HAPPY ANNIVERSARY, MY BELOVED

The first time I saw you I wasn't really interested.  I dismissed you as not being my type.  Somehow, though, the more I looked, the more I began to see your positive qualities and what you had to offer.  And by the end of the day, I was in love with you and have been ever since.

Happy 5th Anniversary to my beloved Dooney & Bourke Melange Satchel with the key ring and matching wristlet.  You were my first, no longer my only, and definitely not my last.  Kisses, kisses...

{this moment}

{this moment} - A Friday ritual. A single photo - no words - capturing a moment from the week. A simple, special, extraordinary moment. A moment I want to pause, savor and remember. -- Inspired by SouleMama

Foghorn is in love with Burger King's new kids meal packaging, which includes a punch-out crown.  When I was a kid the big thrill was going to Long John Silver's and getting one of those paper pirate hats.  Arrrrggghhh!  (That was me being a pirate with one eye shut and brandishing a sword letter opener.)   My kids would gladly never have a home cooked meal again, especially if I'm the one cooking it.  A sure sign that my time management skills are out of whack is when you see too many scenes like the one above.  Rest assured I'm in some other room pulling my hair out.  The Inmates are happily clogging their arteries in front of the television.  Sigh...

THE CURSE OF THE OVER-PACKER

Tomorrow night Foghorn goes on her first overnighter with her Girl Scout troop to Camp Butterworth in Maineville, Ohio.  Unfortunately, I'm going along with her.  It wasn't mandatory, but Foghorn insisted I had to go.  Despite her boisterous, rude, crude nature, she actually tends to be a bit clingy and ill at ease in new situations.  Therefore, tomorrow night I will be sleeping on a mattress on the floor of the Friendship Lodge with (gulp) a couple dozen little girls.  I'd say I might go running from the place screaming except I'd just get lost in the woods and have to be rescued by the troop, which would be embarrassing for all.

My biggest problem today is packing.   I was provided with a checklist of items Foghorn needs to bring including bedroll, fitted twin sheet, clothing, boots, toiletries, mess kit (plastic washable plate, silverware, cup, bowl), a small toy concealed in a brown paper bag (for a game of Snoop), and a bag of chocolate chips to contribute to the snack of GACK.  (Sounds like something Dr. Suess would've come up with.)  Here's the rub:  I'm a notorious over-packer.

We've never vacationed in the jungle or the desert or in a tent in the woods.  We're always spitting distance for a McDonald's and a Wal-Mart, sure signs of civilization.  Yet somehow I always pack as if there's no chance I might be able to get my hands on medication, toothpaste, or underpants if necessity arises.  I always end up packing at least one suitcase-worth of stuff that is never needed, never unpacked, never thought of again.  I admit my compulsion and I'm trying my best to not let it take over my packing for a trip that will last a total of 18 hours.  I keep thinking, though, that if my kid wakes up at 2 a.m. and wants item X, what the hell do I do?  I know, tell the aforementioned kid to shut up and go back to sleep, you say.  Then again, you have never heard her air raid siren wail slice through the night if she's unhappy.  I keep telling myself the camp is about 20 minutes from home and since I'm not a needed chaperone, I could just load her crying ass in the car and drive away.  Still, I keep adding just one more type of medication to my bag, just one more pair of pants in case she ruins the ones I'm packing, one additional fork in case she drops hers in the camp fire...

Actually, my compulsion would have proven valuable on our last vacation.  Chester and I took the kids to Chicago.  Two days before our Monday departure, the minivan goes kaput and can't be repaired in time.  Suddenly I'm looking at four people and the trunk of one small PT Cruiser and thinking about what I need to unpack.  We barely squeezed what I considered essentials into the car.  Anything that wasn't absolutely necessary was left behind.  And what happened?

Well, we used nothing but mass trans while in Chicago and the second day we got caught in a torrential rain storm.  I had an umbrella, The Inmates had rain ponchos (Chester had nothing), and we were all thoroughly soaked.  Now I normally pack an extra pair of walking shoes for everyone, but we were tight on space.  The result?  Three pairs of gym shoes that were still wet when we returned home and everybody went to Wrigley Field in their swimming sandals.  Another casualty was my tote bag, which looked like it had gone down with the Titanic.  Normally I'd have a spare tote bag, but...  I did have one bag in the car, which I retrieved.  I then walked around downtown Chicago for the rest of the trip, including going to Wrigley Field, with a blue bag I had been given when my father died and which proudly advertised "Tufts-Schildmeyer Funeral Home and Crematorium" all over the side.  Nobody tried to mug us.  Personally I think all the hoodlums took one look at me and said, "That b*tch is crazy.  I'm not going near her."

Chester was unhappy with me on so many levels...

So, I'm packing lightly for the camp out, really I am.  I've only got one extra flashlight (in case our batteries go dead) and I'm only taking one extra blanket (in case it's colder than we anticipate).  I'm sure we can rough it for this one night...I hope...


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*  PATCH ENVY

WHY I ALMOST QUIT BLOGGING

I was ready to drop this whole thing a couple months ago and it flashed through my mind again this morning.  No, it isn't because my house is a mess and I should be spending time cleaning it.  (It is and I should; it's just not the reason.)  It's not because my husband bitches about what I say on here.  (He does, but...well...you get the idea.)  No, the reason I almost quit is because of Google search words.

Periodically I look over the stats on my blog, seeing how many hits particular posts have gotten, what countries have checked me out, referring sites, etc.  I also can see what Google search words brought readers to my site.  That is my reason.  It doesn't happen often, less than half a dozen hits overall, but I occasional get found through a search that leaves me disturbed at the least, homicidal at the most, and paranoid all the time.

I don't want to give the pervs anything new to hit on, so let me word this carefully.  A few months ago someone got to my site through a search involving words for a less-than-18-year-old-person and lack of undergarments.  This morning it was that same aged person and use of a restraining device popular with police.  (They found this post.)  Strangely, last week I also got a hit for "living room murder photos" and I'm still trying to figure that one out.  And, frankly, that search doesn't bother me nearly as much as the ones involving children.

It's no surprise to me that there are freaks on the Internet.  It also doesn't come as a shock that they would be trolling for trash involving youngsters.  My emotions get ratcheted up a notch when I think they might be looking at my children or my friends and loved ones. It's like when a crime suddenly happens in your neighborhood and you find yourself thinking, "I can't believe it happened here."  I get overcome with that mother lion instinct.  The claws come out, my muscles clench, and I start thinking shotguns are a good idea.

I won't stop blogging.  Whether I do or do not write about my children there will be scum slithering around the World Wide Web.  I will be cautious what I write about, definitely what photos I post.  Obviously, with the Penn State scandal, pedophiles are on the minds of every mother in this country right now.  If Jerry Sandusky is proven guilty of the crimes for which he is accused, I would have no problem with him being strung up and used as a human pinata.  When it comes to crimes against children I become my most barbaric. 

THE UPSIDE TO BEING NOTORIOUS

I have often made mention of Foghorn's loud, boisterous, and often embarrassing antics.  She seems to kick into a particularly high gear, though, when we go to Dewey's Pizza at Harper's Point.  We go regularly, to the point where the manager directs us to our table.

On our last outing Foghorn:

Harassed everyone with her paper "Phil".

Stole the lemons out of everyone's Diet Cokes.

Egged her brother on to suck a lemon.

Argued with Grandma about why she couldn't plant a
lemon tree in our backyard. 

 And finished up by making a spectacle of herself in front of the pizza-makers' window:

And what is the upside to all this embarrassing behavior?  Without her consistently drawing attention to our table, the manager might or might not have noticed that my son consistently picks all the sausage off the Bronx Bomber pizza he shares with his sister.  Because he did notice, he's begun bringing an extra container of sausage circles to the table, just for The Professor.  And that is why we're regular customers.  Well, that and the fact that Dewey's is one of the places that hasn't barred us...yet.

Thank you, Mr. Manager!

THREE MUST-SEE CHILDREN'S THANKSGIVING SHOWS

It's that time of year again.  Besides the usual thoughts of turkey and cranberry sauce (and, yes, candied sweet potatoes), November also conjures up images of beagles and pilgrim costumes and popcorn for dinner.

Since Grandma is still sick with bronchitis, we paid her a relatively short visit Sunday.  She didn't cook lunch and I brought along a couple Thanksgiving shows to keep The Inmates relatively quiet.  While there are a number of cute Thanksgiving shows out there, we have three that are not-to-be-missed.

1.  Garfield's Thanksgiving - Part of the amusement from this 1989 special comes from the resemblance of the big orange tabby to our own two cats.  Garfield's gluttony is mirrored in our own Milky Way (known around here as "the fat, fat pooty-tat") and his dog-abusing side makes him our Snickers' twin.  When you mix a cat on a diet, a female Thanksgiving guest, and a doofus who doesn't know how to cook, hilarity ensues.  You'll probably have to explain the Orson Welles joke to the kids, but otherwise it's likely to be a hit.

2.  The Rugrats Thanksgiving - While I've never been a fan of Angelica myself, in the context of general family holiday bickering, she fits right in with this episode.  You have your kitchen mayhem, football, and a live turkey, blended with talking babies.  It even inspired a little head wear designing and turkey crafting from Foghorn.

3.  A Charlie Brown Thanksgiving - What can one say?  The all-time classic.  Who can resist a chair-wrestling beagle, a girl who wants a drumstick and the neck, and a grandmother who's suddenly stuck with half a dozen extra Thanksgiving guests?  Plus you get a bird in a pilgrim hat.  It don't get no more entertaining than that.

So, what am I missing?  You have any other Thanksgiving shows that are tradition?  Please share in the comments.

SATURDAY NIGHT TALENT SHOW

The Professor, who is not a performer by nature, came up with the idea on Saturday afternoon of having a family talent show that night.  The performers would be The Professor, Foghorn, and The Warden, with The Vulcan acting as M.C. (presumably because he has no visible talent).  The Inmates disappeared down the basement stairs to practice and I tried to think of an appropriate act I could put on.

 

The Vulcan is almost incapable of taking a picture
without blinking.  I call them his "stoner eyes."

Around eight o'clock The Inmates began dragging chairs into the living room and gathering props.  It was decided we would perform in descending order by age, which meant that after The Vulcan's introduction I was the first to go on.  I took the echo microphone from The Vulcan, my loyal hound dog at my feet, and began my rendition of "People Will Say We're in Love" from Oklahoma!  Almost immediately the dog let out a groan and rolled onto her back with her feet in the air.  By the time I reached the last lines, which were quite loud and quite high, the audience had their hands over their ears and St. Jimmi took off running.  At least they didn't throw tomatoes.

Next was The Professor.  He was introduced, we applauded, and he immediately ran into the family room, overcome by stage fright.  I tried to tell him nothing could be more humiliating than having the family dog exit your performance, but he was having none of it.  We had this problem before.  When Foghorn was a baby he decided he wanted to do his own version of A Christmas Carol on New Year's Eve.  I spent most of the day drawing the Cratchitt family and hanging them like puppets since we only had three performers.  The Professor was to be Marley's Ghost and Chester put a ghostly white makeup on him.  We no more got started when he took off and the performance was cancelled.  So much for "the show must go on."

Foghorn gladly took her turn, doing wondrous feats of balancing.  The Vulcan then decided to fill in for The Professor by showing his super-human strength.  He did this by lifting Foghorn, who weighs about as much as The Vulcan's laptop.  I gave him a challenge and told him to lift me.  Big mistake, since he only got me six inches off the ground before dropping me.  To avoid landing on a prone Foghorn, I tumbled sideways right onto my knees.  I then demonstrated my best talent -- dropping F-bombs.

As the finale I was given the microphone again.  St. Jimmi had returned and was curled up next to the couch.  I sat down beside her and went into "I Think I Love You."  Before I even got to the part about being "right in the middle of a good dream," she took off for parts unknown.  I think that dog has a problem with Shirley Jones.