The 2008-09 school year has arrived and not a moment too soon! Actually, it arrived prematurely with the community-wide pep rally that went down at the football stadium last night. This is deliciously quintessential small town Texas at its best.
Aside from all the parents being appauled at the music used for the cheerleading dance (try living with a cheerleader who has to play it over and over and over while she rehearses!), the pre-season rally was smoother than Bill Clinton in a deposition. The weather was threatening prior to the event but soon gave way to clear skies under which the cheer squad performed to the musical talents(?) of one "Lil' Mama" who assured us via her lyrics that "my lip gloss is poppin'....my lip gloss is cool...the boys stop at my locker...they chase me after school" (actually, not 'school', but 'skoo'). At the very least, the positive side of this is that the artist is portraying herself as a student who is not practicing truancy as evidenced by the many suitors that accost her in the hallway during school hours. On the flip side, if said artist could learn to say "no" every once in a while, she wouldn't be in the quandry of being a "Lil' Mama" in the first place. Does that constitute a link between lip gloss and teenage pregnancy? Yours for the pondering.
However, for all its musical moral ambiguity, this event does foreshadow the impending arrival of homecoming. And with it comes the parade of mums, some so large they resemble medieval breastplates, bursting with ribbons, bells, whistles, baubles, and glitter that shroud the wearer in glory. Anyone who wonders where the cliche "everything is bigger in Texas" came from, the homecoming mum tradition may very well be the source.
The competition for the biggest and the best is on, people! Traditionally, a girl's homecoming date would be responsible for purchasing this monstrosity but the problem with that is two-fold. First of all, no one trusts their boyfriend to pick out an acceptable mum (translation: he's a cheapskate). Secondly, even if he goes to the local florist and lays out a bundle of cash, there is no guarantee that the mum won't resemble every other girl's mum in school. To quote Supernanny: "That's un-assep-TI-bul".
My daughter and I spent over an hour in Hobby Lobby just picking out the supplies. Ribbons were fondled...silk mums were closely examined for flaws and color-continuity...math was even utilized in calculating the black-to-orange ratio. In the process, hard decisions were made. Some supplies were "voted off the island", others retained for their suppleness, glittery properties, and/or noise-making potential. Hobby Lobby was clearly prepared, staffing the best personnel in the mum section. A clerk happened to pass our shopping cart and within three seconds of examing the contents, was able to identify what school we were representing. This man (yes, a man!) was clearly an expert in his field and I immediately put all trust in him. He led us straight over to a "hidden" display of goodies previously undiscovered by us. We gasped as he pointed to a cart full of ribbons that were printed with our school's name and mascot. My daughter and I were like Lewis and Clark and this clerk was like our Native American host, sharing his riches with us. We seized upon the cart with the enthusiasm normally reserved for Krispy Kreme donuts.
We left Hobby Lobby like a couple of grizzly bears on the verge of hibernation....with plenty of reserves on hand (we bought extra for next year) but physically exhausted. After some excessive shopping (we were already in Austin, so why not?), we headed back home and cleared the dining room table to give priority to the mum supplies. The table was borderline-sanitized to ensure that no food particles would make contact with our sublime ribbons. We gathered the instruments as if we were preparing to perform surgery. Scissors, check....glue gun, check...stapler, check. We were ready.
After hours of meticulous cutting, gluing, stapling, arranging, folding, curling, and tying, it was at last complete. It was full and glorious without being overdone and gawdy. It had depth and drama without taking itself too seriously. This thing should run for president.
My daughter shall wear it with pride. And I shall sport the blisters from the glue gun....with pride.
Tuesday, August 26, 2008
Tuesday, August 19, 2008
Confusion, weirdness, and coincidence
Wow! I've left everyone hanging in suspense for a whole week! Has your life been disrupted by frequent trips to the computer to see if I've posted recently? ....No?.....OK.
My tiling skills took a beating this week when I discovered how difficult it is to tile around obstructions; in this case, a sink. According to the guy who wrote my home improvement book, you need a glass cutter and a pair of tile nippers. According to the guys at Home Depot, you need something called a wet saw and protective eyewear. That's quite a stark contrast. I feel like a gymnast from one of those former Soviet-bloc nations that has to follow the little 12-year-old Chinese gymnast (who they swear is 16) who just got through mesmerizing the crowd with her never-before-attempted feats of skill. In other words, I thought I knew what I was doing but was left feeling a bit deflated before the big show. (In this analogy, I don't have a leotard wedgie, though.)
Anyway, with the use of different-sized tiles and creative placement, I was able to avoid using cutting implements in a manner to which I was not accustomed -- that is, trimming 90-degree angles. I would like to take this opportunity to thank my mother (as if this were akin to an Academy Award) for not giving up on me. She provided moral support and shared her superior bank of knowledge acquired from being a loyal viewer of HGTV (I believe she falls into their main demographic audience, in fact.) Also, thank you to Neal for giving his stamp of approval on the finished product. My level of job satisfaction is rather high.
Switching gears to other news, something really weird happened this week. I was sitting at my desk when a man walked into our office and approached me. He asked me if I wanted to see something as he reached into his pocket. Needless to say, my mind started to scramble wildly. No....please! No! No!
Initially, relief swept over me when he pulled out a wad of napkins. Then, as he unfolded the layers of said napkin, terror set in once again. What could it contain? A severed finger? A freakish bug autopsy? I sat speechless as I mentally hatched an escape plan in case it was anthrax.
Alas, it was a few strips of beef brisket. He presented it to me and explained that he had bought it "up the street" and offered me a sample. At first, I thought it had to be a joke. Who would partake of pocket brisket from a total stranger? If the meat had been in different surroundings, such as a plate from which brisket is normally served, it would have been difficult to turn down as it appeared to have been delicious at some point. The point right before it went into his pocket in a mound of napkins, to be exact. On the upside, he found a way to keep it warm, I suppose. I declined his invitation and he wrapped the meat back into its napkin surroundings and returned it to his pocket, completely undaunted by the look of horror on my face. If they ever hire this guy to give out samples at Costco, they might want to explain to him that the food looks much more appetizing when it is distributed in those little sample cups as opposed to his pants.
Although that story can be filed under the "yuk" weird category, other things have happened to me that go into the "wow" weird category. One example is how some friends in Houston offered us Astros tickets out of the blue one day years ago. They couldn't go at the last minute and the seats were crazy-good, so we totally pounced on the chance to go. We went and had a great time and our kids were even featured on the Jumbotron screen.
As we were leaving the game, my cell phone rang. I picked it up and it was my sister. She says "Where are you?" and I told her we were leaving the Astros game. She says "Me too" and I thought I didn't hear her correctly until she explained that she and a friend went to the game at the last minute just completely on a whim. She then went on to say that she was sitting there enjoying the game when she sees my daughter on the screen and exclaimed to the people in her section "That's my niece!"...then as they panned over to my son, she screamed "And that's my nephew!" She tried to call me right then but I couldn't hear my cell phone over the game and crowd noise. Wow....what are the odds? Both of us were at Minute Maid Park for the first time ever...both were last-minute decisions...and she sees my kids on the Jumbotron. (Twilight Zone music here). Just goes to show, if you cheat on your spouse, don't take your date to an Astros game.
My tiling skills took a beating this week when I discovered how difficult it is to tile around obstructions; in this case, a sink. According to the guy who wrote my home improvement book, you need a glass cutter and a pair of tile nippers. According to the guys at Home Depot, you need something called a wet saw and protective eyewear. That's quite a stark contrast. I feel like a gymnast from one of those former Soviet-bloc nations that has to follow the little 12-year-old Chinese gymnast (who they swear is 16) who just got through mesmerizing the crowd with her never-before-attempted feats of skill. In other words, I thought I knew what I was doing but was left feeling a bit deflated before the big show. (In this analogy, I don't have a leotard wedgie, though.)
Anyway, with the use of different-sized tiles and creative placement, I was able to avoid using cutting implements in a manner to which I was not accustomed -- that is, trimming 90-degree angles. I would like to take this opportunity to thank my mother (as if this were akin to an Academy Award) for not giving up on me. She provided moral support and shared her superior bank of knowledge acquired from being a loyal viewer of HGTV (I believe she falls into their main demographic audience, in fact.) Also, thank you to Neal for giving his stamp of approval on the finished product. My level of job satisfaction is rather high.
Switching gears to other news, something really weird happened this week. I was sitting at my desk when a man walked into our office and approached me. He asked me if I wanted to see something as he reached into his pocket. Needless to say, my mind started to scramble wildly. No....please! No! No!
Initially, relief swept over me when he pulled out a wad of napkins. Then, as he unfolded the layers of said napkin, terror set in once again. What could it contain? A severed finger? A freakish bug autopsy? I sat speechless as I mentally hatched an escape plan in case it was anthrax.
Alas, it was a few strips of beef brisket. He presented it to me and explained that he had bought it "up the street" and offered me a sample. At first, I thought it had to be a joke. Who would partake of pocket brisket from a total stranger? If the meat had been in different surroundings, such as a plate from which brisket is normally served, it would have been difficult to turn down as it appeared to have been delicious at some point. The point right before it went into his pocket in a mound of napkins, to be exact. On the upside, he found a way to keep it warm, I suppose. I declined his invitation and he wrapped the meat back into its napkin surroundings and returned it to his pocket, completely undaunted by the look of horror on my face. If they ever hire this guy to give out samples at Costco, they might want to explain to him that the food looks much more appetizing when it is distributed in those little sample cups as opposed to his pants.
Although that story can be filed under the "yuk" weird category, other things have happened to me that go into the "wow" weird category. One example is how some friends in Houston offered us Astros tickets out of the blue one day years ago. They couldn't go at the last minute and the seats were crazy-good, so we totally pounced on the chance to go. We went and had a great time and our kids were even featured on the Jumbotron screen.
As we were leaving the game, my cell phone rang. I picked it up and it was my sister. She says "Where are you?" and I told her we were leaving the Astros game. She says "Me too" and I thought I didn't hear her correctly until she explained that she and a friend went to the game at the last minute just completely on a whim. She then went on to say that she was sitting there enjoying the game when she sees my daughter on the screen and exclaimed to the people in her section "That's my niece!"...then as they panned over to my son, she screamed "And that's my nephew!" She tried to call me right then but I couldn't hear my cell phone over the game and crowd noise. Wow....what are the odds? Both of us were at Minute Maid Park for the first time ever...both were last-minute decisions...and she sees my kids on the Jumbotron. (Twilight Zone music here). Just goes to show, if you cheat on your spouse, don't take your date to an Astros game.
Tuesday, August 12, 2008
I'll just build the next house myself
My prolonged absence has probably led you to believe I'm dead, or worse, suffering from a debilitating case of writer's block. It might surprise you all to learn that I have been super-busy getting our house ready to dive right into that glowing real estate market!
It's nothing against our house, of course (a lovely Austin stone 3/2.5/2 with stained concrete floors located on five gorgeous acres complete with horse facilities -- e-mail me for a showing!). Neal and I just finally reached the point where we are both ready to move into town so that the kids are closer to their friends and numerous activities.
Trust me, I've been working like an illegal immigrant to get this house in impeccable shape. It basically needs a coat of paint here and there plus a deep cleaning and de-cluttering. Perhaps the biggest hurdle in front of me was how to handle the tile that Neal cracked on the laundry room countertop. The conversation in my head went something like this: "Hey, I can drive a stick-shift...I can make a hell of a homecoming mum...isn't the next logical progression retiling my countertops?" I've seen stupider people than me accomplish the same feat. If you don't believe me, tune in to HGTV on any given Saturday.
I pulled the never-been-opened home improvement manual down from the top shelf of the study. After sneezing for fifteen minutes from inhaling the layer of dust on it, I was able to locate the tab titled "Tiling and Masonry" (By the way, anyone else find the "Masons" mysterious? Aren't they part of an alleged one-world-government, black helicopters, tin foil hats conspiracy? That's something to look up on Wikipedia later...)
The most difficult step of the whole process was the trip to Home Depot to pick up the supplies. I started to make a separate list of my own from the lists in the book but paused and thought "Who am I kidding? I'm gonna need photos." I could just picture myself wandering the aisles of the store, trying to make eye contact with anyone clad in an orange vest only to be shunned while they pretend to have a conversation with someone on their two-way radios. All this because I don't know what an "awl" looks like.
So my son and I ventured to the Home Depot, fortified with the knowledge contained on those book pages. Between the two of us, we were able to identify the tools by photo as if we were at a police station lineup ("Well, it looks kind of like that one but it's pointier...).
We arrived home and promptly put the tools to work. I discovered I'm a huge fan of the tile cutter. I also learned that I have a knack for grouting. Within days, I declared victory. The finished product was sublime. I should add this to my resume -- even if it has no bearing on my accounting skills and knowledge, I just want to brag a little bit.
So although Neal and my son and I are all in agreement about moving the ol' family homestead into town, it took some convincing for my daughter to get on board with it. Well, more like bribing than convincing. Neal told her that if we move back into town, she can get another beagle -- a dog for which she has longed for two years. It's all pretty ironic considering the fact that we bribed her with a horse to get her out here to our current house. If we keep this up, we're going to have quite a menagerie.
Speaking of animals, my friend Lori sent me this link today which had me nearly falling out of my chair laughing. Like she said, apparently everything is on the internet! Enjoy! http://kittywigs.com/index.html
It's nothing against our house, of course (a lovely Austin stone 3/2.5/2 with stained concrete floors located on five gorgeous acres complete with horse facilities -- e-mail me for a showing!). Neal and I just finally reached the point where we are both ready to move into town so that the kids are closer to their friends and numerous activities.
Trust me, I've been working like an illegal immigrant to get this house in impeccable shape. It basically needs a coat of paint here and there plus a deep cleaning and de-cluttering. Perhaps the biggest hurdle in front of me was how to handle the tile that Neal cracked on the laundry room countertop. The conversation in my head went something like this: "Hey, I can drive a stick-shift...I can make a hell of a homecoming mum...isn't the next logical progression retiling my countertops?" I've seen stupider people than me accomplish the same feat. If you don't believe me, tune in to HGTV on any given Saturday.
I pulled the never-been-opened home improvement manual down from the top shelf of the study. After sneezing for fifteen minutes from inhaling the layer of dust on it, I was able to locate the tab titled "Tiling and Masonry" (By the way, anyone else find the "Masons" mysterious? Aren't they part of an alleged one-world-government, black helicopters, tin foil hats conspiracy? That's something to look up on Wikipedia later...)
The most difficult step of the whole process was the trip to Home Depot to pick up the supplies. I started to make a separate list of my own from the lists in the book but paused and thought "Who am I kidding? I'm gonna need photos." I could just picture myself wandering the aisles of the store, trying to make eye contact with anyone clad in an orange vest only to be shunned while they pretend to have a conversation with someone on their two-way radios. All this because I don't know what an "awl" looks like.
So my son and I ventured to the Home Depot, fortified with the knowledge contained on those book pages. Between the two of us, we were able to identify the tools by photo as if we were at a police station lineup ("Well, it looks kind of like that one but it's pointier...).
We arrived home and promptly put the tools to work. I discovered I'm a huge fan of the tile cutter. I also learned that I have a knack for grouting. Within days, I declared victory. The finished product was sublime. I should add this to my resume -- even if it has no bearing on my accounting skills and knowledge, I just want to brag a little bit.
So although Neal and my son and I are all in agreement about moving the ol' family homestead into town, it took some convincing for my daughter to get on board with it. Well, more like bribing than convincing. Neal told her that if we move back into town, she can get another beagle -- a dog for which she has longed for two years. It's all pretty ironic considering the fact that we bribed her with a horse to get her out here to our current house. If we keep this up, we're going to have quite a menagerie.
Speaking of animals, my friend Lori sent me this link today which had me nearly falling out of my chair laughing. Like she said, apparently everything is on the internet! Enjoy! http://kittywigs.com/index.html
Friday, August 8, 2008
The end (of summer) is near
The conclusion of cheer camp yesterday marks the beginning of the end of summer. If you see me sporting an unusually chipper attitude on August 26th, it's because school starts that day. If you see me reverse course completely on August 27th, it's because homework and extra-curriculars have kicked in.
Cheer camp was everything I expected and more....the "more" being the parking ticket that was waiting on my windshield for me when I arrived back at the car three hours later, struggling with an armload of my daughter's bedding. Just when I thought I was thrilled to go back to my alma mater, they managed to douse my enthusiasm with paper admonishment. I guess it's karma getting even with me for squeezing out of that license plate debacle unscathed just days ago. Oh well, at least my money is going into the pockets of Texas A&M, even if it's going to the Parking Nazis.
When I arrived at 9 am, the squads were getting ready to perform their cheers and "extreme routines" (panned by my husband in a previous post). I can attest it was adequately annoying, especially when repeated a hundred times. The highlight of the day (aside from seeing our squads perform) was finally seeing the facility that I was forced to fund while in college but never actually got to use.
My daughter and I went shopping at the local mall (if you can call it that) once we were done with lunch. It was truly depressing to walk through once-proud Post Oak Mall. The quality stores that once lined the building were nowhere to be found, only to be replaced by the likes of "Lucca Fashion Boutique" and the always-popular "Pink Zebra". I guess since it houses a "Spencer's Gifts", it automatically qualifies for mall-status. I was really disappointed with the picked-over selection (or lack thereof) and disorganization at Dillard's, akin to shopping in Russia.
While we picked through the sparcity at Post Oak Mall, my daughter provided entertainment in the form of anecdotes from camp. One in particular got my attention -- the dust-up between our squad and the squad from my husband's high school alma mater, Taylor High School. My daughter described the fracas which originated from a complaint lodged by our girls to their girls regarding the volume of their music in the dorms. According to my daughter, our girls "politely" requested that the Taylor girls cool it with the Hannah Montana nonsense (Really?..Hannah Montana? Really?). Apparently, that set off a chain of events the world hasn't seen since the Paris Hilton/Nicole Richie conflict, except this one didn't play out in the tabloids.
You would have thought they could have settled things the old-fashioned way, with a hearty round of "We've got spirit, yes we do....we've got spirit! How bout you?" Obviously, this was something that only childish smears and full-out ugliness were going to solve. Plus, turning the music up even louder. My daughter and her bunkmates tried to retaliate but were only armed with a clock radio. It was just no contest against the muscled-up ampage blaring from next door.
When we got home, my daughter settled on the couch for a record-shattering 12 hours, even sleeping through a few episodes of "24" that were playing on the TV just 5 feet from her head. I guess if you can learn to sleep through Hannah Montana, you can sleep through anything.
Cheer camp was everything I expected and more....the "more" being the parking ticket that was waiting on my windshield for me when I arrived back at the car three hours later, struggling with an armload of my daughter's bedding. Just when I thought I was thrilled to go back to my alma mater, they managed to douse my enthusiasm with paper admonishment. I guess it's karma getting even with me for squeezing out of that license plate debacle unscathed just days ago. Oh well, at least my money is going into the pockets of Texas A&M, even if it's going to the Parking Nazis.
When I arrived at 9 am, the squads were getting ready to perform their cheers and "extreme routines" (panned by my husband in a previous post). I can attest it was adequately annoying, especially when repeated a hundred times. The highlight of the day (aside from seeing our squads perform) was finally seeing the facility that I was forced to fund while in college but never actually got to use.
My daughter and I went shopping at the local mall (if you can call it that) once we were done with lunch. It was truly depressing to walk through once-proud Post Oak Mall. The quality stores that once lined the building were nowhere to be found, only to be replaced by the likes of "Lucca Fashion Boutique" and the always-popular "Pink Zebra". I guess since it houses a "Spencer's Gifts", it automatically qualifies for mall-status. I was really disappointed with the picked-over selection (or lack thereof) and disorganization at Dillard's, akin to shopping in Russia.
While we picked through the sparcity at Post Oak Mall, my daughter provided entertainment in the form of anecdotes from camp. One in particular got my attention -- the dust-up between our squad and the squad from my husband's high school alma mater, Taylor High School. My daughter described the fracas which originated from a complaint lodged by our girls to their girls regarding the volume of their music in the dorms. According to my daughter, our girls "politely" requested that the Taylor girls cool it with the Hannah Montana nonsense (Really?..Hannah Montana? Really?). Apparently, that set off a chain of events the world hasn't seen since the Paris Hilton/Nicole Richie conflict, except this one didn't play out in the tabloids.
You would have thought they could have settled things the old-fashioned way, with a hearty round of "We've got spirit, yes we do....we've got spirit! How bout you?" Obviously, this was something that only childish smears and full-out ugliness were going to solve. Plus, turning the music up even louder. My daughter and her bunkmates tried to retaliate but were only armed with a clock radio. It was just no contest against the muscled-up ampage blaring from next door.
When we got home, my daughter settled on the couch for a record-shattering 12 hours, even sleeping through a few episodes of "24" that were playing on the TV just 5 feet from her head. I guess if you can learn to sleep through Hannah Montana, you can sleep through anything.
Wednesday, August 6, 2008
Hot topics
Is there a worse time to lose your home's air conditioning than August in Texas? Naturally, it happened to us late yesterday and I'm starting to develop a sheen of perspiration on my skin already this morning. All the windows are open and the fans are whirring. The only one enjoying this is dear old Dually because now he can meow right into the house for instant attention.
I'd like to concentrate on more pleasant things but I'm in a bit of a funk and this loss of cool air is not helping. I have to admit, we're pretty lucky that this event coincided with Tropical Storm Eduoard (which I always want to call "Eduardo" like my favorite character on Foster's Home for Imaginary Friends). It's only supposed to get in the low 90s today as compared to the triple-digit temps we've been subjected to recently. Also, last night wasn't as unpleasant as one might think. I think it stayed in the seventies throughout the night for the most part and I slept well until the birds woke me up at 6:00 with their never-ending chirping. This is why I don't camp, folks...I have no urge to be closer to nature. I certainly don't want it serenading me in fits of squawking before sunrise.
Otherwise, it's been very low-key this week with my daughter being away at cheerleading camp. I'm going to pick her up tomorrow which happens to be Neal's birthday. He will be taking the day off from work but the best present I could give him is a pass on attending the last day of cheer camp. In his estimation, it's about the most annoying thing one can endure. If he were president, he would advocate subjecting our enemy combatants to throngs of peppy girls chanting and performing their "extreme pom routine" as the most effective form of torture.
On a lighter note, he gets to go stand in line at the DPS to renew his driver's license before it expires tomorrow. Normally, this would not be an event to look forward to but at least they'll have air conditioning there. In addition, he's excited that he'll get the stigma of "vision correction required" removed from his license. He had lasik surgery several years ago but has always renewed his license by mail until now. This year....watch out, DPS! He's coming in and owning your vision test! (Plus, as a bonus, he's thinner now than he has been in years so it's a perfect time to have a picture retake.) Whenever he gets pulled over in the future, the lady cops will look at his license and say "Oh, you're that hottie with the eagle-eye vision....I'll let you off with a warning this time."
Neal and I decided that the time has come for him to make his mark in cyberspace with his own blog. His blog will focus on pediatric issues (stuff like not giving your infant water, not sending toddlers to bed with juice, how to conquer diaper rash...all the hot-button issues) Stay tuned for more details and prepare to be dazzled (but not "bedazzled"....that's another cardinal rule -- Don't let your toddler play with a Bedazzler. The results could be either tragic or fabulous).
I'd like to concentrate on more pleasant things but I'm in a bit of a funk and this loss of cool air is not helping. I have to admit, we're pretty lucky that this event coincided with Tropical Storm Eduoard (which I always want to call "Eduardo" like my favorite character on Foster's Home for Imaginary Friends). It's only supposed to get in the low 90s today as compared to the triple-digit temps we've been subjected to recently. Also, last night wasn't as unpleasant as one might think. I think it stayed in the seventies throughout the night for the most part and I slept well until the birds woke me up at 6:00 with their never-ending chirping. This is why I don't camp, folks...I have no urge to be closer to nature. I certainly don't want it serenading me in fits of squawking before sunrise.
Otherwise, it's been very low-key this week with my daughter being away at cheerleading camp. I'm going to pick her up tomorrow which happens to be Neal's birthday. He will be taking the day off from work but the best present I could give him is a pass on attending the last day of cheer camp. In his estimation, it's about the most annoying thing one can endure. If he were president, he would advocate subjecting our enemy combatants to throngs of peppy girls chanting and performing their "extreme pom routine" as the most effective form of torture.
On a lighter note, he gets to go stand in line at the DPS to renew his driver's license before it expires tomorrow. Normally, this would not be an event to look forward to but at least they'll have air conditioning there. In addition, he's excited that he'll get the stigma of "vision correction required" removed from his license. He had lasik surgery several years ago but has always renewed his license by mail until now. This year....watch out, DPS! He's coming in and owning your vision test! (Plus, as a bonus, he's thinner now than he has been in years so it's a perfect time to have a picture retake.) Whenever he gets pulled over in the future, the lady cops will look at his license and say "Oh, you're that hottie with the eagle-eye vision....I'll let you off with a warning this time."
Neal and I decided that the time has come for him to make his mark in cyberspace with his own blog. His blog will focus on pediatric issues (stuff like not giving your infant water, not sending toddlers to bed with juice, how to conquer diaper rash...all the hot-button issues) Stay tuned for more details and prepare to be dazzled (but not "bedazzled"....that's another cardinal rule -- Don't let your toddler play with a Bedazzler. The results could be either tragic or fabulous).
Sunday, August 3, 2008
In memoriam
Folks, it was so hot this weekend in Texas. (You chime in "How hot is it?"). Well, it was so hot that the glass top on our patio table spontaneously combusted.
I was on the phone yesterday late morning, and as usual, multitasking. Neal and our daughter were horseback riding so my son and I were alone when suddenly he claimed to hear a smashing noise. I must have heard it too on some level because I peeked out the back door for no obvious reason(just as he was alerting me from the other room) and noticed a sea of brilliant shards on the patio where my table once proudly stood.
As is my normal reflex when I see destruction of which the origin is not immediately discernible, I called out to my son. He came running to me asking "What happened to the table?" I ruled him out as a suspect when I saw that he didn't leave bloody footprints in his wake. He looked genuinely puzzled and right away started theorizing as to how such an event could have unfolded.
I ended my phone call and threw on some flip-flops to examine the accident site more closely. I could hardly bear to look at it directly because the spectrum of light coming from this pile of rubble was almost blinding. There was no evidence of a living creature toying with it which made me glad we moved the cat's feeding station from that table to the front porch over a month ago. At least he didn't set in motion the jolting that could potentially have caused a disaster like this. (But let's face it...it would have been kind of funny to see. As long as he wasn't hurt, of course.)
My son's theories included such far-fetched notions as the neighbor's horses jumping their fence and running into our patio table OR a bird landing on it with too much vigor. At the moment though, with no clues as to what compromised the integrity of the glass surface, those theories were just as good as any. I halfway expected Criss Angel to pop out of a tree and admit that he destroyed it with a wave of his hand. We were flabbergasted.
I was concerned about my basil plant surviving a three-foot fall but it sustained the crash very well. Basil is always gonna survive. It's the heartiest of the herbs, after all.
I fished my basil plant out of the wreckage as I wondered how and where I would dispose of this hot mess (literally). Lukily, the recycling pile was lousy with cardboard boxes, so much so that it appeared to be electing officers and taking over the garage. I grabbed a box and started transferring the rubble into it. I knew right away that I would not be able to utilize the full capacity of the box as it would be impossible to lift but I really tried to maximize it nonetheless. Let's just say that I put that box's durability to the test. It was obvious that reinforcements were going to be needed, so I reached for the packing tape. I figured that if my son relies on packing tape to meet over half the needs of his everyday life, I should start falling back on it too.
After forty-five minutes of sweeping and several loads of glass in the trash receptable, it was all a faint memory. All that remained was the metal skeleton, stripped of its utility. I suppose it couldn't have happened at a better time now that all the patio furniture is going into clearance soon.
Let us never forget the good times we had with the patio table. It saw us through countless parties and outdoor meals. It supported turkey fryers and even accommodated a small crawfish boil. For two years, it was Dually's headquarters -- a place where he could grab a drink of water, enjoy some kibble, and strategize about his next kill.
Patio table: 2004 - 2008. R.I.P.
I was on the phone yesterday late morning, and as usual, multitasking. Neal and our daughter were horseback riding so my son and I were alone when suddenly he claimed to hear a smashing noise. I must have heard it too on some level because I peeked out the back door for no obvious reason(just as he was alerting me from the other room) and noticed a sea of brilliant shards on the patio where my table once proudly stood.
As is my normal reflex when I see destruction of which the origin is not immediately discernible, I called out to my son. He came running to me asking "What happened to the table?" I ruled him out as a suspect when I saw that he didn't leave bloody footprints in his wake. He looked genuinely puzzled and right away started theorizing as to how such an event could have unfolded.
I ended my phone call and threw on some flip-flops to examine the accident site more closely. I could hardly bear to look at it directly because the spectrum of light coming from this pile of rubble was almost blinding. There was no evidence of a living creature toying with it which made me glad we moved the cat's feeding station from that table to the front porch over a month ago. At least he didn't set in motion the jolting that could potentially have caused a disaster like this. (But let's face it...it would have been kind of funny to see. As long as he wasn't hurt, of course.)
My son's theories included such far-fetched notions as the neighbor's horses jumping their fence and running into our patio table OR a bird landing on it with too much vigor. At the moment though, with no clues as to what compromised the integrity of the glass surface, those theories were just as good as any. I halfway expected Criss Angel to pop out of a tree and admit that he destroyed it with a wave of his hand. We were flabbergasted.
I was concerned about my basil plant surviving a three-foot fall but it sustained the crash very well. Basil is always gonna survive. It's the heartiest of the herbs, after all.
I fished my basil plant out of the wreckage as I wondered how and where I would dispose of this hot mess (literally). Lukily, the recycling pile was lousy with cardboard boxes, so much so that it appeared to be electing officers and taking over the garage. I grabbed a box and started transferring the rubble into it. I knew right away that I would not be able to utilize the full capacity of the box as it would be impossible to lift but I really tried to maximize it nonetheless. Let's just say that I put that box's durability to the test. It was obvious that reinforcements were going to be needed, so I reached for the packing tape. I figured that if my son relies on packing tape to meet over half the needs of his everyday life, I should start falling back on it too.
After forty-five minutes of sweeping and several loads of glass in the trash receptable, it was all a faint memory. All that remained was the metal skeleton, stripped of its utility. I suppose it couldn't have happened at a better time now that all the patio furniture is going into clearance soon.
Let us never forget the good times we had with the patio table. It saw us through countless parties and outdoor meals. It supported turkey fryers and even accommodated a small crawfish boil. For two years, it was Dually's headquarters -- a place where he could grab a drink of water, enjoy some kibble, and strategize about his next kill.
Patio table: 2004 - 2008. R.I.P.
Friday, August 1, 2008
Close encounters of the law enforcement kind
I was all prepared to write something spectacular today when I was returning home from the grocery store. I was in deep thought when flashing lights suddenly appeared in my rearview mirror. Knowing full well I wasn't speeding, my mind starting ticking off the checkpoints in my head. I was wearing my seat belt. I didn't pass anyone in a no-passing zone. I wasn't even on the phone or checking my make-up....
As the officer approached the window, I thought I had an idea about what it might be. I rolled down the window and gave him my documentation. Then, I coyly asked "Was I speeding....?" the same way someone asks a baby "Who's the sweetest baby....?" right before they blow a raspberry on the baby's bare midriff. For effect, I cocked my head to the side and made a pitiful face. (I learned that strategy from Remi. It usually elicits plenty of sympathy from me and he's normally able to score a table scrap.)
He then confirmed my suspicions...he was stopping me because the front license plate of the car was missing. Son of a *****!! I immediately started cursing myself but managed to flash a winning smile to mask the inner turmoil. I calmly explained to him that someone had backed into the front of the car, prying the front license plate right off the front bumper. It was actually a true story and I told it with great conviction, so much so that he got the feeling that I was completely sincere in my pledge to rectify the situation as soon as humanly possible. And I fully intend for Neal to do so.
This officer and I had quite a rapport. I mean, we didn't swap recipes or anything, but he knew that I was keenly aware of his ability to ruin my day. He excused himself back to his car to grab the clipboard of doom. I can't even recall what I was thinking in the interim except that I was pretty certain I couldn't take defensive driving for this type of offense. Then, I looked up and could have sworn I saw someone I know from my neighborhood driving past this sorry scene. Oh, the humiliation....
However, the humiliation quickly turned into elation as the officer handed me a piece of paper to sign as he said "I'm going to let you off with a warning this time but you really need to correct that as soon as possible." Right then and there, I pledged my eternal gratitude to the traffic gods.
Yes! I could enjoy my weekend without my thoughts periodically turning to an expensive vehicular violation.
Now we have to figure out how to reattach the license plate since it was completely ripped out from its very essence. This might involve some Mighty Putty. Or Gak.
As the officer approached the window, I thought I had an idea about what it might be. I rolled down the window and gave him my documentation. Then, I coyly asked "Was I speeding....?" the same way someone asks a baby "Who's the sweetest baby....?" right before they blow a raspberry on the baby's bare midriff. For effect, I cocked my head to the side and made a pitiful face. (I learned that strategy from Remi. It usually elicits plenty of sympathy from me and he's normally able to score a table scrap.)
He then confirmed my suspicions...he was stopping me because the front license plate of the car was missing. Son of a *****!! I immediately started cursing myself but managed to flash a winning smile to mask the inner turmoil. I calmly explained to him that someone had backed into the front of the car, prying the front license plate right off the front bumper. It was actually a true story and I told it with great conviction, so much so that he got the feeling that I was completely sincere in my pledge to rectify the situation as soon as humanly possible. And I fully intend for Neal to do so.
This officer and I had quite a rapport. I mean, we didn't swap recipes or anything, but he knew that I was keenly aware of his ability to ruin my day. He excused himself back to his car to grab the clipboard of doom. I can't even recall what I was thinking in the interim except that I was pretty certain I couldn't take defensive driving for this type of offense. Then, I looked up and could have sworn I saw someone I know from my neighborhood driving past this sorry scene. Oh, the humiliation....
However, the humiliation quickly turned into elation as the officer handed me a piece of paper to sign as he said "I'm going to let you off with a warning this time but you really need to correct that as soon as possible." Right then and there, I pledged my eternal gratitude to the traffic gods.
Yes! I could enjoy my weekend without my thoughts periodically turning to an expensive vehicular violation.
Now we have to figure out how to reattach the license plate since it was completely ripped out from its very essence. This might involve some Mighty Putty. Or Gak.
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