. Bath & Body Works Creme Brulee stuff. Oriental grocery stores. Certain perfumes, and Polo, in small doses. Baking stuff. Sandalwood. Mint. Tide. Bleach. Gardenias. Jasmine. Lemons.

29. If you could describe your life in one word what would it be?

Intriguing

30. When was the last time you gave/received a hug?

About 20 minutes ago. Thanks, Hubby!

31. Have you ever been kissed in the rain?

Probably, but I have no specific memory of it.

32. What are you thinking about right now?

I wish Sons #1 and 2 were already on the way to school.

33. What should you be doing?

folding laundry

34. What was the last thing that made you upset/angry?

SON #1 GAVE OUR Wii SYSTEM TO SOME GIRL AT SCHOOL WITHOUT TELLING ANYONE.

35. How often do you pray?

Does "Lord, beer me strength!" count? In that case, all the damn day.

36. Do you like working in the yard?

No. I would be happy to live in an apartment.

37. If you could have any last name in the world, what would you want?

The one I've got!

38. Do you act differently around your crush?

I did at first.

39. Name one song that reminds you of an ex?

Fortunately, I've been married so long that the songs that would remind me of an ex are no longer getting played on the radio.

40. What do you think of the person who sent this to you? Be HONEST!
I wish I knew her in real life. Because I think we'd have fun.

I am stunned...just....absolutely stunned

A couple of Christmases ago, when the Wii system was new, Hubby camped out at Best Buy to get one for the Sons. It was one of those things, you know--we can't afford it, it's taking up a chunk of a Saturday he needed to use for other stuff, but Santa was going to really pull it out.

And he got one. One of the last ones available.

Christmas morning was AWESOME. And the family has enjoyed the Wii. We've bought a few games for it, we all have played it from time to time. It's not ALL we do, obviously, but...it's fun.

Tonight, I don't know how it came up in conversation, but...

Son #1 gave our Wii system to some girl at school.

I don't know when he did it.

He does not know where this girl lives.

He does not have her phone number.

And he thinks that it is in better hands, at her house, than here. He decided that his brothers weren't using it enough, and when they did use it they weren't taking good care of it, so he gave it away, without telling anyone.

He is furious with us, for telling him that he needs to find this girl at school tomorrow and get her phone number and tell her that Hubby is coming over, tomorrow night after work, to pick it up.

He thinks he did the reasonable thing, and WE are being crazy. He has been yelling at US, for telling him we need the Wii back tomorrow.

On a potentially related note, a few months ago I splurged on a new pair of sneakers. It was not really a splurgy thing---my knee was bothering me, because my sneaks were old, and sneakers are expensive so it FELT like a splurge. I bought them for myself for my birthday. And then a couple of weeks later, they disappeared, never to be seen again. Not one to keep spending money, I just went back to my old sneaks and am sucking it up, on the knee pain front.

But now I wonder. Does this girl have my shoes, too?

Holy fuck.

I mean, maybe I should not curse, but I am just beyond words, at this point.

He's traded in his 40-year-old for a pair of 16-year-olds

Ever since last summer, when I took the boys to a barbecue and music festival, Son #1 has been asking when he can see ACME Blues Company again.

WHYYYY can't I go?

WHYYYYYY can't I go, just because it's in a bar?

WHHHYYYYYY can't I go, just because you hang out with your old people friends when you go see them?

WHENNNNNN can I go see them again?

He guarantees me that he would do ANYTHING to go. That he loves their music (and he, like all the Sons, does indeed sing along to the entire CD.) And as a budding left-handed bassist, he says that he would "go all Fan Girl on Wolf," ACME's left-handed bass player.

This weekend, the younger two Sons are out of town. And ACME is playing, just about 40 minutes from home. A little far for me to go alone, but...it is not a bar. It is an actual RESTAURANT. With no dance floor, but, I can bring teens.

He was all hot to go. Really looking forward to it. And then.

Some girls he know invited him to a concert at their school.

Suddenly, he is not going. Which may mean I am not going. Because, of course, I will be required to transport Sons #1 and 2 to this concert.

AND THEY FULLY ADMIT THE BANDS WILL PALE IN COMPARISON.

Ugh, the injustice. And to think: 12 years ago, he handed me a Ring Pop and asked me to marry him.

Waldorf on a Sunday: Do I want to go to the mall?

Let me let you in on a little secret: the Happy Boondocks is in the middle of nowhere.

The nearest not-quite-a-city, but with some amenities, is Waldorf, an hour away.

When I was a kid, growing up outside of Annapolis, we laughed at Waldorf. It was the boonies. There was nothing in Waldorf. It was the kind of place you drove through, on the way to Florida for vacation, and wondered at all the old places that Used To Be Something Special, Back In The 60s When Gambling Was Legal And Headliners Came. There are still several crappy shops and bakeries and such, inhabiting odd buildings that used to be casinos.

Then we moved to the Happy Boondocks. Waldorf instantly transformed into A Place That Has A Mall and A Red Lobster.

Honestly, I am not all that impressed by the presence of a mall or a Red Lobster. But, that is the difference between the Boondocks as we know it, and Waldorf. People actually make plans to go to Waldorf, to eat at the Olive Garden and shop at the mall.

OK, so tomorrow I will be in Waldorf. It is kind of a midway point between my house and my parents', and my mother is going to meet me there to return Sons #3 and 4, who are spending the weekend with their grandparents.

As a non-shoppy, non-materialistic person, my first inclination is to just head to the bagel store where we're meeting, grab the kids and head back home. But then again, I will have already used all that gasoline...maybe I should go a little early, and hit the mall. Because, you know, I usually only do that once a year, when I take Son #1 clothes shopping at Hot Topic. This time, I'd be alone. I could look at...I dunno, whatever catches my eye, I guess. Maybe I'll bring my camera and take pictures of the place.

Eh, if any of you are in Waldorf, tomorrow, you just may run into me. Wave. Say something. See you there! Maybe we can get Orange Julius, or something.

Hooooo, boy!

The past couple of days have been hectic. An interview. Two doctor's appointments. Several trips to take Son #1 see The Girl. Tae kwon do, three days in a row. Open Mic, last night (you didn't think I'd skip blues jam, did you?)

The Sons continue to eat us out of house and home, so I am going to the grocery store like I expect Brangelina to be handing out free diamond tennis bracelets in the parking lot, any minute. And, of course, the gym, because I am hooked on it.

As always, the dog needs walking. Because it really doesn't make a lick of difference, to him, whether he goes on the rug, on a pile of clean laundry a Son swore he put away, or outside. He could go either way. It's totally up to us. Really. He's flexible, like that.

Sons #3 and 4 have discovered the joys of bread baking. The house is full of the aroma of freshly baked bread, and the happy sounds Hubby makes when he takes a bite. It is also full of globs of bread dough, and drifts of flour and sugar and yeast. Because they think they clean up after themselves. They really do.

Although Son #1 enjoys using Hubby's bathrobe, more than his own, his REAL favorite is his comforter. Of course, once he is done with it, he'll just drop it. Like this morning---the hall bathroom has all his dirty clothes from last night AND a queen-sized comforter, on the floor. And dental floss. He also deposited a hairbrush in the box of peaches on the kitchen table. Ooogh.

All this to say, I haven't done laundry in two days, or dishes, since yesterday morning. I woke up and took a look and thought, "Hooooo, boy! I am not ready for this!"

But now that I've enjoyed my latest breakfast fad, bran flakes, and taken a moment to kvetch to the blogosphere, I feel much better.

I think I'll go clean the kitchen. Probably won't rush to eat a peach, though. They are fuzzier than is natural.

So, who was adopted, again?

Son #1 (5'10, muscular, curly hair, impulsive, bouncy, dressed perpetually in black, wants to be a cop, usually tries not to curse too much in front of his mother) and Son #2 (6'1, gangly, wavy hair, mellow, contemplative, dressed usually in white, wants to be an artist, usually tries not to say "indeed!" in front of his father) stood in front of me this morning, before it was time to leave for school.

"Mom. Which one of us was adopted, again?"

One good thing, this weekend, thanks to MySpace

Lately I've been feeling frustrated and a bit morose. Things just aren't going Precisely According To My Plans, and I am cranky about it. (Yeah, I know, Boo Freakin' Hoo).

This weekend, though, something kinda cool happened.

Ya know how sometimes you meet someone, and you know you'd like them if you got to know them? But you don't always have a chance TO get to know them?

Well, a few months ago I met someone. A friend's girlfriend. And I knew, just on sight, that I would like her. Maybe I was influenced by all the nice things he says about her, but maybe it was just recognizing her for who she is, even without a lot of data to back me up.

Anyway, the other day I posted a comment on someone's blog, and the girlfriend's friend emailed me about it. She and I had never really talked, before, beyond "Hi! Great Show!" (Her boyfriend is the singer for THAT BAND THAT I TALK ABOUT ALL THE TIME OH GOD CHRISTINE SHUT UP ALREADY ABOUT ACME BLUES COMPANY FOR THE LOVE OF CHRIST!) But we ended up emailing back and forth all weekend.

We have a lot in common. We like each other. We make each other laugh. It's great, meeting a new friend.

So,

Hi Amy! Welcome to the blog! Hope you still like me, after you read all my crap!

Wisdom From Son #2, While Son #1's Girlfriend Visits

"Ya know how they say most people only use 10% of their brains? The other 90% is being used by their junk"

Yup, he is 14. The boy knows things.

Alf's Dreaded Book Meme

I woke up at 2:30 because my dog was crapping on my bedroom rug. Naturally, I stepped in it. So I had to wash my foot. And then, you know, I was AWAKE.

So, I noticed Alf has a meme going.
The Rules:
1. Pick up the nearest book (of at least 123 pages).
2. Open the book to page 123.
3. Find the fifth sentence.
4. Post the next three sentences.
5. Tag some people & post a comment here once you post it to your blog, so I can come see.

Feel free to do it, yourself. And yes, this really was the nearest book to hand. You are going to think I'm all high-minded and spiritual. Joke's on you.

"Prayer is the contact I make with God in my thoughts. It is a powerful medicine for the spirit. Prayers for guidance are perhaps the most potent of all, providing I keep myself receptive and am willing to act according to His inspiration."

Where the heck am I supposed to THINK?

My office is in a corner of the living room. It sits above the den, where the Sons play MMP games and Rock Band and watch TV.

I had an idea for a lyric, tonight, and sat to write, but the 3 Sons in the basement were making such noise I couldn't really think.

So I moved down the hall, to our bedroom. It's a little farther from the den, so those noises are somewhat muffled. Although, 3 young guys playing shooting games are just plain loud, even from the end of the hall. Shooting requires shouting, you see.

Our bedroom sits above Son #1's bedroom. So, now I am hearing slightly less shooting, but more chatting on the telephone. Because Son #1 is on the phone with That Girl pretty much all the time. He also is listening to "screamo" music. It's just...great.

There is no other place to go. So, I have my snippet of a lyric and nothing else to go with it, at this point. I think I'll try to do Something Else, for a while, and let the music float back into my head on its own. In the meantime, though, I just wish, sometimes, that I had a place to go that didn't have all this constant chatter. If I could find our recording equipment, I'd make a podcast for y'all. Because you would not believe the continuity of the cacophony, over here.

Great Moments in School Administration

Son #1's business law teacher is out, for the next few weeks. He's serving as a substitute hall monitor, while the hall monitor is on maternity leave.

It occurred to both Son #1 and myself that it would make a lot more sense to hire a substitute hall monitor, and leave his business law teacher in place, than to hire a substitute teacher for business law, and pull one of my son's best teachers out of the classroom so he can watch people walk the halls.

Because, you know, substitute teachers can monitor the halls, even if they know nothing about business law.

Black Magic Woman

I got home and Hubby was playing Black Magic Woman on bass, in the basement. So, basically, the entire house is filled with Black Magic Woman.

Blogging will resume after I am done licking hubby.

Bass...me likey.

Dude, My Mom is NOT HOT, OK?

The other night, one of my flirtin' buddies asked me if the Sons' friends had ever said I was a Hot Mom. "Because if I were 15, I would totally think you were."

I of course told him that none of my sons friends think I am hot. Mostly, of course, I was thinking that all my sons' friends have seen me at 4 am at a sleepover, when I am not only not hot, I am also not nice. BECAUSE I WANT THEM TO SLEEP. My flirtin' buddies generally see me with brushed teeth and an enthusiastic attitude.

But then I went home and asked Son #1.

"Well, actually, (one friend of his who's here a lot) has mentioned it several times, BUT JEEZ, MOM, I ASSUMED HE WAS JOKING! THAT IS DISGUSTING!"

So, now Son #1 is mortified, and my flirtin' buddy is also mortified that he is coming across as "a dirty old man."

I, however, am feeling pretty spiffy.

;)

Wear Your Stilettos Now

When I was 9, my parents celebrated their 10th anniversary with a weekend in NYC. They saw a show, and ate well, and enjoyed the hotel room, and did all sorts of touristy things. The highlight for my mother was shoe shopping.

This says a lot about my mother--she is a shoe fanatic like no one else I've ever met. It also says a lot about my dad. He took her shoe shopping, OK? Not every husband is that willing to take one for the team.

I remember her coming home with LOTS of shoes. She LOVED them. She wore them out dancing (see a familial tradition, anywhere?) and then she stopped going out. Dad hated dancing, and she didn't want to dance without him, so the shoes sat in the closet.

We called it The Shrine. She would sit in the closet and look at her shoes.

So anyway, flash forward. A couple of years ago, Mom's knee gave out. Really, she needs a replacement. She has been putting it off. But even if she gets a new knee, she can't wear those shoes again. She is stuck in flat, sensible shoes, for the rest of her life.

She cries about the shoes. She doesn't care that her knee hurts, she cares that she can't wear her sexy heels any more.

Every few months, Mom brings me a few pairs of shoes to try out. If they're not too small, they're mine. Otherwise, they go back to the Shrine.

Tonight I am going out to see ACME BLUES COMPANY OH MY GOD I CANNOT WAIT THEY ARE SO AWESOME I WILL DANCE MY ASS OFF.....

OK, but anyway, tonight I am going out. I pulled out one of Mom's pairs of NYC shoes and slipped them on. A bit loose. So I tried to adjust the heel strap.

The leather was gummy. Remember, these shoes are 31 years old. The strap broke. Dry rot.

My mother kept those shoes in the Shrine for probably 25 years. Bringing them to me was HARD for her. And now they are in the trash.

Don't let your fun dry rot, ok? Wear your stilettos while you can.

UPDATE: ACME was fantastic, as always, and I had a blast, as you knew I would. I wore a second pair of Mom's NYC shoes, and then the band played Rattlesnake Shake and I danced so hard the shoes fell apart. Spent the rest of the night in my stocking feet. I think the band felt pretty good about making music so good a woman would kill her shoes, dancing.

I am "The Man": A Parenting Epiphany

Remember when you were a teenager and your parents were all suspicious? They wouldn't let you hang out with your boyfriend in your bedroom, even though that meant you never got to have a private conversation, because your little sister kept butting in?

And no matter how much you explained that you weren't DOING anything, they still gave you that look with the one raised eyebrow, and told you, "Fine, but, you can be not DOING anything out here in the den, with your brothers"?

Remember how your younger siblings kept walking up to you and saying stupid crap, and no matter how much you complained about it your parents never stopped them? Like they had NO IDEA how frustrating and annoying and embarrassing that was?

Remember how your boyfriend's parents were a little more lax, but if they saw you making out they would look at you, their son's adoring girlfriend, like you were a complete idiot who didn't have the least instinct for self-preservation? And like you ought to hold out for a guy who at least had his own car?

As it turns out, it wasn't because they didn't understand you. It was because they understood all too well, and had no. interest. in. becoming. grandparents. yet.

So, it all makes sense. The Sons can have privacy with their girlfriends when they are old enough to sign a lease on their own place.

For Matt: A shirt and a song

Matt had an exceptionally crappy day, yesterday. I can't do a damn thing to fix any of it. But ever since he read about the shirt that Son #1's teacher thinks looks gay, he's wanted to see it. So, here it is:



And also for you, Matt, a little Reverend Horton Heat. Points to whomever can name the song first.

jtj3: The 'how we met' meme

jtj3: The 'how we met' meme

The Challenge is on, and coincidentally Hubby was telling Mr Backrub about how we met, last night, so here are 10 Things About How I Met Hubby:

We were students at UMCP.

We lived in adjacent dormitories, with a shared cafeteria.

I was on the rebound. My kinda-sorta boyfriend had left the state 2 days before. My friend Susan decided I needed to EAT SOMETHING ALREADY, so she hauled me down to the cafeteria.

We were badly dressed: I in the emerald green sweatsuit I'd had since jr high (with the unbrushed hair and depressed pallor to match), he in a red ringer t-shirt, Hawaiian shirt, blue OP corduroy shorts, tube socks with red stripes, and sneakers.

I didn't want to talk to anyone. I just wanted to sit. So when some weird guy asked if he could "invade our personal space", we basically told him he could do whatever he wanted, but we weren't going to talk to him.

Hubby was NOT the weird guy. He was WITH the weird guy.

The moment I saw him, I heard a voice in my head say, "There's your husband. You better hope he's nice."

I couldn't think of a way to keep him talking to me, so I ate off of his plate. (You can't leave a woman while she's eating your grapes.)

Hubby left the table with everyone but Weird Guy. Weird Guy asked me out. And I went, in hopes of getting to know Hubby. It worked.

After our first date, the following week, Hubby told me, "I can't date you anymore, ever."

We've been married nearly 20 years.

3:10 to WHAT, now?

The critics love 3:10 to Yuma. My parents loved 3:10 to Yuma. Yuma, Yuma, Yuma, it is great and we much watch it.

We rented it.

Not to spoil things for those of you who haven't seen it, but...the ending just made. no. sense.

Son #2 watched it after Hubby and I finished, and he agrees. WHAT WERE THEY THINKING, with that ending?

But, hey, feel free to love it. After all, my parents and every critic on the planet thinks Hubby, Son #2, and I are morons.

The Sky is Crying...or at least it is, in blogland

Today I found out that yet another blogger I check in with daily is calling it quits. The third in a week!

Hey, not that any of them should keep at it for MY benefit, but I'm sad to see them go. Sad, also, to think that they feel that blogging got to be unpleasant for them, or too much work, or too fighty. Ugh.

Well, to all of you, do whatcha gotta do. And please check back with me now and then, OK?

Calling All Locals: Ya Gotta Plan Ahead

Thursday is Blues Jam at the Country Store. Saturday is the ACME Blues Company show, also at the Country Store. I don't have to embed links because it's all over there----------------> in the sidebar.

I will be there (you know this like you know your own name). YOU should be there.

We are nearly a month into the smoking ban, so you nonsmokers have no excuse. On the bright side, that also means that if you don't show up I'll finally realize that the smoke was just an excuse, and I'll stop telling you that you should come out with me.

It made sense at the time

Son #1: "Why are you kicking me?"

Son #4: "I don't know."

A Classic Mother-in-Law Moment

Son #3 turned 13 today. He just called his grandmother to thank her for his birthday check, which arrived yesterday.

"Happy Birthday! I'd love to see you, but I just got this new cable package that gives you free movies."

Makes your heart just SING, doesn't it? Good thing Son #3 has a sense of humor.

UPDATE:
She called later today and met us for dinner. So, you know, she apparently realized that she can watch movies Whenever, but only have birthday dinner with her grandson on his birthday...All Is Well.

A Request for My Higher Power

God, grant me the eBay traffic to sell the crap that's cluttering my house
The compassion to keep my husband's treasures
And the wisdom to know the difference.

(Curious? You can see my latest eBay auctions if you look for chipsmommyfreelance.)

Girly Crap

Have I mentioned this before? Although I am a pretty low-maintenance person by nature, I do have my girly moments. When I do, you'll find me here.

Are you a member? It is fun for the thrifty/girly types, but you do have to be willing to, you know, mail stuff to people and accept their stuff in return. It's a great chance to try things out without spending a lot of money, or to get rid of things you Were Sure You Needed but now realize you can't stand.

Look for me, ok? I swap as "cebasham"

My Parents Are Coming

Son #3's birthday, and my parents' wedding anniversary, are both this Sunday. Since Son #3 is having a sleepover tomorrow, my parents have decided to come down tonight, for dinner and presents.

It is time to prepare.

I have to clean everything, like everyone does when the parents descend. But I have a list of other things I need to do, too.

Must get the mail before Mom empties my mail box, flipping through each envelope and asking about it (and perhaps opening one or two, if they pique her interest). If the mail lady brings an actual BOX to the door, while my parents are around, I have no chance of opening it in private. None.

Must hide my desk calendar, because she will note all events over the next month or two and invite herself along. "1:00, Copsey's Seafood, what is that? We'd love to come."

Must stash all my medications, because at this point she does not know that I have a few manageable health conditions and I do not want to spend the next 25 years listening to advice about them.

Must finish writing the article that's due today, because if I'm still writing when she gets here she will stand in the narrow path between my desk chair and the wall, to read over my shoulder and make "Hmmmm. Huh!" noises and ask when I'm going to write something about my sister.

Must stash my bag of "stuff to sell on eBay", because I am not allowed to get rid of ANYTHING.

Must get rid of the recycling, because it's got mail and scrap paper in there and she will look through it.

Must encourage Son #2 to finish assembling the complicated furniture she bought for his room (that he does not want).

Must discourage Son #1 from sharing too many Colorful Stories about life in high school.

Must remove blue nail polish.

Is that it? I think so. My day is planned for me, huh?

We need more restaurants in the Happy Boondocks

Hubby and I went out for Thai food for lunch. Very nice. And we planned to go for MORE Thai food, for dinner. (Thai people eat Thai food all day, every day, so why not?)

The Thai place was packed.
The Mexican place was packed.
The Vietnamese place wasn't packed, but it has Health Department Issues and featured a loudly screaming baby.
The seafood place was packed.
We drove past several other places and they were all packed.

We picked up Mr Brooks at Blockbuster, and takeout from Taco Bell. We let the Sons completely trash the kitchen, while we ate junky fast food and watched a movie.

Eh, it is not, perhaps, the most glamorous Valentine's Day celebration, but it was very much ours. And I now have a giant, heart-shaped box of candy and a teddy bear holding a heart to keep me company at my desk. So, can't beat that.

Mr Brooks, though predictable and full of holes, was an enjoyable movie. Someone recommended it to me...I have no idea whom.

The Warden has officially changed careers

Let me tell you a story.

When I was a teen, I was especially quiet and bookish. I did not smoke or drink. I didn't even drive, until I went to college. I was completely under the parental thumb--to the extent that I could barely even tell that it was so.

My parents insisted I attend church every Sunday, and religious education during the week. I went to Catholic high school.

I was not allowed to wear a bikini. Anything the least bit revealing or clingy was met with "No Child of Mine Is Going To Leave the House in That."

If I got in trouble, I was grounded BY THE SEMESTER. So, yes, that time I went to a party, in 9th grade, and there was alcohol served (because some of the guests were 18) but I didn't drink any? And the guy next to me tripped over a cat and spilled his wine on my pants? Yup. Christine did not leave the house for anything other than school or church for THE NEXT FOUR MONTHS.

My friends all called my father The Warden (but never to his face, because dear GOD, they probably never would have seen me again).

Cue the Bob Dylan:

Come gather 'round people
Wherever you roam
And admit that the waters
Around you have grown
And accept it that soon
You'll be drenched to the bone.
If your time to you
Is worth savin'
Then you better start swimmin'
Or you'll sink like a stone
For the times they are a-changin'.

Today my parents' Valentine's Day box for the Sons arrived. Son #1 (16) and Son #2 (14) each received a pair of silk PLAYBOY BOXER SHORTS.

I am floored.

I feel surprisingly feminine

Went to the gym, where I spent an hour making GRRR faces while lifting weights. Came home and of course I had to check my email before I got in the shower. Son #4 came up behind me and gave me a big hug and kiss on the cheek.

So I asked him.

"Don't I STINK?"

"Not really, but you don't smell like peaches, like you usually do."

Peaches! Wow! That kid is gonna be a terrifyingly effective lady killer.

SEVEN! Seven of us!

The primary results are in. Seven people in my county voted for my presidential candidate.

I am the ONLY person at my polling place to have done so. I feel so...special! Like, I wish I could identify the other 6 and invite them all out for nachos.

The Republican Death March, and a Meme

I voted. For the first time in my life, I voted a total, don't-care-that-it-won't-matter, PROTEST vote. Made the whole thing a little more palatable.

And so, back to dumb stuff. Here's a meme, lifted from Avitable

1. If your doctor told you TODAY that you were pregnant, what would you say?
IT'S A MIRACLE! No, really, ya gotta run that test again.

2. Do you trust all of your friends?
Let's just say I'm friends with the people I actually trust.

3. Would you move to another state or country to be with the one you love?
Been there, done that. Would do it again in a heartbeat.

4. Do you believe that everything happens for a reason?
Sometimes.

5. Can you make a dollar in change right now?
Well, I'd have to walk down the hall...

6. Which one of your friends do you think would make the best doctor?
Kate. Scientific mind, very observant.

7. Are you afraid of falling in love?
Nah. Rejection, THAT scares me.

9. Is there someone who pops into your mind at random times?
Yup.

10. What’s your favorite scar?
On my left thumb. Caught a piece of broken glass, on purpose. Because, you know, shearing off my thumb was somehow preferable to having the glass hit the floor.

11. When was the last time you flew in a plane?
Summer of 06--coming home from Grand Junction, Colorado

12. What did the last text message you sent say?
Gravel? You voted for the nutjob?

13. What features do you find most attractive in the preferred sex?
Tall, strong jaw, and slightly scruffy.

14. Fill in the blank. I love ________.
sorry...still thinking about tall, strong jaw, and slightly scruffy.

15. What is a goal you would like to accomplish in the near future?
publication in Maryland Life Magazine (I queried today)

16. If you were to wake up from being in a coma for an extended time who would you call?
Hubby.

17. How many kids do you want to have?
Four.

18. Would you make a good parent?
Well, I think I was good when they were small. Jury's still out, on the teen years

19. Where was your favorite picture taken?
lying on a bench outside of Jurassic Park at Universal Studios, Florida

20. What’s your middle name?
Elizabeth

21. Honestly, what’s on your mind right now?
Why does he need my business card?

22. If you could go back in time and change something, what would it be?
I take the 5th.

23. Who was or will be the maid of honor/ best man in your wedding?
My sister.

24. What are you wearing right now?
The sweat-soaked clothes I had on for my spinning class. Had to check my email before I hit the showers.

25. Righty or Lefty?
righty. Both physically and by political inclination

26. Best place to eat?
The Country Store--because the food is good and I'm watching some of my favorite musicians, every time I'm there.

27. Favorite jeans?
Low-rise, boot-cut, dark wash things from Old Navy.

28. Favorite Animal?
Cats

29. Favorite juice?
anything in smoothie form

30. Have you had the chicken pox?
Yup.

31. Have you had a sore throat?
Who hasn't? Is this a trick question?

32. Ever had a bar fight?
No, but only because my friends pulled me out of there in time.

33. Who knows you the best?
Hubby and Kate

34. Shoe size?
7.5

35. Do you wear contact lenses or glasses?
Contacts

36. Ever been in a fight with your pet?
Yes. I almost killed that damn dog.

37. Been to Mexico?
Tijuana! Twice!

38. Did you buy something today?
Not yet. The night is young.

39. Did you get sick today?
Nope.

40. Do you miss someone today?
I usually do.

41. Did you get in a fight with someone today?
I have four children. Two are teenagers. One will be a teenager next week. Yes, I fight every day.

42. When is the last time you had a massage?
16 years ago, in Thailand.

43. Last person to lie in your bed?
Son #3

44. Last person to see you cry?
Some stranger in the next lane on the highway.

45. Who made you cry?
Me. Nobody else can make me cry, I think.

46. What was the last TV show you watched?
Beach Patrol: Panama City Beach (I am married, ok? I have no control over the remote)

47. What are your plans for the weekend?
My parents are visiting. Then my son is having a sleepover. I will be cleaning and telling people to be quiet.

48. Who do you think will repost this?
No clue

49. Who was the last person you hung out with?
Hubby (remember? Beach Patrol?)

50. If your significant other asked you to marry them TODAY, what would you say?
We're goin' ta Vegas, Baby!

It will make you feel like you're participating

Tomorrow I get to vote in my primary.

Hee. The REPUBLICAN primary.

In a decidedly BLUE state.

In a year in which John McCain would basically have to murder a puppy on live television to not get the nomination.

The Sons keep asking who I'll vote for. And I keep hemming and hawing. I will have to hold my nose and pick one, I guess. Not that it will matter. Because my primary is late (so my candidate dropped out ages ago), and my state will go Democrat no matter what I do.

I am just all hopped up on patriotism and civic duty, this morning. Whee, doggie!

Ya want quirky? I'll GIVE ya quirky!

I have joined Shamelessly Sassy's quirkiness meme, but am too cheap to pay the $5/year to have the meme widget on my blog. So, you know, go enjoy the beauty of the widget over there.

1 Ever since Hubby lost the hearing in one ear, I can only stand on the right side of people. I stand on your right and turn my head toward you, and we can speak. If I am on your left, I just...can't...stand it.

2 I find cold, condensed soup out of the can to be a very satisfying meal. I am prepared to be a homeless person, so long as I have a can opener.

3 I can't sleep in an unmade bed. Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night and can only get back to sleep if I smooth the blankets and square everything off.

4 I can remember all the lyrics, but almost none of the names of songs or the artists who made them famous. This drives my children nuts and makes me look like an idiot among my musician friends. Just, you know, start the song and I'll sing along.

5 I hate talking on the phone. This would shock and amaze my parents, who had to put in a second line, while I was in high school.

7 About every 10 years, I am so absolutely furious that I need a cigarette. I smoke one, and feel better. Aside from that, I do not smoke. Apparently, if I am not choking back the urge to kill, tobacco holds no charm for me.

8 Love the beach, hate the water.

9 Love to dance, am completely uncoordinated. (Oh, you really SHOULD come out with me.)

10 I almost never can identify voices. Perhaps this is a factor in my hating the phone...

You can tell a lot about a person, from what they buy at the grocery store

Today Hubby went to the store. He came home with roses (lovely, and smelly, too). Java Chip ice cream (one of my favorites). A frozen Indian entree (I love Indian food. He hates it).

Yup, he's been reading one of those true-crime books about a woman who murdered her husband, again.

Overheard From My Basement on a Saturday Morning

"Hey, I'm SLEEPING. Get OUT of here!"

"Hey, we're playing a game. Why don't you SLEEP IN YOUR OWN BEDROOM?"

Yup, Son #1 may act like he rules the world, but Son #4 will put him right back in his place.

Even Better than a Bar Bathroom

The Lobster Claw Machine!
The Country Store used to have one of these--put in $2 in quarters and take your chance on bringing home a live lobster. But, they wouldn't COOK it for you, so you had to carry Pinchy home, yourself. It was not a big moneymaker, so they got rid of it before I had a chance to take a picture. Much sorrow and regret ensued.

Last night I was there for Blues Open Mic and the lobsters are back! This has got to be the most hilarious thing, ever.

What A Woman Needs

Bling so blingy, it's a little embarrassing


A Chance to Cut Loose (that's me, on the left)


An Interest Other People Don't Care About (this would be my beloved ACME, although if you heard them you would love them, too)


A Healthy Habit


Someone Intimidating (In this case, brother-in-law's fiancee)


An Animal (this, by the way, is Jake)


A Vice


Serious, take-no-prisoners, FM shoes (yes, that IS a pair of 8-inch platforms, in the back)


The Big Closet

And, of course, girlfriends to keep her from totally losing it.

Hubby's Headline of the Day

Hubby sent me this. It is the kind of thing that makes me wish I were a headline writer, so I could take credit.

"They think of you as a MOM"

I straighten my hair. I wear foundation and mascara and lipstick. I have started wearing eyeliner. This is a big deal, for the Fresh Faced. But I like it.

At first, I only wore it to go out. Now, though, I often craft a fairly subdued smokey eye for everyday.

The Sons saw me putting on my eyeliner yesterday and the three youngest each asked, "Where are you going? What's the occasion? Why are you so fancy?"

I am just a hair's breadth away from the no-makeup look. Really, without the eyeliner it probably DOES look like I have nothing on my face. So I asked Son #1, aka Arbiter of Female Fashion (because he spends so much time checking out the ladies ;) if it looked bad.

"No, no. It looks GOOD. Keep it up! It's just...they think of you as a Mom, not as the kind of person who...does stuff."

So do I say anything? Who do I call?

I know the 14-year-old who was found unconscious on his bathroom floor: cocaine.
I know the 14-year-old who sold it to him.
He's still buying drugs, though not cocaine, today.

These kids used to be friends with one of the Sons, but then we pulled the Sons out of the local public school for a while and they lost touch. So I have a soft spot for both families, and an accompanying "thank God the boys lost touch--what if it were MY boy getting involved in this crap?". Used to be friends with one of the parents. Still run into the other set, from time to time.

Do I call the drug dealer's mom, in case she doesn't know? She probably wouldn't believe me.
Should I call the drug user's mom, in case she doesn't know he's still buying drugs?
Should I call the school, since these transactions are going on on the school bus?
Should I call the sheriff's anonymous tip line?

A low point in parenting and basic judgement

Our little crappy theater doesn't show movies unless they are Guaranteed to Make Money, so we often have to wait for the DVD. This time, though, 4 girls they know from school invited the two oldest Sons to a theater in Annapolis.

I didn't want a seventeen-year-old girl, distracted by the mighty mojo of the Sons, driving them an hour and 45 minutes each way. (Yes, the theater is actually that far.)

So, the Sons checked. The girls weren't driving--a mom was. Fully reassured, I gave the go-ahead.

OK, so I'm new to this High School thing. I don't know most of their new friends. They meet people at school, do much of their socializing at the school, and so it all remains mysterious to me. But when a woman pulls up to take my kids for the next seven hours, I figure I should go out and introduce myself. Let her know I'm a reasonable person she can call if, for instance, the Sons act the fool, or her car breaks down. My parents live minutes from the theater to which they're heading.

So I go out to their car, and the mom rolls her window down, and she has only shards, where her front teeth should be. She has an odd look on her face--a little glassy-eyed, and confrontational and distracted, at the same time. I am...distinctly uncomfortable.

"That looks like meth mouth," I think.

And then, I think again.

"I have a false tooth. If Hubby were not a good provider, I would have a gap in my mouth. Maybe she's just broke. And maybe having people judge her by her lack of teeth puts her in a crappy mood, so she hates meeting people who look like they just decided she's not capable of driving their precious darlings to the movies. And the flu is going around."

In a moment of Kumbaya Spirit, I smiled and went back in the house, where, I'll admit, I worried. The boys had a great time at the movies, and I decided I was a bigot for having thought anything about that poor woman's teeth.

Yesterday those Sons were invited to 2 different events, at people's homes. And then Son #1 mentioned the mom who had driven them, last week.

"Her mom is CRAZY. She was driving all over the road. I thought she was going to crash, seven times. And the first thing she said, when she pulled out of the driveway, was 'You motherfuckers better not spill anything in my car!' She was screaming curse words at us the whole time. I was glad you let us go, but I was REALLY glad we made it home."

So, yesterday, I went in. I chatted. I got to know Trevor's mom, and Hilary's mom and dad. I felt better.

I think they felt better, too. As it turns out, "I'm new to this whole high school thing, and still getting used to the idea that I don't know their friends," is a great ice-breaker.

Honesty, I guess, is still a good policy.

And now for something Completely Different: Cat in Dryer

This morning one of the Sons needed something from the dryer. Naturally, that did not lead them to EMPTY the dryer and move the stuff from the washer into it. They just took what they wanted and left the dryer open.

Ellie moved in.


And yes, in the foreground you can see my beloved Cabbages & Condoms shorts, with the happy penis in the condom.

I like happy penises.

First against the wall, when the Revolution comes

The other day I read this, and I thought, "Yeah, there is a lot of intolerance and hair-trigger hate, going around these days. Where is the 'kumbayah' I was expecting to have shown up, by the time I was 40?"

I commented on Nexy's blog. I like Nexy.

It's frustrating, especially, to hear the Sons' stories from school. These are the people who are going to be running things, when I am dependent on THEM. I'm a bit nervous. I know they're not adults, yet, they're still figuring out who they are, but at this point so much of high school cultchah seems nasty, brutish, intolerant, devoted to the most self-destructive of momentary pleasures, and unwilling to listen to opinions other than those they've already chosen.

Heck, I know, that was the case when I was in school, and things are better, among adults, I think. But still--it bugs me more than I let on, to the Sons.

And then yesterday Son #1 (aka "Jewfro", at school, because he has hair even curlier than mine) brought a photo of the family to school. People had been asking to see his family, and for myriad teen reasons he'd rather bring in a picture, than take them home to meet his actual family in the flesh.

"YOUR MOM IS SO JEWISH! And you look JUST LIKE HER! You are a JEW! JEW! JEW! JEWFRO is a JEW! WOW! And your Dad looks almost as Jewish as your Mom does! Wow! JEW!"

Son #1 tried to explain that his mother's, um, Mediterranean appearance is due to her half-Italian heritage, and that actually his FATHER (of the straight, glossy hair and straight, moderate nose) is 1/4 Jewish, but the crowd would have nothing of it. He is JEWFRO. He and his mother are JEWS. It is obvious, from the dark, curly hair and Mom's big nose.

"JEW! JEW! YOU'RE A JEW!"

This just seemed a little...well, a little scary to me.

I remember in college being good friends with a blonde, blue-eyed woman. Blanche and I went everywhere together, and people knew that one of us was Jewish. And, yes, almost always, people assumed that I was the Jewish one. We found it amusing. But the thing was, people were not POINTING and LAUGHING and SHOUTING at us.

(If you're out there, Blanche Brotman, I still think of you.)

"God's Chosen People" must get damn sick of having a target painted on their heads, all these thousands of years later.

It's not what they say, it's what they do

The Sons love my car. They call it The Powerful Mom Five (cartoon lovers of a certain age will know that is a nod to Speed Racer).

There is only one thing about it that they don't love. The musical selection.

Oh, don't get me wrong. They know ALL the words to ALL the songs on my beloved ACME Blues Company CD. They enjoy the one radio station my car still picks up. They are willing to give at least a passing nod to whatever other CD I happen to have on hand. But, you know, they have a tendency to complain about the, um, limited nature of the playlist.

"Why don't you have any Green Day CDs in the car? You have Red Hot Chili Peppers in the dining room, why don't you ever take them in the car? You have WAR? Why are we not listening to WAR? Why are you listening to this old weird stuff?"

(that would be Best of the Ventures, my friend, and I am not giving up Pipeline for anyone)

Son #1 just walked by, with his iPod. He will not admit it to anyone, but he is listening to Pipeline, by the Ventures, on his walk to school.

Ha! Musical victory, for Mom!

Don't Choke Your Brother, Your Hands Are Too Small

Last night, after taking Hubby out for Birthday Dinner, The Boy lectured Hubby and me on our complete cluelessness, as parents, because we had had the nerve to tell his brother "Don't feel bad. If you didn't promise that girl anything, she's not going to be mad at you for saying you're not sure you want to be more than friends yet."

After explaining that everything we know about relationships between the sexes has been wrong for the past 30 years (yes, apparently I was already working on outdated dating info when I was ten years old and had not yet discovered boys) he moved on to Human Nature. Apparently, we don't know anything about that, either.

Religion: we are clueless and naive.

Parenting: we are coddling the brothers so they will never be able to make it in the chalkdust jungle that is high school.

Drug use and law enforcement: Ha! It's amazing we are allowed to walk the streets, we are so pitiably misinformed.

In the spirit of The Beatings Will Continue Until Morale Improves, The Boy talked and talked until Hubby and I were ready to send him to reform school on Mars, two of his brothers had exiled themselves to distant rooms in a failed search for peace and quiet, and one of his brothers was driven to tears.

"He's complaining about the exact stuff HE does to US, all day long!"

Longtime readers will remember that he did the same thing on MY birthday.

Around 6 this morning, while we were still asleep, he let himself into our bedroom, turned on the light, and did something in the master bathroom, and then let himself out. Did I mention we were both naked? Because, you know, we were in our own bedroom with the door locked, and asleep? Thank God I was under the blankets.

This morning, while I was battling nausea/soreness/chills/exhaustion/general wishes that death would come swiftly, The Boy insisted that I help him straighten his hair.

"Look. I did it for you yesterday. It isn't hard. You can do this. I'll talk you through it," I said. "I guarantee, every girl at school with straightened hair does it HERSELF. None of THEM has their mom do it. And I am DOING STUFF, OK? It's YOUR hair. I'm not even going to straighten my OWN hair, today."

Much whining ensued, but he did manage, with only fleeting assistance from me.

He had a dentist's appointment this afternoon, and spent so much time dicking around while I stood in the doorway, yelling, "WE NEED TO GET IN THE CAR, NOW," that we had to reschedule.

He then spent a good hour on the phone--the landline, even though we bought him a cell phone for Christmas. He worked in a dig at his brother, and told his friend that his entire family is crazy, while I stood inches away.

And he asked me to find him a photo, because he didn't want to bother taking a new one, even though, again, we bought him a digital camera for Christmas.

He then took the last bottle of my special, fantabulous soda which I can only get once a year on a trip down to Florida, drank a few sips and complained about the unpleasant "aftertaste".

His room is a mess, his possessions are strewn throughout the house, he's alienating his brothers and seems hellbent on driving me to find that dusty pack of cigarettes I have stashed around here, somewhere.

See that? That's my last nerve, right there.

I'm just a little bit freaked out

Because I have been outed.

Hubby's birthday was yesterday. He spent some time on the phone with his brothers, getting the traditional congratulations that come with being the baby of the family (he is 44, but his youngest brother is 58, so Hubby looks like a mere babe, and shall continue to do so, forever. While I, 4 years older than my sister, am the Older One, and therefore have one foot in the grave).

Hubby mentioned to Jesus Bill, about whom I have blogged, that Hubby has a blog of his own. Jesus Bill will probably check it out. And when he does, he will probably notice that there is a link to MY blog.

"What? Christine has a blog?"

I am counting on my generally dull reputation to discourage any and all familial scrolling of the Total Waste of Time Archives. Because, you know, the very thought of Actual Relatives reading some of this stuff is about enough to give me hives.

So, if you're reading this, Welcome, Jesus Bill. Love ya. And if the subject comes up, all you need to say is, "Christine has a really boring blog."

Well, thank God THAT's over

Hubby is a bass player (sometimes a drummer, too, and occasionally a guitarist, as circumstances merit). He is actually pretty damn good. The man can PLAY, OK? And I love to listen, love to watch him play.

Sometimes, he's in a band. Other times, he just jams with friends, hangs out at open mic nights, stuff like that. A part of me really misses it when he's not in a band, and I know he misses it, too. But then again.

BAND MEMBERSHIP=BAND DRAMA

He joined his latest band a few months ago, and I can honestly say I was AGAINST IT FROM THE START. "That one guy is a jackass," I thought, just on the basis of what Hubby reported to me about the audition. "I have a bad feeling about this whole thing."

Yes, I am such a tremendous judge of character that I can suss you out, even sight unseen. Trust this.

Last weekend Hubby's band performed somewhere, and it was...it was...well, let's just say it rhymes with Mustard Duck. So awful that the band disbanded that night.

One of the contributing factors? The BIGGEST factor, if you ask me? Yup. "That one guy is a jackass". For months, we have heard it from all over town, from people who used to be in a band with That One Guy. The music scene in the Happy Boondocks is incestuous, at best, so everyone knows everyone else, at least by reputation.

And I have tried as hard as I could not to Yoko Ono/Janine Pettibone myself into the situation. I constantly reminded myself I am Just A Fan and a Wife and a Chick Who Loves to Dance. I am Not a Musician and I Should Keep My Mouth Shut.

I have failed, miserably, as this blog entry attests. I TOLD him so, and after a while I couldn't STOP telling him so. I am embarrassed to tell it, but this blog is all about tellin' it like it is, so there ya go. Christine went a little overboard, on the nagging front, when it came to Hubby's latest band's Obvious, and Incontrovertible, Faults.

Anyway, the great thing about it is, Hubby is already working on forming a new band. Hubby on bass. Guitarist he knows and likes. Singer who kicks ass in a major way. And...a drummer, tbd.

They will be getting together later this week, to start ironing out the kinks. I am at least as psyched as Hubby is. I cannot WAIT to see what happens with THIS band. It is much more the band I had been hoping for, when he got suckered into The Band Whose Name Shall Not Be Repeated on My Blog Again.

Up is down, black is white, the election is coming

Fiddlin' Writer and I are at a loss. As the wildest Republican and most conservative hippie Democrat in existence, we have managed an uneasy truce on the political thing. Basically, we don't discuss it. No big deal, we have plenty of other stuff to discuss. She and I could talk allllllll day. And have.

During the last election, all we managed to say to each other on the political front was, "I am losing sleep, terrified that your candidate will win."

But this time, it is odd.

Her "rabid Republican" father is planning to vote for Hillary, "because it's about damn time we had a woman in the White House."

And my "crazy-liberal" mother-in-law supports Guiliani, because she is still amazed at the transformation he wreaked on her beloved hometown of NYC. "Everyone was polite. No one cursed. The streets were clean and there was no graffiti. I felt absolutely safe, wherever I went. It...just wasn't like home."

It is official. I have NO FLIPPIN' IDEA who will win. Heck, at this point, I am not even sure who's got MY vote.

Ugh. That stuff should come with a warning label

I saw some friends today, got some hugs. And that is great. But I got home a little while ago, and realized that that nauseated feeling I've been battling all afternoon is directly related to whomever it was who hugged me, while wearing Shalimar.

I know, I know, Shalimar is lovely and I am a clod for not loving it, but it makes me just want to hurl, ok?

In a perfect world, everyone who wears Shalimar would be required to wear a small warning label.

MOM! YOU HAVE TO SEE THE MANTAGE!

And, as usual, the Sons were correct.



They forgot, however, a few key mantage moments:
backing into a parking space!
stealing food from the dog's dish!
washing his hair with a bar of Ivory soap!
playing bass AND drums. With a broken leg!
laughing at fart jokes!
setting things on fire!

What's missing, ladies?

The Taller You Get, the Less Women Like You

Son #1 is explaining his irresistability to his brother (two years younger and about 4 inches taller) and best friend (also slightly taller than Son #1).

"The taller you get, the less women like you. They LOVE babies. They think toddlers are adorable. Little kids are cute. You get too tall, the women lose interest. Back me up, Mom--would you date an eight foot tall man?"

He has a point. And he does seem to be Catnip to the high school crowd. But, um, Hubby is over six feet tall, and I Ain't Complainin'.

Mr Backrub's Plan to Fix the World

Once I start mentioning you again and again, you earn Nickname Status on the blog. That way I can talk about you without worrying I'll embarrass you. So, here's to YOU, Mr Backrub. I bet you know who you are, even though I only devoted about 2 seconds to choosing your nickname...

Mr Backrub told me, the other night, of his great idea to eliminate the need for viagra, cialis, and all those other drugs.

"What we should work on is a pill that makes semen taste like chocolate. All the women in the world would say, 'Come to me, Willie Wonka!'"

I think that would probably go a long way towards establishing world peace, too.

For Jill: The Country Store

As you know, I love the Country Store. I get my blues fix there at least twice a month, and sometimes even more than that. There is plenty of grab-assing and dancing to be had. The food is awesome. And there is one more thing...

Though the men's room often has a long line, there is almost never a line, for the ladies' room.

Often, I will slide right in to the ladies', confident I can spend all the time I want reapplying my lip gloss because there's no one hopping from foot to foot outside the door.

If, however, you happen to be stuck in line, I have provided Entertainment. I made a couple of collages of my Blues Open Mic photos and hung them on the wall, across from the restrooms. Feel free to peruse, and loudly compliment them.

They also have a wide variety of nice liquid soaps, if you're into that.

Other than that, it's just a bar bathroom, but I know Jill is especially fond of those, so Here You Go, Jill.

Poky Redhead also will benefit from this particular post. SEE, I CAN INDEED wear a hat with a feather in it and not look like a pimp. Or one of those Red Hat people.

Sue Reviewed Me!

OK, this was just the thing I needed today. Sue reviewed my blog and actually made me sound OK :)

Her blog is a lot of fun, too. Check it out!

Heath Ledger and Fred Thompson

Yesterday, Heath Ledger died and Fred Thompson dropped out of the presidential primary. I have talked with a mess of people and everyone is upset about one of these events, but no one seems to be upset about both of them.

I guess my Heath-loving friends and my Thompson-loving friends have only myself in common.

My Office

Most of the time, my office is in a corner of the living room. Some day, I figure, I'll have A Real Office with Four Walls and a Door. But that has to wait until the Sons move out.

Today, the Sons have off of school. We'll get their haircuts, and two of them will visit the dentist. They also are going to clean their bedrooms, if it kills us all.

Which brings us to my office of the day.

I am sitting on the floor in the hall, between the open bedroom doors of Sons #2 and 3. I can write the article I need to submit today, while watching them clean their bedrooms. I feel like the Cleanliness Nazi, but it's getting done.

Unintended Moral Lesson #105

Last weekend, Sons #1 and 2 went to a movie with some friends. The movie was hosted by the friends' Catholic high school. They went. Had a good time.

But Son #1 spent a good bit of time laughing at the idea that his friend's religion teacher bootlegged The Bucket List to show it to a bunch of high school students.

Yes, for those who missed it the first time, the school had a religion teacher steal something, for the moral benefit of students.

Christine Doesn't Care

Everyone posts these beautiful blog entries about the things that matter to them. I think I will, instead, tell you the things that I couldn't care less about, that I get the impression I'm supposed to, somehow.

Seasons. I don't need 4 of 'em. Winter is for crap, I tell you. If we only had the other 3, I'd be pleased. Work on that, will you?

Square Footage. Poky Redhead asked me yesterday, how big my house is. I can't remember. I could look it up, but who cares? It is cramped in here, now, and will feel palatial when the Sons are grown and gone. That's all I know.

Home Decor. Bah. Aside from an ill-advised foray into colorful walls (screw you very much, Sherwin Williams guy), I don't care. Hubby picked out the new carpet. He decided we needed blinds. If he wants new furniture, we get it. I love the stuff he chooses, and we have very similar tastes, in a furniture store, but I suspect that if I were living alone, I'd be sitting on the floor. Maybe I'm just lazy and cheap, but I don't understand how people can get all excited about choosing cabinetry and furniture and coordinating things, when they have perfectly good, useable stuff right there already.

What's On TV. I put the news on while I'm in the kitchen. But if the TV is otherwise on, Hubby or the Sons turned it on and chose the show. I sit through whatever they're watching, generally attempting to tune it out and listen to my own thoughts. If I can't, I aim to sleep. YES, there are shows I enjoy. But not enough to seek them out.

Hair Grows. The Sons are inching toward long hair. I don't care. I gather them up every once in a while for a trim, just so things look orderly, but if they all end up with rocker hair, I won't care. Just, you know, no product.

Gadgets. I have a ton of them, but I keep going back to: a knife, a saucepan, a skillet, a spoon. Maybe I just am tired of the additional noise of powered things. Maybe I miss the counter space under those gadgets.

Fancy Brands and Glamor Foods. I've had caviar and Brie. Ick. Those purses with the logos all over them look tacky as hell to me, too. I try exotic things, and I appreciate well-manufactured goods, but I am not going to buy anything to make a statement.

Being Fashionably Late. If I want to go, I want to be on time. Sometimes, in my eagerness, I even arrive EARLY.

I feel like a curmudgeon, so I think I'll stop here. If you all decided I was just a cranky bitch, well, I'd care about that.

We are hooked

On Rock Band.

We got it for Christmas, and it is FUN.

It's like Guitar Hero, but you can also play bass, and drums, and sing vocals. We've been playing a lot. It's a total riot. Here are a few things I've discovered:

I am the world's worst video game player. Although, I knew that.

Hubby is a bigger kid than all the Sons. It's kinda charming. Although, I knew that, too. Hubby is all about the boyish charm.

Son #1 is quick to "save" me, when I fail out. It's sweet.

Son #4 is a natural front man.

They spell it "s.a.p."

"Christine, can you show me the special way you crack the eggs so the shells come off?"

So I did. It's not brain surgery, folks!

"Mom, it's too cold for me to walk to the bus stop, because my hair is wet. And I can't wear that leather jacket you bought for me, even though it's below freezing."

So I drove them to the bus stop, which is all of .2 mile from the house.

I am a wife and mother. Spell it S.A.P.

ALF's archive meme

ALF, who swears she dislikes blog tag, has challenged us all to link to five specific blog posts in our archives.

Oh, yeah, THAT isn't going to take long.

So, here I go;

One about Family

One about Friends

One about Me

One about Something I Love

One random one of my choice

Are these my favorites? Well, not really. I'd be reading all day, to find them. But, they are a sampling, anyway.

Where everybody knows your name

And they're always glad you came...

Yup, Son #4 and I hit the ER again today. He woke up with the sensation of broken glass in his eye. It was red and teary and painful, and flushing it with saline at home didn't help.

Fortunately, the wait at the ER was so long that before he saw a doctor, it had resolved itself.

On the way out, he noticed the doctor who had sewn his arm up, on Christmas Eve.

"There's Dr. Esterhay! Can I go say hi?"

We are just toooo comfortable at the hospital.

2 am and they're as giggly as schoolgirls

The Sons have a couple of friends spending the night. Which means, just like it did when I was 12 and hosting half a dozen girls in the basement of my parents' place, they are Not Sleeping.

My parents were convinced that the "stay up all night and giggle" thing was a girl phenomenon. If they'd had boys, they wouldn't be dealing with that. It is to laugh.

At 1:30 this morning, the boys in the basement were talking so loud the dog (who sleeps in my bed) barked at them. Hubby tossed out a few of his Wallpapering Words and went back to sleep, good ear to the pillow. But me, well, once I'm up, I'm up.

So, in between telling the boys to CUT IT OUT, ALREADY, YOU'RE NOT FOOLING ANYONE WITH THAT STAGE WHISPER, I have been:

reading celebrity gossip web sites and National Review
eating ramen (needs cilantro, but I'm not shopping at 2 am)
watching that video of the tiger attacking an elephant on YouTube
considering cleaning (but that's even more pathetic than ramen and dlisted at 2 am)

I have also discovered who is rifling through my envelopes. Ellie, our cat, just tried to nest in there. It didn't work. Cats love a sheet of paper, so an entire stack of paper must have looked like Shangri-La to her, but...it is slidey, so she has returned to her favorite chair. I bet she tries it every night.

And the boys are mostly quiet, now. But they are clearly exhausted, and therefore giggly. I never would have believed that was possible, as a girl. All those middle school boys seemed so different from us. I guess I was just envisioning their future manliness. Because there is not a lot of Gary Cooper in my basement, right now, no matter what the girls think of those 6 young guys.

The moral of the story? It is good to be deaf in one ear.

De do do do Girl

I was discussing the timeless meaning of The Police with Son #2, the other day. He thought "De do do do, De da da da" was stupid. Until, of course, I asked him if there was anyone who made him feel that way:

Don't think me unkind
Words are hard to find
They're only cheques I've left unsigned
From the banks of chaos in my mind
And when their eloquence escapes me
Their logic ties me up and rapes me

De do do do, de da da da
Is all I want to say to you
De do do do, de da da da
Their innocence will pull me through
De do do do, de da da da
Is all I want to say to you
De do do do, de da da da
They're meaningless and all that's true

And then it hit him. He does, indeed, have what he calls "De do do do Girl". He just found out she'll be on his field trip with him.

Battle of the Bulge Fitness Challenge: A belated carol

Oh, holy crap
My gym's having a connnnntest
And I signed up because I am a nut
Prizes are few
And I shall not win aaaaaany
But I press on, hoping to tone my butt
A class each day
These teachers are all fascists
But then again
They all are in great shape
Falllllllll on your kneeeeees
And giiiiiiive me forty puuuuuuush-ups
My triiiiiiiceps are shocked
But I keep coming back
I waaaaaant that iiiiiiiiiPod
Shuffle
And flatter abs

Not that I'm a fan, or anything, but...

They are sure making a big fuss over Hilary getting a little sniffy. I am starting to feel like the campaign process is a most unhelpful way to elect a president.

The Idle Americans

I saw these guys last night. They run the blues open mic I often rave about. This is from a show I missed, but beggars can't be choosers when it comes to scraping content off of YouTube.

Teachers: Classy, Sophisticated Professionals

Son #1 got some great stuff from Hot Topic for Christmas. The other day he wore one of his new shirts to school. He looked great. He thought he looked great. All the girls thought he looked great.

His teacher, however, did not. While insulting one of his regular targets, he managed to zing Son #1, as well.

"You're an idiot, but at least you don't look as gay as _____ does, in that shirt."

That's some enlightened public education, right there. Makes me proud to send my kids to school.

For the "Man Resume"

I have been teasing Hubby, for a while, that I am such a fabu wife that he needs to write me up a recommendation letter for Hubby #2. You know, should he decide he's tired of me, or whatever, I figure, with a good CV, I could just walk up to Mr Fabulous of My Choice and apply.

"I'm the woman you're looking for, and here's a notarized letter to that effect." Save all the bullshit.

So every once in a while, I'll mention it. Whenever I do something he truly appreciates, I say, "Don't thank me, just put it on the Man Resume while you still have it on your mind." I think he takes it in the right spirit. We chuckle.

This Christmas, Hubby had an extensive Wish List at Musician's Friend. It was fun buying stuff I knew he'd like. So much fun, that Musician's Friend has sent me a coupon toward my next purchase. They like me. I am spendy.

So I told him that could go on the Man Resume, too. "Just put a wish list on Musician's Friend, and she'll buy you whatever you like!"

Hubby nixed that one.

"Ohhhhh, no. I'm not writing THAT down. You'd attract alllll the wrong kind of people."

Takes a deadbeat musician to know one, I guess.

Calling all tattoo artists

Son #4 got his stitches out yesterday. He is taking antibiotics for an infection which has the whole thing kind of pink & puffy, but otherwise I guess we have a pretty good idea of what the scar will look like.

It is a crescent, with the ends pointing towards his wrist. I am thinking it would make a great shark mouth, should he ever decide he needs a tattoo.

Any great "incorporate the scar" tattoo ideas for my 11-year-old?

Hey! The Government Found Me!

A friend of mine writes the Thursday blog posts for Gov Gab, one of the Federal government's blogs. Nancy is great. She even has a pseudonym, on this blog. And today, she wrote about me!

Wooo, me! I am famous!

So run on over and check us out.

240-813-5221

Late last night, my cell phone started beeping. I'd missed a text message. But I was in bed, with Hubby, who is about the only person who ever texts my cell phone, so I knew it was not a real person. This morning, I checked the phone.

The message, from the above number, read:

"Pat McCarthy is someone you need to fuck up."

Sugar, I'm flattered, but I have got to tell you I am five feet, three inches tall. You are requesting thuggishness from someone who just...can't...help you.

Update on the Events of Christmas Week

I've been getting questions, so here are your answers.

Son #3's finger doesn't hurt. He is feelin' fine. He is also faithfully doing his exercises, because Dr Herring made it clear that the alternative was not cool in the least.

Son #4's arm doesn't hurt. The stitches look cool. He's working on a story to tell the ladies, in future. Something involving the Cong, I think.

My friend's son did not have a broken finger. He had a broken HAND. I am encouraging her to press charges, because thugs like that need to be labeled so the rest of us see them coming. HEAR ME, BLONDIE? POKE THE POLICE.

Son #1 had the same reaction to his friend's "the one who's a ni..." statement. "DID I JUST HEAR WHAT I THINK I HEARD?" I mentioned it to him after I blogged about it (because I AM interested in being factual, but...not necessarily enough to check things before I blog). And he scooted around with me for a while. "Mom, do you think he is...a RACIST? HIM? His whole FAMILY? Racist? REALLY?" And I left him with..."Well, all I can say is, I heard what I heard, and I can't imagine a situation where that word would cross your MIND, let alone your lips, so there it is."

NO, I am not sick of ACME Blues Company. They are awesome, and their CD will be in my car forever. No, I do not need more than one or two Non-ACME CDs in my car at any one time. If you don't like the rotation, bring your own CD. Better yet, tell the ACME guys to hurry up and release a second CD. What a ridiculous question. Geez. "sick of ACME yet." Where did that come from?