Saturday evening chuckles

I was sitting at the computer, minding my own business, when I saw this commotion out of the corner of my eyes. (and FYI, the first second or two of the video is dark. That's the lighting in the room, not your computer or video quality problems).

Yes, they are playing Wii (specifically Mario and Sonic Olympic Games). I just thought seeing them all move like this was giggle-worthy. I knew getting a Wii would be worth it, if just for the sight of kids looking silly when they play the games. The girl between Jimmy and Paul is a "friend" of Jimmy's, named Annabelle.


And then, there is this little story from this evening:

Paul, in the middle of texting a friend, turned to me and asked, "Can you sphere something?"

"What?" I said.

"Can you sphere something? Like can you sphere 6?"

Good gravy, child, speak sense, I thought. "I don't get it. What do you mean, 'sphere 6?'"

"Well, you can cube a number; so can you also sphere a number?"

Ahhh, I got it, cubing a number, like 6 to the third power. But sphering?

And I laughed until my sides ached. Clearly, he is missing a few marbles, but apparently none that are required for HONORS MATH. I dared him to ask his math teacher about sphering numbers.

Happy birthday to Jim a day early because I'll be too busy tomorrow to post a celebratory birthday post

Tomorrow we celebrate Jim's birthday!

I promised a picture of him as a kid and voila, here are two:See? He's always been a happy person!

I'm posting this one because I had one of these running around my house for a few years. It was not the same year, but it seems to be the same make and model:Seriously, for any of you who knew Jimmy at age 3-4 (that would be my son, not my husband), DOES THIS NOT LOOK JUST LIKE JIMMY (again, the son, not the husband)??? I half expect that after this picture was taken, that shirt was shredded by a pair of Jimmy Scissorhands. But husband Jim probably never did anything like cutting up his own shirt sewed lovingly for him by his Auntie Jenni with his Grandma Olsen's knitting scissors. Son Jimmy did, though (sadly, the slight modifications I made to this particular make and model of Boy Child resulted in some naughty tendencies).

I'd insert fun stories about Jim from his childhood, but I was not an eyewitness to any of those stories. The one I do hear about from his mother is the story about the one time he actually was naughty and threw a rock at a little girl and it hit her. The funny thing is that everyone, including the school principal, all agreed that if Jim(my--back then Jim was Jimmy) threw a rock at someone, that someone probably deserved it.

So skipping ahead a few years, here is Jim(my) at his high school graduation with his parents and two sisters. Some other sisters hadn't been born yet and the step-siblings weren't yet in the metaphorical picture.


And this is Jim fairly recently. He's aged wellI wish I could tell more stories of his childhood, but again, those aren't my stories to tell. I do have stories from 20+ years of living with this guy (which I think puts me in the lead for number of years anyone has ever lived with Jim, either that or I'm closing in on the leader, which I think would be his dad if it isn't me. Sheesh, like it's even a race. I annoy me sometimes). I will say that he actually does poke fun at people now and then, usually me. I know, I know, you all think he's the most mild-mannered person ever, right? Well, one time I was squealing over some pumpkin decoration and coveting it out loud. Jim rolled his eyes and said, "Because you don't have enough pumpkins for Halloween." I was so shocked that all I could do was laugh long and hard that he actually formed a sarcastic comment in his brain and let it out.

And to all of you out there who think he lets me walk all over him and he does whatever I want him to...yer wrong. But I can't think of any evidence to back up my claim. OH--he did tell me I had to get a job. Twice. Three times? And he always has to drive when we go anywhere. I have to BEG to drive on long trips. Except for during those three months when he wasn't supposed to drive after his concussions.

Happy birthday to my sweetie-pie! I love you tons.

Sun after a snow storm

The sun is shining on 6+ inches of beautiful new snow. All around me, folks are complaining about the neverending winter here. And I think to myself (I would never disagree out loud because I don't do disagreement, unless I am at odds with children under my direction) "But it's only February! It's supposed to be winter in Minnesota. It's supposed to snow. It's supposed to be cold. If it were April, I'd be complaining too, but April is still a March away." And I look out the window at all the sparkly, pretty, cushiony, covering-the-brown snow.

The sucky thing about the snow is that I have to help someone move today. It's a divorce move, therefore a sad one for me. I have a hard time with divorces, first of all because I want to know WHY. And WHY is usually (heck, ALWAYS) none of my (insert swear word gerund here) business. I want to explore what went wrong, why people came to the divorce conclusion. I want to know so that I can avoid that road.

Years ago, Jim and I promised each other (and not over any altar, although technically we did do just that. This was more of a realization independent of "Yay! We like each other enough to give marriage a go!") to never go down the divorce road, never even to approach it. And so I am almost excruciatingly curious about the why of divorce so I can recognize that road to divorce and stay away. I'm not harping on about the mistakes made the cause people to part ways, I am talking about learning from other people's mistakes, because I believe the worst mistake is one made where no one learns anything from the experience. I am all about learning.

***If you have ever been divorced, are thinking or have thought about divorce, or going through divorce, my intent is not to try to make you feel guilty or to make you think I am judging harshly. I am just writing about my need for security in my own life and my willingness to learn by osmosis and not by actual direct experience.***

I could make this a really long post about my fears of divorce, but that wasn't my original intention. My original intention was to say I LIKE SNOW! Boy, I've veered off topic. And I've bummed myself out.

I like Jim and I have no intention of divorcing him or letting him divorce me. He can't divorce me right now anyway, because he will be left cakeless on Sunday when HE TURNS OLDER and he won't get his presents (which are arriving late. Not my fault, unless you think I should have ordered them earlier, in which case, it is my fault. But how was I to know that what I was ordering wasn't immediately available to ship? So, NOT my fault!).

Tune in tomorrow when I post a picture of him as a kid and pay him tribute through blogging.

Ten things to do to avoid doing what you really should be doing

1. Make a list of things you really should do. Decorate it with little doodles and smiley faces. Poke holes in the paper in little wave patterns. Fold it into a little origami tree and place it on your calendar.
2. Relearn to crochet via youtube.
3. Worry about the whereabouts of the spider you spotted in the bathroom last night and didn't kill.
4. Scrutinize the paint job in the hall and discover that the painter (previous houseowner) painted over daddy-longlegs legs, hair, and dust when he painted.
5. Formulate a convincing argument listing the pros of repainting the hall to present to the painting-weary husband.
6. Watch the house being built across the street.
7. Examine all the carpeting in the house for cat vomit because you know the cat ate half a Barbie dress and eventually it's gotta come up.
8. Determine which child gets to clean up the aforementioned vomit by a complicated logarithm involving who cleaned up after a messy cat accident last time, who gets home from school first, who did their cat job without having to be reminded, and who is on the "in trouble" list.
9. Yell at the cat for eating half a Barbie dress. Get upset when the cat shows absolutely no remorse. Threaten to give the cat a bath. Watch the cat blink.
10. Blog, of course.

The Mighty Mississippi reduced to frosting

Matt is a Cub Scout (although not for much longer--he turns 11 in October and he'll be a full-fledged boy scout then). This month's pack meeting was the Blue and Gold dinner. The boys were given the assignment to decorate a cake by themselves with the theme Beautiful America. Matt chose to memorialize Lake Itasca--headwaters of the Mississippi River. We visited the lake two and a half years ago, and Matt likes to recall running around in the river where it's only a few feet wide and a foot deep. Here are a few pictures for your reference:

Yes, I made the icing and colored it. I gave direction and made a few suggestions regarding the design. But he did the decorating himself.

Here he is pouring on the crushed graham cracker sand. You can see the lake area (the big blob of blue on the left side of the cake) and the river coming out of it.
And here Matt pipes on the grass icing with the special grass piping tip. He was excited to use my special cake decorating stuff.
And here he pipes the letters on the post
Here he places jelly bean rocks
And voila! A cake depicting a favorite part of our beautiful America!
There was a very informal contest, but he didn't win. The shark cake won, the Rocky Mountain cake won, and the volcano cake with light-up lava won (that was a cool-looking cake!).

After finishing his cake, Matt asked if he could decorate his own birthday cake this year. Look out, Chef Duff!

Something Paul didn't tell me

This morning I decided to do some actual housework before plopping myself down in front of the computer. Mostly I just put laundry away. I grabbed a pile of boys clothing from the family room, and grumbled all the way to the boys' room--why can't they put their clothes away? Is it so hard to pick up a pile of clothing and trot it back to the bedroom and stick the clothes in a drawer? Sigh. (and then I remonstrate myself for my failure to live up to these expectations).

So I walked this pile of clothing to the boys' bedroom and put the clothes in front of Paul's dresser, which is sort of hidden behind his bed. It's in a little alcove formed by his bed and the wall and not visible from the doorway, which is about all the farther into the room that I venture. But I happened to look at the wall above his dresser and noticed a new plaque hanging on the wall:
(I took it off the wall to photograph it)

I have never seen this before. It's a tiny little plaque, only about 5 inches wide. Obviously, it's not a HUGE Academy award for band; it's just a simple recognition of a kid who does well in band class.

He has never mentioned it. For all I know, it appeared magically on the wall. I asked Matt about it and he said, "Oh, I think Paul got that last March or April. I know he didn't get it this year."

I plan to ask Paul about it later, although any information he might provide will probably be cryptic and tainted with the inability to utilize wording, phraseology, or ideas that I will understand. Or he won't know why he got it; he'll just say, "oh, uh, Mr. H just gave that to me last year. He had it on his desk."

I wonder what else will appear on his wall in the future? I hope he remembers to tell me if he ever gets married.

Pictures of concerts

After several weeks with no events worth blogging about, I get to post about two band concerts.

Last night (Friday) Hayley was a part of the 6th grade band that played at the high school basketball game. Fortunately, this concert allows the parents to get up close and personal during the playing of music so I was able to get a good picture of Hayley playing her (my) clarinet. The band did a fine job!


Then today, Paul spent all day in Mankato at the South Central Minnesota Band Director's Association 9th and 10th grade Honor Band recital. They learned three songs in five hours and put on a good performance. Paul says it was weird because the director didn't direct like Mr. K does (Paul's band director at school). Jim and I drove down for the concert.
Then I got a picture of the five participants from our high school after the concert.L to R: Andrew D, Paul, Katie M, Charlie B, and Max N. As you can see, the guys from PL have all lettered in something (they look like they are in uniform). Poor Katie is the lone non-letter-jacket wearer.

As everyone was leaving, the PL group gathered en masse in the auditorium lobby to make sure everyone was ready to go. But there was no Paul or Andrew. Then Andrew showed up and said Paul was already at the school van. Poor little Paul, who frequently has no clue what is going on, had wandered out in the cold, thinking that he needed to go to the van. Jim called him on his cell phone (aren't we glad we gave one to Paul? Yes!) and told him we were all looking for him. Paul had a sheepish look on his face when we finally caught up with him. Always he is the one who has misunderstood the directions.

And that is the end of the musical update.

Happiness is...

having pizza delivered by the cutest guy in the world

tipping the cute pizza guy a brownie

being smooched by the cute pizza delivery guy

getting an extra hour and a half of sleep after the fake child was dropped off at 6 a.m.

having a fake child who sleeps two and a half hours after getting dropped off

children who get themselves ready for school (OH HOW I LOOKED FORWARD TO THIS DAY back when I had five children under the age of 9)

children who remember to feed the cats and scoop the litter box without me having to tell them

hearing my sister talk about her students. Seriously, "Would you jump off a trampoline for a cheezy weel?" still makes me laugh. Yes, I would jump off a trampoline for a cheezy weel! And I don't know (and neither does my sister) how long the lag time is between actual death (by murder) and ability to appear as a ghost at a dinner party.

listening to Katie tell me about whose signature cards she got to approve at her bank

a perpetually clean living room (well, clutter-free. It's not always vacuumed and dusted)! For years and years and years I've suffered through massive toy dumping in that room and finally the kids are old enough to not leave Legos spilled all over that room. And I've taught fake child to pick her toys up before she goes home and then we whisk her toy boxes off to another room until she comes back. Now I gotta figure out how to keep the kitchen and dining room clean.

a clean kitchen sink

watching kids play in band concerts

watching kids in sporting events

knitting a fabbo dishcloth a little every day

having a brownie for breakfast

and another one for lunch

and one for dinner

a way-too-comfortable couch

clean dishes in the dishwasher, better yet, clean dishes in the cupboard

blogging

What I made last night for dinner

I made Chicken and Black Bean Enchiladas (only I used turkey, not chicken).

Recipe:

• Some cut up cooked birdie meat that has been "leftovered" in the fridge for a while and is threatening to not finish being eaten

• Some cooked black beans that you made ages ago, plopped into the freezer, and forgot you had until this morning

• Some grated cheese because everything tastes good with cheese
  

• Some old, frozen, cooked rice of indeterminate flavor (I could tell it wasn't the usual regular rice. It was probably basmati rice or something like that)

• a scoop of sour cream plus a small scraping from the side of the sour cream container

• a *blop or two or three or four of green taco sauce (and no, that is NOT red taco sauce that has gone moldy)
  

• the remaining tortillas from several opened bags in the fridge

• some salsa that will never get eaten unless you buy more chips and you don't want to buy more chips because the bag will sit OPEN on the counter for days as kids and husband graze on it
  

• more grated cheese because everything tastes better with more cheese

Mix the birdie meat, black beans, cheese, rice, sour cream, and taco sauce (NOT THE SALSA, although if you WANT to use salsa, go right ahead, I guess. But don't tell me because I'll flip out) in a bowl. Or whatever--I suppose you could add a bit of each to each tortilla, or you could made one cheese tortilla enchilada, or one black bean one, or one birdie meat, etc. Scoop enough of the mixture into each tortilla to make it worth rolling up. Or don't--I don't care--you could just sandwich it between the tortillas. ANYWAY, place rolled (or sandwiched) tortillas in a greased 9 x 13 baking dish. Spread salsa on the top (unless you used the salsa in the tortilla, in which case there is no redemption for you) and sprinkle with the "more grated cheese" (unless you accidentally put it in with the other grated cheese or ignored the fact that I put it on twice, thinking I had listed something twice by mistake. How wrong you were, weren't you?) Bake for 30 minutes at 350 (how does one put a little degree mark in HTML?). Serve with more sour cream, if you have any left over, veggies of your choice, a fruit or green salad or both, something to drink (put the husband in charge of that). Watch the family devour it (although you need to make sure that you help them). Pat yourself on the back for being a frugal manager of resources by using leftovers!

Actually I have a "real" recipe for this but I ignored it completely.

*blop (def.) -- the amount of something that, as you pour it out of a very small necked bottle, it takes for it to make a "blop" sound.

These feet were made for walkin' (and stompin' and slippin' and trippin')

I finally got out of the house for a walk yesterday. Exercising inside (in my basement) got really boring and I have been DYING to get out and walk for an hour.

The temperature was probably in the mid 20s and it was sunny--a good day to walk (a good day for winter, anyway). I probably looked like a maroon Michelin tire man (my parka is maroon) but I wanted to get outside so much that I didn't care that I looked extra pudgy or that my hair hates being confined in a headband so it goes gonzo on me and makes me look like I'd styled my hair with a handheld mixer.

Windburn is a problem for me, especially in cold weather, so I applied a liberal layer of Blistex to my cheeks (it works! Except then my hair sticks to my face). I grabbed Flossie the iPod, who has also been dying to get out of the house, and we went for a lovely hour-long walk.

I aired out my brain with fresh (but brisk) air; my brain had been getting cobwebby and a bit musty. Sunshine is a known fixer of unsolvable problems, or at least it diminishes the perceived importance.

I also indulged in a little regression to my childhood. I love stepping on sheets of ice (of which there were plenty on my walk) that border sidewalks. The sheets crack and break when you stand on them. It's such a satisfying crunch and sudden shift in verticality that I do it whenever I can. I engaged in this pastime for a few minutes in the park and enjoyed it immensely, until another walker passed me by and giggled at my childishness. Sometimes I hate being a grownup. I fumed all the way home. The sunshine tried to cheer me up, but alas, the clouds gathered to block the sun.

Two other embarrassing things I did on the walk that were seen by people:

• Nearly fell over on a patch of ice--I'm sure the driver of the car 6 feet away saw that. I hope the driver was someone I don't know. I did the spastic arm flail and jerky tap-dance and I'm sure I looked like a complete idiot.
  
• Peered through a window--I wanted to see inside the new environmental learning center building in the park across the street and just as I pressed my nose to the window glass, a woman in a business suit and a man in a business suit walked right in front of the window. They surprised me and I surprised them. I felt like such a stalker/peeping Thomasina/weirdo/dork.

I think I'll stick to exercising indoors for a little while.

On edge

One evening in college I wasted time by standing pennies on their edges on my desk. This took quite a while and required a steady hand and a steady floor. Then I took pictures. I really should have been studying.

I'm a master at doing frivolous and useless tasks when more important things need to be done. The end result looks cool, but doesn't really accomplish anything.

Blogging is a lot like standing pennies on their edges. I should be doing other things but here I am, chattering on and on and wasting time. I won't quit though. I do need some fun in my life. I feel a lot like a penny on its edge, just waiting for the slight jiggle that will knock me over.

The kids are home today, thanks to this country's need for presidents combined with a penchant for giving postal carriers, government workers (including many teachers), and some bank employees a day to rest from their weary labors every so often. So I will get nothing done today because I have a hard time using my time effectively when there are children around to need my help with things. I'll just stand pennies on edge to pass the time between requests from children or nagging them to do something.

Also, happy birthday to my dad.

Valentine Ten Things (high concentration of sap and mush present in this post)

This is my Valentine. I would have superimposed little hearts all over his picture and edited out my eyeball and bit of frown that are still in the picture but I'm no good at photoshopping. And I don't have Photoshop. So pretend that there are all sorts of little lovey-dovey doodles around his face with a couple of lip prints on his cheeks and neck.

He has been my Valentine 21 years in a row now and shows no sign of wanting to be replaced. Nor am I looking for a replacement Valentine.

Why is he my permanent Valentine?

1. He does dishes. Seriously, does that not rock? That should be the ten things RIGHT THERE.
2. His placidness has tempered (somewhat) my propensity for blowing things out of proportion and getting depressed, uptight, angry, scared, worried, or flighty.
3. Whenever I call him up while he is on his way home from work to tell him that my day was such that I did not make dinner, he never tells me that I should just have prepared better, organized myself more, or should have JUST GOTTEN OVER MYSELF. He just says, "OK. Should I get burritos?"
4. He indulges and/or fosters my love for books, certain kinds of music (think Weird Al), MST3K, sitting on the couch, crafting, sitting, and relaxing.
5. He sets a great example for my boys on how to treat girls and how to be even-tempered and selfless. He has also been involved in their church education now for the last 6 years or so. And he is a good example to my girls of what kind of husband they should look for.
6. He gets along well with my family (at least I think he does. I think my siblings tolerate and even like him a lot. I know my mother likes him. So does my dad) and never rolls his eyes at our family quirks (if we even have any). He never complains about the amount of time we spend with my family.
7. He has put up with performances of the arty kind for many years now, even though when we got married, the only artistic performances he enjoyed were rock concerts.
8. He says things like "Comfy?" "Need a back rub?" "Want some popcorn?" "Want to put your legs up on my lap?"
9. He kills spiders. Even the big fat hairy black ones
10. He's still here.

Plus he's cute.

Friday the 13th

The test results were benign!

And I have no energy or will to write about anything else today.

It's Thursday

Yep, that's how inspired I am to write today. All I can think of is that today is Thursday. I'll have to do a ten things list to get my brain out of fuzzy mode.

1. I might have to fold laundry today. Or is that in the "strenuous housework" category (which I can't do 'til tomorrow)?
2. Speaking of strenuous housework, the house across the street is gone. The foundation is still there, but there is nothing else. It's like the neighborhood is missing a tooth.
3. Last night I asked Matt what he did at Scouts and he said "We baked meat." Translation: We built a campfire and cooked ground beef for tacos over it.
4. Valentine's day is two days away and I won't be doing our annual valentine's treasure hunt this year. I am sad and ashamed. Hayley and Matt will be disappointed. Jimmy and Paul probably won't care. I do have the candy for it, but in all the business of the last two weeks coupled with the need to get my Creative Writing assignment done, I just can't do it.
5. But I'll still fix a Valentine themed dinner for those who will be home to eat. Sorry Jim, we'll save you some.
6. I already received my Valentine present from Jim--MST3K volume 14! Mad Monster, Manhunt in Space, Soultaker, and Final Justice! We got movie sign!
7. I've got Jim's present too. Now I have to remember where I put it. Stupid brain and its propensity to forget where I put things! I give my brain a simple task and it says, "yeah, I'll remember!" and then it goes off to play Slapjack with my spleen and completely forgets what I asked it to do. I'll have to punish my brain. I'll make it sit in the corner with its frontal lobe facing the wall. (Or should I make the occipital lobe face the wall?)
8. Paul starts track practice next week.
9. Jimmy wants the cut on his head that he received last night to leave a scar. He wants all his friends to notice the cut and ask him what happened. He plans on making up stories to explain it. Either he doesn't want anyone to know that he got it from a girl accidentally banging her tooth on his forehead or he just likes to LIE.
10. Destiny is calling my name. (or Breakfast is. Hard to tell)

Update

If you ever have to get a biopsy, I highly recommend a stereotactic needle core biopsy. And lidocaine....lots of lovely lidocaine. The machine looked scary, and I felt like I was a vehicle getting its oil changed, but the worst part wasn't the cutting device, it was having to lie still for half an hour. I wasn't supposed to move my head, arms, torso, or legs. That was really annoying. Otherwise, I was intrigued by all the science-y stuff, especially the x-ray-like images they took at every stage of the procedure.

My incision is only about a quarter of an inch long and very innocuous-looking. I've got ice packs to prevent swelling, but I feel just fine. I'm not supposed to do any heavy lifting, aerobics, tennis (have to cancel the tennis lesson), weight-lifting, or extreme knitting (har) for two days.

Time to relax!

Results Friday.

Something to be proud of

This week is Snoball week at the high school. During lunch, the people in charge of Snoball week activities sponsored a Hostess Snoball-eating contest and awarded tickets to the Snoball dance to he or she who could eat a two-pack of Snoballs the fastest (one winner in each lunch period).

Not only did Jimmy win in his lunch, but he apparently set the school record with 41 seconds.

Yay. He is quite pleased with himself. If only they had a varsity Snoball-eating team at school! He'd be team captain and probably go to state.

I am so NOT surprised. Whenever the planets align in perfect formation and we are able to sit down to dinner as a whole (but Katie-less) family, I notice that in the time it takes for me to lift my first forkful of food to my mouth, Jimmy has licked his plate clean and is on his way to put it in the sink.

Today I face the knife. It's biopsy time, folks.

It was a very pleasant prairie

Last weekend.

But first: I can still the lingering odor of Fresh White Musk. We still haven't gotten an admission from the guilty party.

OK. On to pictures.

Despite a bit of an age difference (Hayley and Matt are 11 and 10 and Annie and Mimi are 5 and 4), the cousins had good time playing together.
On Saturday, we ate at a miniscule diner called Frank's where the space was in short supply but the wait was long. I took this picture from the counter where Mike and I sat. We were in very close quarters. And you can see the kids and Jen and Grandma were sitting in "a different room" because I had to take the picture through a window. The menu featured items like "Garbage Lid Breakfast" and "Half Garbage Lid." It was very quaint. But enjoyable. I got a kick out of watching the exhaust fan pull smoke out of a very large hole in the wall. And I was close enough to the grill action to read every one's orders as they were hung up for the "kitchen" staff. At this diner, you run the risk of being yelled at if you don't behave. The diner employees' shirts all said, "Order what you want but eat what you get."

Mike did the Polar Bear Plunge earlier that day. Head on over to the Hawleyfocus if you want to see that.

After lunch at Frank's, Mike took the kids to the Rec Plex for swimming while Mom, Jen, and I went to the Piggly Wiggly to buy grapes for Mom and I to forget to bring on the trip home (Enjoy grapes for the next few weeks, Mike and Jen. Sorry about that).

Then we went back to the homestead to relax.

That night we ate antelope goulash, expertly prepared by Mom (although I did help by browning the meat). After dinner, Mike had Matt and Hayley help him reload ammo. They got to measure gunpowder into bullet casings and crimp the bullet into the casing. Here Hayley pours gunpowder into the weighing tray. You need just the right amount. On Sunday we went to church with Mike and Jen, and I saw someone that I knew. I'm inheriting my mother's tendency to run into people she knows whenever she goes somewhere.

Mike and Mom

Mike and Jen and Mike's drink
More cousin playtime
Mimi catches Matt in her blanket.
Mike shakes the finger of shame at Lucy because she tore into a bag of our medicine and toothpaste while we were at church.She ate the top off the toothpaste tube and chewed up my Nasonex bottle. She was properly repentant, though, after the finger of shame was deployed.

Our stay wasn't quite long enough, but we enjoyed it. I am glad for the opportunity to see the MikeandJen's more often now that they live a bit closer.

Perfumegeist

Our house stinks. It reeks. You can almost see the haze of smell in the house.

I planned to post a little about the weekend getaway, but that will have to wait until tomorrow, because somehow, our upstairs has been coated with a pervasive aroma of Body Fantasy Fresh White Musk.

Last night when I got home, the house smelled like it always has--like nothing (you might disagree, but I smell nothing when I walk in my house, unless someone has burned the broccoli, and usually that someone is me).

I dumped my duffle on my floor, promised to unload it later, and tromped downstairs to sit on the couch with Jim to watch the Grammy awards (double Yay for Robert Plant and Alison Krauss! Someone I like actually won!). A little while later, I went back upstairs for a reason I don't remember.

The whole upper floor was awash in the smell. It was worst in the bathroom. My eyes actually stung. We found no evidence of a spill and none of the children admitted to spraying anything. We couldn't even determine exactly what the smell was, although I knew it was a musky perfume of some kind.

The smell still lingers, twelve hours later. In one last ditch effort to discover the product that gave off such an odor, I went through my seldom-used bathroom shelf of lady-like smells and tried the Body Fantasy Fresh White Musk. Bingo! I believe that is the source. But everyone still maintains their innocence. So I think that either we have a new poltergeist in the house that likes to dispense body spray in copious amounts, or the already-present poltergeist finally got tired of spontaneously combusting the fire in the fireplace downstairs and moved upstairs to try something new.

I fear that when I walk out of my house, people from several feet away will smell me coming first, and then see me lurching down the street with a slightly dazed look on my face and wiping tears of perpetual stinging from my eyes.

I pity Jimmy and Paul more than myself, however; my poor boys had to go to school smelling pretty.

Lack of excitement

The house across the street is being torn down, at least the top half of it. I kept an eye on it all day yesterday as the crew threw pieces of burnt wood and roof pieces into the two giant dumpsters in the yard. I even snuck a few pictures (which, out of concern that it would be too morbid, I'm not going to post. Or it's because I don't have the time).

I could make a metaphor out of the house going down, but I don't have the time for it today. I'm taking a weekend off with Matt and Hayley and my mom. We are going to visit the Hawleyfocuses! Jen, I'm bringing your little lost watch.

I haven't updated much about Jimmy lately. He works, he goes to school, he complains about school (although he is excited for Chemistry with Mr. V next trimester. Mr. V apparently likes to blow stuff up in class. Mr. V is also a bagpiper who lives in our neighborhood and I've told him that ANYTIME he wants to play his pipes in the park right across the street, I'm happy to listen), and he also takes silly pictures of himself to post on Facebook.

That is all. I have to pack. Jim says hello to everybody.

bio... the b... the... the bios... the... b... the bibopsy

So what movie is that from? Jenni, you can't guess cuz we already discussed it.

Guess what I get to do? I get to have a biopsy!

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Did I freak you all out? :D

In all seriousness, it is nothing. Really. I just have a few microscopic dots in my left breast that need to be looked at. I have some microcalcifications, which are normal, and then a cluster of itty bitty teeny weeny yellow polka dot bikini spots that are slightly different. I saw the pictures and to me, these OTHER dots look just like the microcalcifications, but what do I know? The doctor didn't act concerned; she just said, "they look a little different and I want to see what they are and these are your options: biopsy, MRI, or nuclear imaging." (Um, no thanks on that last option. I do not want to be my husband's nightlight) No mention was made of the big C word, and the doctor didn't even furrow her brow or look serious. She didn't pat my hand or ask me if I needed a moment or a tissue. Personally, I'd bet that the little dots are remnants of not-chewed-enough Doritos from Super Bowl Sunday that somehow got lodged in the ductwork.

I'm kind of excited because, as a naturally curious person, I want to know what these little things are. I am one of those people who actually doesn't mind getting blood drawn (I even like to watch) because I get to see something that was inside my body, helping me function as a living human being. I also like the idea of two days of recovery. I get permission to do nothing (well, at least no heavy lifting)! Guilt-free! I also like saying "I get to have a biopsy," knowing that it's not going to be as bad as the images of the word "biopsy" conjure up. It's a minimally invasive, in-office procedure involving a little tube and a tiny vacuum (hmmm, can they vacuum up a couple of extra ounces--or pounds even--while they are in there? I think there are some dustbunnies between some ribs, maybe they could get those out as well). I could have just gone with the MRI, but health insurance will pay for only 80% of an MRI, but will cover all but a minimal copay of the biopsy. (biopsy biopsy biopsy...sounds like a name for a little girl's dolly).

Anyway, that's the excitement. Yesterday started out kinda blah, but then the follow-up mammogram was a last minute addition to my Wednesday afternoon and suddenly, things got interesting. Oh yeah, I almost forgot--I also got an ultrasound in my armpit (good thing I shaved yesterday). I told the technician as she was gooing me up that an armpit ultrasound isn't nearly as exciting as a prenatal ultrasound that shows a baby's gender. She chuckled. The lymph nodes in my left armpit are fine (and all girls), by the way. They say hello and hope that you all are well.

Again, no worries, so please don't leave any pity comments. And don't call, unless you want to tell me that your cat just had kittens (in which case, I shall squeal with girlish excitement, but I won't take a kitten off your hands because we are still using the kitties we got from the last time someone called about a pregnant cat). You may, however, leave comments about fun medical procedures you have had!

PS: The letters on the N, M, and L keys on my computer keyboard are wearing off. Pressing these keys still signals the computer to type those letters, but if you are a hunt-and-peck keyboardist, you will hunt long and hard to no avail for N, M, and L. Just thought you should know.

Shouldn't seeing be at the top of your to-do list?

The above is a (probably somewhat mangled) Brian Regan quote from one of his comedy routines about prescription eyewear.

I'm not wearing my glasses. Or my contacts. So I can't see very well this morning, which might be a good thing. I won't scare myself in the mirror or I won't get all up in someone's grill about their nonstandard usage (I used to say "bad grammar" until I took the Modern American Usage class and was shown the higher-educated way of saying it, which leaves out the business of calling someone WRONG) in print because I can't read it. (On the other hand, I can't read what I am currently typing either, so if I miss any ugly usage or spelling errors, I claim fuzzy seeing as my excuse.

Why am I not wearing glasses this morning? Because it's "one of those days." I don't think I'll get around to exercising today either. I have a whole host of things to accomplish, and since I won't be able to get all of it done, the part of the brain that likes to be pessimistic says, "you might as well not get any of it done" and so I sit and stare at the wall (a.k.a. the computer) and feel guilty for not getting anything done.

I feel another woe-is-me coming on. But as my mother once said to me, "Nobody likes to hear about your problems," so I won't indulge the woe in me. Besides, most of my problems are only perception problems. Not only do I have real fuzzy seeing, but I have fuzzy perception of the rhetoric portion of life--that part of life that is social in nature, influenced by communication, and not tangible. This is otherwise known as "blowing things out of proportion."

So I'll eschew talking about how I don't measure up to my own yardstick and instead I'll mention how nice it was to wake up this morning after an anxiety dream and realize that fake child wasn't left at my house today for an unscheduled long babysitting day, and that my mother didn't drop nephew Owen at my house unannounced, that I AM wearing more than just a towel, that I do know how to dial a phone and that my children did not miss any buses this morning and my car is safely tucked in my garage and it still works. Whew! Yay for real life!

Temptation in a cup

Or "One Little Way to Pack on the Big Pounds."

I give you Cake in a Mug.
I'm very hungry right now.

More Paul

Paul had a band concert last night. Since it was his first concert in this band (the Wind Ensemble) I insisted on taking a picture. Here he is with his French horn and his thoughts.
And here he is sitting in the band. It was odd not to have Katie there in the front row with the other flutes.
The band played well and I could hear the horns (although not Paul individually) in every song.

Mother-knows-best moment before the concert:
After dinner Paul went to his room to get dressed, and then came out and said he was ready to go. I had seen him ironing a button-up dress shirt and he had it on. But he was also wearing jeans. I did the "frowny-eyebrows" at him and said, "Don't you think you should be wearing dress pants?"

"Uh, no. Isn't this ok?"

"No. Katie always dressed up for concerts. Everyone did."

So he went back into his room and got his dress pants off a hanger. He came out with them NOT on and said, "I'll bring them just in case." Which meant he didn't believe me. I conceded because I didn't want to yell. He would have enough time to change at the school if I was right (which I was). He did have to change. Then he went around the band room telling people he almost wore jeans for the concert. He got a few "YOU ALMOST DID WHAT???!!!" looks.

Lesson for today: Listen to your mother. She might know what she is talking about. She might even save you from a bit of embarrassment.

Stop and Go

This child (who understandably wants to remain nameless and to keep his identity a secret with those cheap glasses) wants to start driving asap. He told me that he wants to practice even before taking driver's ed (he's eligible for it this July). He said, and I quote, "I want to get used to how far down to press the go pedal and the stop pedal."

He's never going to drive if I can help it.