Have YOU Done Your Homework?

Parents and homework. It's like oil and water.

Kindergarteners giving oral presentations. Elementary school research projects.

AND MATH. This is my pet peeve. Because I've never minded giving my son a little guidance when he gets stuck with his homework. (I'm NOT a do-it-for-him kind of parent - he has to do it himself, but I'll help him understand it better) But I can't help with math when they change all the rules! I remember helping him in elementary school - they don't even do long division the way I learned it. All the rules had changed. They had new "methods" for getting the answers. Well, I knew the answers, but no one bothered to teach me the new "methods".

Dear Mrs. Math Teacher,
Please excuse Little Johnny from
this homework assignment, as I, his
parent, had no freaking idea what you
were trying to teach. And since simple
multiplication now requires drawing
a lattice and separating all the numbers, before
putting them all back together again, we
ran out of paper. Therefore, I let him feed it
to the dog.
Sincerely, Ally

And then came middle school. And my son was in high school level algebra. Shit. I hated that class when I took it. I think I hated the teacher more. He was obsessed with Lela's perfume and comparing her to his ex-wife. He was so creepy. And he would so be fired in today's world. But that's another blog and another story. And believe me, Lela and I can PUMP OUT the creepy, inappropriate teacher stories.

But back to math. We fought our way through Algebra 1/2 in 7th grade. Many times I had to just give him a break while I read the chapter, and re-learned the damn stuff. There were a good handful of late nights. And early mornings to school to get help. By the end of the year, my cousin (who has gone back to college in her 30's) was taking the SAME math. She was my savior. If he had trouble, we called up Aunty and he got help over the phone. How priceless is that? And he passed with all A's and B's.

We got a breather in 8th grade, because he took high school geometry. They say you either "get" algebra or you "get" geometry. But most kids have a little harder time with one or the other. He "got" geometry. Which is essentially a bummer for me, because I also "got" geometry. THAT I could have helped with. I think I had to help him once. He asked the teacher for extra explanations a few times, but basically got through the whole thing unscathed with a smile on his face and an A- in the books.

And this year it's back to Algebra 3/4. Although I will say he seems to be doing better with this one. But he missed a day of school due to INFLUENZA (dammit), and was trying to do some of the work he missed. Half-life's and Decay anyone? I'll give you a handy dandy little formula with 5 variables and only 2 numbers to plug in. Anyone? Whatever. Sorry kid, you're gonna have to ask the teacher or a classmate. And the next day? "Oh yeah, mom, she went over it in class. It was totally easy." Like I said. Whatever. You're 15 - you're on your own. You are now officially smarter than me. Book-smart, that is. I still have you on life-wisdom, so don't even go there, brainiac.

Have fun with your homework, parents. It's a barrel of fun.

***Ally

Try To Be A Smart Ass . . .

I went to McDonald's the other night because I was broke and craving some ice cream. My twelve-year-old son came with me and ordered a McFlurry, while I ordered 2 hot fudge sundaes for 99 cents each. And no, they weren't both for me, although there is a story behind that. One was for my husband, who was kind of asleep when I told him where I was going.

"Get me one, too," he grumbled.


"Okay," I said. "But if you are asleep when I return, I am eating yours." And he knows I would. That's just how we roll in our family when it comes to ice cream.


So, we get home with the goods and I pop open my plastic container of bliss before my purse hits the kitchen counter. I am standing there, inhaling my sundae when my son says, "Where's your ice cream?"


"I'm eating it."


"No, that's Dad's," he said, all full of himself.


"Well, it's mine now. What did you do? Hide the other one?" He's gotta be smarter than this.


He realized his little joke on mom wasn't working, so he reached way behind the coffee maker to retrieve "my" sundae. You know what's coming. He grabbed it from the cheap, plastic lid and half the ice cream and hot fudge landed on the counter and ran down the cupboards.

Still eating my sundae, and in a very calm voice I said, "Try to be a smart ass, and all you are is a dumb ass."

He didn't respond well to that. "You and Dad can have my McFlurry!" he yelled.

"Look," I said, scraping melted slop back into the plastic cup, "It's fine. Dad will never know." But he stomped off upstairs.

A few minutes later my husband appeared. Dang it! I told him the story and we gave my son another chance to come down and eat his stupid McFlurry.

"I don't want it. You can have it!" Came the reply from the playroom.

I looked at my husband with hunger (for ice cream) in my eyes. "Give him a few minutes, then maybe he will learn a lesson," he said.

Tick tock, tick tock. No kid coming to claim his creamy treat. My sundae cup was licked clean of all hot fudge traces, so I went into the kitchen to throw it away. There, on the counter, melted to perfection was the McFlurry. I dipped my spoon in and took a bite. Not as good as my sundae, but it would do. Then I grabbed a small bowl from the cupboard and filled it halfway, leaving some behind in case my son ever came to his senses.

About 15 minutes later my son did, in fact, come to his senses. He strolled into the kitchen like nothing had ever happened, saw his half-empty McFlurry and said, "What happened?"

The moral of the story is two-fold. First, whenever you try to be a smart ass, there is a good chance you will end up looking like a dumb ass. And second, in our household we don't mess around with ice cream.

-Lela

ReRuns and Stories

What is with all the reruns on television? Hasn't the season just begun? Don't they realize that when husband is out of town, wife wants to watch tv all night?

Although I'm sure my husband imagines it more like this:

Last week, my Thursday line up was reruns. CSI, The Mentalist. Last night, it was rerun night for NCIS and NCIS-LA. (Stop it. Listen, I've already admitted that I watch all the lame crime shows. I know, it's lame.)

So on the theme of reruns... I was just laughing with my son about something that happened when he was younger. Isn't it funny how much some kids change when they grow up?

We have two nieces - Girl #1 is the same age as my son (15), Girl #2 is three years younger (12). When Girl #1 and my son were about 6, we were all together for a holiday. Girl #2 was just barely 3 and entertaining us all with her cuteness. We thought she was just the sweetest thing ever. Girl #1 was marching a different path. She was obstinate, stubborn, a trouble maker, and a little cheater -at 6 years old!

Girl #1 and my son were sitting on the floor playing a card game - there was even one of the adults (the girls' dad) sitting with them, "helping". (Admittedly, he is a big kid himself and a complete dumbass) I happened to glance over and see her slide a card under her butt. I, being me, totally called her smart little ass out on her cheating ways. In a joking way, I thought. But game was over, she was mad at Aunt Ally, Dumbass was making her apologize, blah, blah. I laughed it off, and my husband and I later laughed that they were going to have their hands full with that girl. She was going to cause them some trouble.

Fast forward 9 years. Girl #1 is a 15 year old cheerleader with awesome grades and a totally great personality. She's a rule follower and an all around upstanding kind of kid. Sweet little Girl #2 is a 12 year old Nightmare. Seriously. She is obstinate, stubborn, passive-aggressive (at 12!), and a real pain in the ass. Here's an example: due to a medical condition, she had to have her eyes checked. She refused to let the doctor put the drops in to dilate her eyes. Refused! Kept her eyes closed. She won't drink anything but chocolate milk, refuses to eat any normal food, throws tantrums to get her way... it goes on and on.

Now I realize (and detest that) her parents are enablers. So as far as I'm concerned, they get what they deserve with her. BUT, isn't it funny how two kids can turn out so COMPLETELY different from how they were as little kids? (And so different from each other?)

Reruns ARE fun sometimes.

***Ally

Award For Us? Passing It On...

Thanks to Daffy at BATCRAP CRAZY, who is one funny lady, for this awesome award! Daffy's posts always make us chuckle, or just plain laugh out loud! If you haven't checked out her site, do it now! It's great stuff.

We'd like to pass this on to
Tampons & Chocolate because she uses the word "tampons"in her header and anyone who blogs "my husband is a big dumb jerk" deserves an award!
Green Vegan Queen because she does it honest and she does it real. Whether you are vegan, vegetarian or not, you have to respect her intelligent, well researched, witty posts.
Pink Flip Flops & Wine - she's real, she's funny, she's a great read - check it out!

(Sorry if we duplicated and any of you ladies have already received this award)

We were going to pass it on to A Lot of Loves, but she just got this award five days ago! Well deserved!



And now for "10 Honest Things About Me". Well since there are two of us, we figured we'll split 'em up and each take five.

Ally:
1. I can't go to bed without flossing my teeth or washing my face. (Apparently I have bedtime OCD)
2. I'm in love with my dog. She cocks her head when you talk to her so it looks like she's listening. We have full conversations. I think there's a person in there.
3. I love chick flicks. I don't care that they are sappy & predictable.
4. I need nine hours of sleep to feel good. I love my sleep.
5. I forgive easily - except my sister-in-law. I always have to work at that one. Really, really hard.

Lela:
1. I still think my husband is hot, especially when he is driving his race car.
2. I am a strong Christian who believes in the power of prayer!
3. That being said, I gossip too much. I am working on it.
4. I still get acne and I am very self-conscious about it.
5. I think I am a good mom and rarely feel mommy-guilt.

Garbage Oops

Taking out my bathroom garbage today, I was reminded of some garbage discoveries my son made when he was just a little guy (oh so many years ago).

His first garbage discovery was a disposable razor. Oops. It was back in that stage when a mother doesn't get to shower, pee or poop without their little one in and out of the bathroom. Moms can all relate to this lovely stage. So while I am in the shower, he finds a discarded disposable razor in the garbage can, and decides to imitate me shaving my legs. Yes, he cut himself. And thank goodness it was a tiny superficial cut. My heart almost choked me on it's way out of my chest.

But it was his SECOND garbage discovery that had us all snickering. One day he came running out of the bathroom with a discarded tampon package with the empty applicator neatly tucked inside (I am tidy about it, after all), clutched in his little hand yelling, "MOM, you threw this away, but there's something still IN here!" He was so proud of his discovery, thinking he had saved me from throwing something away that I really, really needed.

Okey dokey, then. After a quick, limited explanation that I didn't need that part and a wash of the hands, I distracted him with something else. And told him to end his obsession with my bathroom garbage can. Immediately. And then I hid it.

***Ally

A Trip To The Mall

I had to go to the mall and return the birthday gift I bought for my girl, Ally. Seems her boobs were too big for the awesome t-shirt I picked out for her.

While I was there I went into Nordstrom, an upscale department store, nicer than Macy's but not as snobby as Saks. I used to shop there all the time in my 20's, thinking nothing of buying a $20 Chanel lipstick or a $50 angora sweater. But that was when I was young, dumb and wore a size eight. Now I buy most of my clothes at Target or Old Navy just because I am cheap and lazy.

I guess you could say I was "window shopping" because all I had on me was about 5 bucks and a JoAnns coupon. The music pulled me into the ladies' department, and by music I do not mean the kind you hear in the 80's or an elevator. This was real music played by a real person on a real piano. Not to mention the beautiful dresses, skirts and sweaters in my size. Suddenly, I was transformed into a thin, single woman in her 20's (in my mind). I picked out a vintage style cocktail dress, some pencil skirts and a few sweaters.

The totally normal, non-annoying salesgirl took everything from my arms and got me a dressing room. I headed back there with some trepidation (see Another Dressing Room Surprise post). What a pleasant surprise! First, the door closed and there was absolutely no gap through which an employee could spy or video tape me. Second, it was huge and looked like a bridal dressing room, complete with platform and 3-way mirror. And the lighting was actually flattering. Really.

The dress was dreamy, even if I couldn't zip it up. You know when the salesperson knocks on your door and you freeze, thinking she can see you in your bra and underwear, or worse, that she might actually crack the door open and peek her head in? Didn't happen. "Teresa" knocked lightly and said, "Hey, Sweetie. Do you need anything?"

My standard answer is, "No-thanks-I'm-fine." But I found myself actually saying, "Yes, Teresa. Could you please get me a size 14 in this dress?" I even opened the door, unembarrassed, holding the dress closed in the back with my free hand.

Teresa, my new best friend, returned with bad news. They didn't have a 14, but she could order it. "But wait," she added. "You don't need a 14, you just can't zip that dress all by yourself." Then she glided in behind me and zipped me up!

I really did look pretty good. The dress was lined with some magical stretchy material that smoothed out all the bumpy parts, accentuated my cleavage, and concealed my muffin top . . . almost. It still was a teensy-weensy bit too small.


BUT, the whole experience was eye-opening. I can guarantee Nordstrom will never have a cockroach or pantyliner in their dressing rooms. (See Kohl's and Target, respectively.) The music and merchandise will be nothing but tasteful, and the customer service outstanding. Like my mom always says, "You get what you pay for."

If you are wondering about the dress, it cost $138 and I told Teresa, truthfully, I would be back in ten pounds.


-Lela

It's Not Really A Food Post

Or maybe it is. I don't usually do the food thing, but decided to throw this out there anyway.

Can you honestly say you get 9 servings of fruit & veggies a day? (yeah, I know, some say 5, but now "they" are saying 9, whoever they are) Even the best of us have those days when it doesn't even come close. And if you have small picky children, big picky teenagers, bigger picky adults, or a self that isn't the best veggie eater in the world, I'm here to share one of my mom secrets.

The Smoothie. Not your average smoothie, mind you. Uh-uh. This smoothie needs to be made in secret, without the watchful eyes of the small/big/bigger picky people watching. Just whip it up and present it. They'll never know.

I made one tonight. It was supposed to be a smoothie for two, but could have fed three. I'm bad at going a little overboard. Here's what went in:
*One banana
*Few slices of frozen peaches
*About a cup of frozen mixed berries, maybe a little more.
*Today's extra: a couple of slices of cantaloupe from the fridge that needed to be eaten or thrown away. I use what ever is laying around. Grapes, orange slices, etc. Or just the frozen stuff.
*A serving of vanilla protein powder of your choice
*A big splash of orange juice

Here's where it gets good:
*8 big leaves of chard, de-stemmed (you could use a couple handfuls of spinach or dark leaf lettuce - I've done them all)
*A handful of shredded carrots (must be shredded first or you get a funky texture)
*8 or 9 zucchini slices

STOP MAKING THAT FACE! I promise you won't know the last three are there!! I promise!

Add water and blend on HIGH. The "high" setting is important as it pulverizes all evidence of secret mom ingredients that small/big/bigger picky eaters would otherwise turn their noses up at.

(I also add a squirt of flax seed oil and a few drops of stevia. You could use honey, or agave. It's a preference thing and often depends on the sweetness of the fruit you add. Grapes are a good natural sweetener.)

Pour and serve. Use one of those ridiculous cute cups cluttering your cupboards and add a straw for flair and your small people will think you are super cool. The big people might, too. For that matter, I like the straw. Anyway, you just served up several servings of produce per glass.

And stop smiling for crying out loud! They'll get suspicious.

***Ally

People Are Odd

Do you ever have one of those days where everyone just seems a little odd? Or maybe a lot odd?

Like the kid in the produce department of the super store that had 'something' on his finger. I don't want to know what the 'something' was. I don't know if was from gross produce he touched (I'd rather think he didn't touch anything I am going to eat) or maybe he was picking his nose. Whatever. Don't want to know. But whatever it was, he didn't want it there anymore, so he leaned down and wiped it on the mat on the floor. You know, those big indoor/outdoor carpet mats they put down to keep people from slipping? Just wiped his 'something' right there on the floor. Gross. Did I mention he was like 12?

Oh and same super store, I'm walking past their little tiny furniture department and there's an older lady sitting on a loveseat right next to the price tag, and she's knitting. She has a plastic bag with her yarn and she's pulling it out and knitting. On the loveseat with the price tag. In the super store. And it's not like she's an old lady that needed to sit while her companion ran to get something they forgot, because she has her knitting. All ready to go. In the super store.

Then a guy walked past the produce department, past ME, and coughed. A big wet cough. But hey, he covered his mouth. With his hand. But his hand was about 4 inches in front of his mouth. I swear I saw a big cloud of H1N1 bugs spread out 10 feet around him. I did, really. Or maybe not, but I imagined it anyway. I held my breath and walked as fast as I could to get as far away as I could, because I didn't want to breathe them in. I think I made the bakery before I felt like I was going to pass out from lack of oxygen. I'm pretty sure no one noticed I was turning blue.

Or the client who you haven't seen for a year, who comes in with "new" hair. But the new hair is really dark - too dark for her complexion. And really too dark for her really light eyebrows. And really, really curly. And I'm thinking this change isn't so good. And it's actually kind of scary, but I can't stop looking at it. And now I can't remember what it USED to look like, but I KNOW it didn't look like this. And we're trying to talk, but my mind is screaming, "hair, hair, hair". And I'm telling my mind, "Shut up! I know ! I see it already. Concentrate on what she's saying." And my mind says, "No way! Hair, hair, hair." Shit.

Yeah, it's been one of those "odd" days. But even an odd day is blog-worthy!
***Ally

No More Man Spray

My son hoards money. Really, he’s very good at saving. He’s never been one of those kids that lets money burn a hole in his pocket. He thinks and plans and figures out what he wants and then saves. And he usually has more spending money than I do!

Usually for birthdays and Christmas, he will list the expensive items he wants on his list. I think he’s figured out that no one is going to go buy some $200 item (unless it’s his sucker parents), so they just give him money TOWARD his expensive items. He’s got all his relatives figured out and they all fall for it.

So on his wish list was a North Face jacket. The one ALL the teenagers are wearing. When he announced that he wanted said $165 jacket, I gave him my usual reply of “save your money”. Which he did.

So last weekend we trekked out to our local Sports Authority to pick up the jacket. He got it home, promptly put it on and wore it all afternoon. And the next day. I know he was hot in it. He said he wasn’t. Whatever. But partway through Sunday he made a comment that “it stinks”. Upon questioning, he said it just had a funky “new” smell. Said it smelled like the store.

I thought nothing of it. Until a little while later his bathroom door closed and I heard this unmistakeable sound. Shhhhh Shhhhhhh. Shhhhh Shhhhhh. My brain was realizing what that sound was. I could not get to the door before the next Shhhhhh Shhhhhhh happens.

I yell for him to stop and ask what he is doing, even though I already KNOW. He was spraying the jacket with “man spray”. That’s what we call Axe and all it’s evil sibling brands in our house. It’s that overly stinky crap that teenage and pubescent boys think they need to use to excess. They want to use the body wash, the shampoo, the deodorant and the spray. All of it, one right after another. And let me tell you, the deodorant is too strong all by itself. I’m surprised teachers haven’t staged a revolt and banned kids from wearing it to school. I hate that stuff.

We have lectured our son and told him how you should never feel the need to move away from someone who is the source of that kind of smell. A girl should be able to walk by, catch a faint whiff and question whether it’s coming from you. THAT’S how it should work. He’s usually pretty good about it.

But not that day. No, after hours of hanging outside to no avail, we had to put it in the wash. The brand new $165 jacket. In the washing machine.

To his benefit, he admitted feeling stupid after he did it. Said he didn’t know what he was thinking. Said he’d never do THAT again. And the jacket came out fine. Just like new, without any smells. Ugh.

Live and learn. That’s what I say.
***Ally

Back In The Day

I just HAD to comment on Ally's "Stealing Sunday" post. I, of course, knew all those things about my sister-friend except one. I cannot believe she has never tried Jagermeister!

What about the bar in Maui? Are you sure? It tastes like cough syrup and comes in a shot glass a few minutes before the bar closes. Some drunk guy usually pays for it. Think about it.

Speaking of dumb things we did in our youth . . .

We got ding-dong-ditched the other night. That is when someone rings your doorbell and runs off, leaving you to get up off the comfortable couch, walk all the way over to the front door and open it, only to find that nobody is there. Classic.

Right after the doorbell rang I could hear giggling pre-teen boys running down the street. My 12-year-old son ran to the door and yelled to his friends, "You suck at ding-dong-ditching!"

His friends returned and they rendezvoused on the front porch. A few minutes later my son asked, "Hey Mom, can I go ding-dong-ditching with my friends?"

"Boys," I said, "You do not ask permission for such things. You just go and do it. I can't give you permission to do that."

"I have permission from my Dad," answered one of the kids.

I was so confused! What's next? Asking me to buy them toilet paper so they can T.P. houses?

Here's what I said, "I don't know what you are doing, but be back by 9 p.m. "

Geez.

-Lela

Sunday Stealing - The ABC's of Meme

If you'd like to play along, go here. Grabbed this thread from Erin at The Mother Load.

A- Advocate for: cancer patients

B- Best Feature: my legs. Long, decent shaped and no cellulite. At least last time I looked. A few years ago.

C- Could do without: zits and cyst-prone skin. And PMS.

D- Dreams and desires: I want to retire to Hawaii. In fact I want to move BEFORE I retire.

E- Essential items: my Mac laptop. I break out in a rash thinking of being without it.

F- Favorite past time: reading and apparently hanging out on blogs.

G- Good at: taking care of other people.

H- Have never tried: snowboarding, jagermeister - thank you very much.

I- If I had a million dollars: buy land on Maui. And a few new clothing items.

J- Junkie for: sugar.

K- Kindred spirit: Lela.

L- Little known fact: I had a tumor removed from my leg last year that for two whole weeks (or was it three? felt like a decade) we thought was a really bad, scary kind of cancer. It wasn't. But we were so freaked we hardly told anyone.

M- Memorable moment: the birth of my son. Sappy, I know.

N- Never again will I: have a severe hangover. No.Thank.You.

O- Occasional indulgence: chocolate milkshakes.

P- Profession: massage therapist specializing in sports injury rehab.

Q- Quote: To be happy, it first takes being comfortable in your own shoes. The rest can work up from there. ―Sophia Bush

R- Reason to smile: It didn't rain today! (It poured yesterday. All. Day.)

S- Sorry about: losing my temper about my sister-in-law. Who is certifiably crazy.

T- Things you are worrying about right now: my mother-in-law is dying from cancer.

U- Uninterested in: learning to play racquetball. Which my husband loves. Sorry.

V- Very scared of: cancer. I know, it's a theme in my life.

W- Worst habits: sugar, bad posture.

X- X marks my ideal vacation spot: Maui. Always.

Y - Yummiest dessert: creme brulee or flan.

Z- Zodiac sign: Libra

***Ally

A Huge Thank You For An Award!

Holly and Cherise over at Life Laugh Latte get together once a week and video great conversations about the realities of life. You know - being moms, marriage, family, friendship, life's craziness. And how could we not love that, being two moms and best friends ourselves?

Today, they passed on this super cute award they received, to US and five other awesome bloggers. I've been to those other bloggers' sites and we are duly flattered to be among them. (I wrote this part of the speech for my future Academy Award, but figured I'd stop holding my breath)








Thanks to Holly and Cherise for reading our stuff and passing on the award! Grab your cup of coffee and check them out!
Ally & Lela

What's On Your To-Do List?

Do you make lists? I am a list maker. It's the only way I remember anything. Often by the end of the week I have multiple small lists in my purse - on sticky notes, on receipts, whatever. I usually sit down and combine them into a master list of To-Do's.

This is my current list:
Driving School - this is a reminder to sign my son up for driver's ed. It has been transferred through at least 3 lists. I think you'll understand why I'm in no big fat hurry to get this done.

Transfer Money - this is a reminder to transfer money from our savings account to our checking account to cover the checks I wrote. Two weeks ago. Oops.

The Shack - this is the name of a book a friend wants me to read. I don't remember which friend and I don't remember what it's about. Hey, at least I remembered that it was a book!

Schedule annual gyn appt - well, I don't have to explain why this one keeps getting transferred from list to list. I think I'd rather sign my son up for driver's ed.

Mammogram - see previous list item which must be accomplished to get the referral for this smashing good time (pun very much intended).

Dentist - well, I'm on a roll here. Three of my least favorite things to do on earth. Have someone examine my nether regions while my legs are in the air, have someone smash my boobs, or have the evil dental hygienist scrape my teeth until my gums bleed. The decision on which to do first (last) is almost too much excitement for one day.

B-Day card for SH - but hey, her birthday isn't until the 19th! I can still complete this one on time! If I hand deliver it...

Ibuprofen - was supposed to add this one to the grocery list. Maybe next week.

Can you see why my lists never get done?? Ah, but there's another week ahead and another transfer of things to do on a nice clean sheet of paper. And wouldn't it be nice if my list said "Nothing".

***Ally

When you gotta go, you gotta go... I guess.

This morning, I was walking from my bedroom to another room in sweats and a bra. I mean, no one can really see in, right? RIGHT?

Anyway, there was a Town Car (the kind you go to the airport in) in front of my neighbor's house. I paused because, while the husband does a lot of traveling, he usually leaves his car at the airport. But I also know that the wife's father is battling cancer and wondered if it was her heading to the airport. Okay, lame excuse, so I was being a nosy neighbor! It's called Neighborhood WATCH, isn't it?

First, the driver - tan pants, shirt with huge wide black and yellow horizontal stripes (is that part of your Bumble Bee Halloween costume, dude?) and leather jacket. He carries some bag from the house and puts in in the trunk of the car. Then he makes his way around the car with a little hand held brush cleaning off seats. (Wouldn't you have done that BEFORE arriving at your pick-up location?) He's just killing time.

Let me paint the picture - the drivers side of the car is nearest the house, the passenger side facing the middle of the road. Small road. Lined with cars. Lined with houses. It's the "U" in a u-shaped road. Did I say small road? Classic residential neighborhood filled with box houses built too close together. No privacy.

Now that I've painted the picture... he walks to the passenger side, opens both front and back doors as a visual block, looks all around and reaches in his pants. I, having a husband and a teenage son, assume he is doing some male adjusting. Then it looks like he's zipping up his pants.

WAIT! NO! He's UNZIPPING his pants! Aaaaaannnnddd, he's taking a leak. Oh yes he is! Right there in the street. Peeing right there on the pavement. Right there next to the car. Right there where every resident in every house can see him. Especially those who happen to be upstairs, like me, with a birds-eye view. He continues to look around the whole time. Cause what, if he sees someone he'll be able to pretend he was doing something else? Like what, masturbating? At one point, I was sure he was staring at me and froze. And then I thought, Yeah? And who is the dumb ass here? Not me. I might be wearing a bra with no shirt IN MY HOUSE, but YOU are peeing in the street.

Then he zips it up, closes the doors, glances at the puddle he has created on the street and goes and sits in his car. I will say that the road was damp from overnight rain. It was not, however, wet. So neighbors, that is not a puddle of rainwater in your street, it is a puddle of pee. Man pee.

When ya gotta go, ya gotta go.... I guess.

***Ally

PS - maybe he should stock up on the iPee! My husband got a sample of this thing from a trade show. Too funny. It's to keep truck drivers (and airport drivers, apparently) from peeing in plastic bottles and littering the side of the road. Silly me, I didn't realize this was a problem. I thought all that trash really was just water bottles. Glad I never stopped to look. I believe the slanted top makes them women friendly. Uh-huh. I'd still have pee all over the car seat. They have a website for your own enjoyment. http://www.shop.theipee.com/main.sc

My Son's Halloween Costume History

Year 1: Ladybug.
Homemade from an Anne Geddes pattern. Level of difficulty: very advanced. Price: $50 when it was all said and done. Don't tell husband. Who knew upholstery foam was so expensive and difficult to shape into a shell?

Year 2: Teletubby.
My son was Po (the red one, and technically a girl) because I could not find any green fleece. He was too young to argue. Level of difficulty: easy, when you use safety pins instead of zippers. Price: under $50.

Year 3: Cowardly Lion.
I wanted him to be the Tin Man. WARNING: By age 3 they have a mind of their own. Price and level of difficulty begin to go down with experience. Had to bribe son with drinks of Dr. Pepper to get him to wear costume. Pain in the ass and people thought he was a bear.

Year 4: Squirtle, a Pokemon character.
I was forced to give in to the stupid fads and crazes of the times. At least I recycled the ladybug costume into a turtle (Squirtle) shell.

Years 5-6: Ninja.
It is not so much the costume as the weapons that are important. I went to the 99 Cent store and bought every toy knife they had. My son broke them all before Halloween so the backups were a good idea.

Year 7: Army Guy.
It helps if your husband has extra military stuff to add to costume. Don't forget the plastic AK-47.

Note: Have you noticed I don't buy costumes? Of course my son begged to be a Storm Trooper, but have you seen the price of those things? (And don't remind me of the $50 ladybug because technically, I got 2 costumes out of it.)

Years 8-9: I honestly forgot (bad mom, I know). Something to do with a black cape, which I made, of course.

Year 10: Freddy Krueger.
Not totally appropriate, but I finally gave in. And yes, you can paint red stripes on a shirt with acrylic craft paint when no Freddy Krueger shirts are to be found the day before Halloween at the thrift store. It's called improvising.

Year 11: Kenny from Southpark.
My son is not allowed to watch the raunchy Southpark cartoon, but the costume consisted of an orange hooded sweatshirt and brown gloves. I had better things to do than sew a real costume.

Which brings us to today, year 12.
My son doesn't know if he is going trick-or-treating, he is getting kind of old for it. This is the first year of his life he has not asked me to help with a costume and I am not sad, but relieved. He said something about wearing his gas mask and borrowing a chainsaw. I don't think so.

Anyway, now I can get started on the monkey costume I offered to make for my neighbor's baby boy.

-Lela

Wordless Wednesday... One of Those Days

High School Drama Initiation

I think I'm glad I didn't go to Homecoming my freshman year. After much deliberation, my son decided to go to homecoming. There was much drama about who with, but it was finally decided.

Okay, so here's the deal. Six kids, "just friends", paired up for pics & tix.
Boy 1 & Girl 1
Boy 2 & Girl 2
K (my son) & Girl 3 (who he has known since they were 5)

We meet at Girl 3's house, do pictures, and then I drive them to the restaurant in an SUV so they can all ride together.

My husband and I drop them at their dinner restaurant. We had to take two cars originally, as there's not room for both my husband and I plus 6 kids in the SUV. We leave SUV at the restaurant and my husband & I proceed to California Pizza Kitchen for dinner as it also happens to be our anniversary. Before ordering dessert (it was our anniversary, after all), I text K to make sure we'll have enough time to eat it. I ask him, "Do you still have a while to go?". His reply: "Yes".

We order dessert. Five minutes later, I get a text: "We are done". WTF?? I tell him we are 15 minutes away, as my husband and I inhale the rest of the chocolate soufle & ice cream. He says they are going to go to a store to wait. There are no "stores" nearby, except the Harley Davidson store which is long closed at 8:00 on a Saturday night. I tell him to wait there. He says they are already outside. It's cold out and they (the girls) don't have coats, by the way.

We fly to the restaurant, I get the SUV and go across the street to pick them up at Burger King. WTF, AGAIN?? But I say nothing because this is totally something I would have done as a teenager. Walk to Burger King for no reason. But I have this paranoia when other people believe I am responsible for their kids.

Drop them at dance at 8:30pm (which is the beginning of the dance).

Boy 1 apparently tries to hold Girl 1's hand. Girl 1 freaks out and calls for a ride home. Boy 1, smart boy that he is, says "whatever" and goes and dances with friends all night.

Boy 2 & Girl 2 stand around until 10:20pm at which time they decide to leave and go to the movies. Did you see me say it was 10:20pm? And they are in a formal dress and tux? And someone's parent had to agree with this because they have to be driven there! They are freshman! They can't drive yet!

K & Girl 3 stand around 'watching' the dance for TWO HOURS because Girl 3 does not want to dance. WHAT?? K asks her several times. K is dying a slow death. This is the boy who proudly told me he danced to EVERY song at the last 8th grade dance last year. He's a dancing machine (which I find hilarious - can he be my son?). Why did Girl 3 want to go to a DANCE if she doesn't like to dance? At 10:30pm she calls for her ride and goes home because she is bored. No kidding, girl, you weren't dancing!! K calls and asks if he can stay another hour and dance with friends (he was supposed to get a ride home with Girl 3). We say OF COURSE - HAVE FUN!!!

So all in all, K says he's glad he got the experience, but overall it was a "disappointment". I am sad for him. But, as always in high school, Monday is another day, and by Tuesday, the whole high school world will have forgotten about homecoming! And I will still be tallying up the expenses... corsage -$25, tux rental -$130, tickets -$25, dinner....
***Ally

Five Reasons I Could NOT Be On Survivor...

I think I'm pretty tough, and I'm not a girly-girl that would freak without makeup and heels. I like camping (or at least I used to 10 years ago). I can start a fire (or at least I could 10 years ago). But there are some serious reasons that I could not spend 39 days on Survivor.

1. I am addicted to hand lotion. Seriously addicted. Every time I wash my hands, on goes the hand lotion. After dishes? Hand lotion. Shower? Hand lotion. You get the idea. And all that wet they do on Survivor... I would not be able to deal with prune hands.

2. Zits. I have a tendency toward them, especially with sweat and lack of face wash. I always do the zit check in the mirror. Last I looked there are no mirrors hanging on the palm trees. (So without mirrors, I realize I wouldn't see them, but the rest of America would)

3. Hairy armpits. Could. Not. Do. It. Another small addiction of mine - shaving. Armpits and bikini line - every day. I will sometimes, on occasion, with much weighing of pros and cons, skip a day of shaving my legs. What can I say, I have dark, course hair. It's gross. And hairy. And prickly.

4. B.O. You know some of those folks are RIPE out there. Yeah, they are in the water and all that, but it's still nasty. Sweaty, dirty bodies all huddled together for warmth to sleep and then someone puts an arm up over their head... and the B.O. infiltrates. And bad breath. They are brushing their teeth with leaves for crying out loud.

5. Bugs. I think I've made it clear in previous posts (The Web Dance and I'm Currently...) that I really don't do spiders. I don't really do other gross bugs either. (see Lela's post, Another Dressing Room Surprise, which would have made me run naked out of the dressing room). And mosquito bites are the bane of my existence. That's what screens are for. To keep the bugs out. What do you suppose crawls on those Survivor folks while they are sleeping on their bamboo and leaf beds? What is laying eggs in their hair?

Yeah, but hey, except for those little five things, I'm sure I would last the whole 39 days. Not.

***Ally

Baby Fat

Age: 42
Height: 5 feet 9 inches
Weight: 182 pounds

Yep, that's me today. Ten years and thirty pounds ago a male coworker told me, "You are not petite." I have also been called athletic, big-boned and sturdy. All true.

Which brings me to a conversation that came up yesterday at Boot Camp. You see, I am not thin but I am strong. I have been doing a rigorous fitness boot camp 3 days a week for over a year. The women in my 6am class come in all shapes and sizes. Some come in full hair and make up and others, like me, roll out of bed and show up. You would think I would be mistaken for Cindy Crawford by now, but I am living proof that weight loss is more diet than exercise.

Anyway, I had finished my push-ups, planks, stair runs, squats and sit-ups. We were doing our final stretches when the new girl started talking. She is beautiful and young with a great body. Sometimes we get those girls who just want to "firm up" for a swimsuit shoot and they are gone after a month. Whatever.

Turns out she just had a baby 4 months ago. No way! I was rocking a size 22 from Lane Bryant when my baby was 4 months old! I am a lifetime member of Weight Watchers who hasn't seen my goal weight for 10 years! I have been going to Boot Camp for a year and have gained weight!


The moral of this story is: Who cares? With age comes wisdom and with weight gain comes filled-in wrinkles and bigger boobs. That being said, I couldn't resist announcing to the new girl, "I just had a baby, too."

. . . "Twelve years ago."

-Lela

I'm Currently...

Over at Airing My Dirty Laundry, One Sock At A Time, Whispering Writer wrote a post called "Currently I'm...". I loved the idea, so thought I'd give it a go today.

I'm currently... a little grossed out by the picture of the tarantula my sister-in-law JUST texted to my husband's phone. She is in Arkansas with my mother-in-law, who is in home hospice care. We've been taking 'shifts' being her 24 hour caregivers. I just got back from a week long shift down there with her. Anyway, my SIL was on the way to the mailbox when she saw this little (GIANT) creature trying to get in the garage. Somehow she found a moment to take a picture (I would have been running down the street arms waving in the air) and is, as I type this, trying to use a shovel to scoop it up and carry it across the street to the woods. ARE YOU KIDDING ME? Isn't there someone you can call for this kind of thing? All those friends that keep calling asking if there's anything they can do? I'd have called one of them and begged for help. I don't do tarantulas.

I'm currently... looking at the empty plate where the "just one little slice" of quiche I made last night was just a few minutes ago. It's not breakfast time and it's not lunch time, but I was hungry (because I'm still on Arkansas time instead of West Coast time - I love excuses) so I thought I'd just have a little. Confession: I've never made quiche from scratch before. Okay, not totally from scratch, because I think making pie crust is dumb when you can buy so many good frozen or pre-made ones. But the filling I "made". I mean it's scrambled eggs in a pie crust with lots of extra fat thrown in. How hard is that? Actually, I have a whole bunch of chard and tomatoes in my garden so I decided this would be a good way to use some. I added mushrooms and onions and garlic and made a veggie quiche. DE-LISH-OUS. And I'm not really a quiche eater. I used slightly less MAYO, non-fat milk and much less CHEESE than the recipe called for to try to cut the OVERABUNDANCE of FAT in the thing. But still, very good. BTW, who ever came up with this dish? Eggs, mayo, milk (or cream), and a load of cheese in a pie shell? I think my pants just got tighter thinking about it. (This picture is NOT the "little slice" I ate, it's what is left - stop thinking I'm a pig!)

I'm currently... having a day off from work, thank you very much Mr. Bad Economy. Not that I mind a day off, it's just that I do tend to mind when it comes time to pay little things, like the mortgage. And the health insurance. And the utilities. And the Visa bill. You get the idea. Notice I assigned the Bad Economy the title of "Mr.", cause there's no way a woman would let things get this bad. Well, maybe a few women would, but not the NORMAL women I know. Anyway, with a day off, I am sitting around in yoga pants, LIVESTRONG t-shirt, no make-up, and trying to love every second.

I'm currently... wondering how my son's first homecoming dance will go this Saturday? I've been seeing pictures from friends around the country on facebook. It seems that we are much more formal about homecoming here in the Northwest. In all the pictures I've seen, the boys are all wearing dress slacks, dress shirt and tie. The girls in cocktail-type dresses - some more or less appropriate than others (making me glad I have a son, not a daughter). But here, the boys do the tux thing for homecoming. There was lots of stink about who my son was going with, and he ended up going with a group of "friends" who are pairing up for tickets and pictures, but still "just friends". I happen to know that my son's "friend", who he has known since they were 5, has a monster size crush on him and has accepted the "just friends" thing because that's the only way she could go with him. I'm just hoping it doesn't blow up when she realizes that she wasn't able to "change" him into liking her as more than "friends". Because he likes another girl, who is going with "friends"... don't ask. Listen up, girl, you'll NEVER change them! Learn it now, while the mistakes pass quickly and a new boy will come along next week! Ouch - the drama of high school!!

I'm currently... going on the hunt for just one little piece of chocolate. Just a little one. Just a taste. THIS is why I cannot have days off. I don't do 'nothing' very well. And while I have PLENTY of projects desperate to be done, I'm a huge procrastinator. And the best way to procrastinate? Eat. Seriously. Try it some time. Total distraction. You have to go to the kitchen. Find what you want. Maybe make it. Clean up after. Put things away. BAM! An hour's gone and you haven't had to do any 'projects' yet! Works every time. No, don't REALLY do it. It's an awful habit. I'll go have a cup of tea instead. Much better and I can take the tea with me to do projects. But maybe just a little bite...

***Ally

Hit and Run

Have you ever been driving around a parking lot looking for a space, only to find one and realize that a person is standing there "saving" it? If so, have you ever wanted to run that person over?

Well, I lived out that fantasy this weekend, sort of.

I went to a children's book fair at a local community college with some friends. The parking lot had open spaces, but they were tight and I have enough scratches on the doors of my car, so I drove around a little. I found the perfect spot but some lady was standing in the middle of it on her cell phone so I drove on by. But something made me circle around and head back for "her" spot, just to see what she would do.

I pretended I didn't see her and pulled in. She ran toward my car, one hand holding the phone to her ear and the other hand "halting" me.

"I am saving this spot for my son!" she yelled.

"What? I can't hear you!" I mouthed, shaking my head and pointing to my ears.

"There is another spot over there!" she yelled, pointing 2 spots away.

"Why don't YOU take it?" I asked/yelled.

O.K. I had my fun. She wasn't going to move and I didn't need a hit and run on my record. I started to back out and head for the empty space less than 10 yards away when a black car pulled up next to me. The son.

I rolled down my window (so did he, soul patch, spiked hair and all) and I calmly said to him, "You should be embarrassed."

This was his mature reply, "You should be embarrassed by the way that you look!"

No, they should be embarrassed, seriously.

Lela

More Airport Grossness

You could (okay, I could) just sit in an airport all day and be completely entertained by watching people do weird and gross things. Maybe it's that people sort of lose their common sense when they go on vacation.

Or maybe people are just weird and gross.

It was well past time that my VERY delayed American Eagle flight was supposed to leave the small airport I was sitting in. My two hour layover in Dallas was quickly disappearing. And it is not the first time that American Airlines/American Eagle has done this... No in fact it's probably happened FOUR of the last FIVE times I've flown this route. (Sorry, American, but I'm still irritated.)

Okay, they irritate me so much I got distracted. ANYWAY, I decided to pop into Starbucks. Seeing as how the heat in the airport either wasn't working or they were trying to save money by freezing us out while we waited for our delayed flight, I figured a hot coffee drink was in order.

The lady two people in front of me ordered a hot chocolate. With FOUR Splenda. That's right, that's what I said. FOUR Splenda in her already sugar sweetened hot chocolate. Have you tasted the sweetness of Splenda? It's pretty sweet, right? And did I mention that it was hot chocolate? Which is already sweet? I love sweets as much as the next guy, but I can't even fathom what she was thinking.

Then the lady in front of me orders a frappuccino. The stacks of hot cups were upside down, as they should be. You grab the next one from the bottom, write on it and pass it to the barista. BUT the cold cups, those were stacked right side up. The only way to grab one of those babies is by grabbing the lip. But nooooooo, register girl grabs the next cup by putting her dirty, money touching thumb INSIDE the plastic cup and picking it up that way. She's touched money, peoples hands, credit cards and God know's what else and then she sticks her nasty, germ ridden thumb INSIDE someone's drink cup. (I DID mention in a previous post that I am airport germophobic)

I've never worked food service, but even I know you don't touch the inside of the cups and glasses. Seeing as that's where the drink goes that someone will..... drink. If it had been me? I'd have given register girl a little lesson in food service common sense. But I had a HOT drink, which she picked up by the bottom - 'cause you know I watched her like a hawk.

And to the lady with the frap? Hey, you were watching, too. Cheers! Enjoy your germy drink!

***Ally

Not So Hidden Meaning

As a means to clarify my, apparently, insufficient communication, I have written to my husband and son.

Dear Son,
Sometimes I ask you to "empty the dishwasher". Despite the simplicity of those words, they actually have a deeper meaning. It does not simply mean to empty the dishwasher and walk away. It also means that once the dishwasher is empty, please load the sink full of dirty dishes into it. Oh, and the reason the sink is full of dirty dishes is that I asked you to empty the dishwasher SIX HOURS AGO. But since you had more important things to do, like text 9 different girls and play the drums and find videos on YouTube, dishes have been stacking up. THEY NEED TO GO IN THE DISHWASHER. Unless of course you'd rather hand wash them yourself.
Thanks for finally, after the hundredth time, hearing what I'm saying. You're the best son I have.*
Love, Mom

*I have one child - a son.

Dear My Loving Husband,
Occasionally, and it is rare, I ask you to clean the bathroom sinks. Now I realize that the male brain hears an instruction and follows it. So it is totally not your fault that when I walk into the bathroom, I have two sparkling sinks in a sea of dirtiness. You see, in a woman's world, when you scrub the sink, you also scrub the counter top surrounding the sink. And you clean the mirror hanging above the sink. So, I know you were only following the directions you heard. But now that we've clarified the true meaning of the words, I'm sure the bathroom counter will sparkle, as well.
Your the best husband I have. **
Your Loving Wife

**He's the only husband I have. I am not a polygamist.

***Ally

Cave Woman

My son sleeps in a cave. He has a bunk bed that we cut the legs down on, leaving just enough room under the bed for a 12-year-old to set up camp. A comforter serves as a mattress on the ground and every spare blanket in the house is used to block out all forms of light. Elaborate systems made of shoelaces and bandannas secure Ipods, battery operated lights, and toys to the wooden frame underneath. It's a little smelly, but totally cool.

I, on the other hand, sleep in a ditch. That's how my husband and I refer to the valleys we have worn into our perspective sides of the bed. The sheets and blankets are approximately 6 inches shorter than the mattress, creating a constant draft on our toes. Good thing the weather has been warm and we can sleep with the window open, allowing the sounds of various car alarms and barking dogs into our room.

Have I mentioned my husband's snoring? That only keeps me awake 2 hours before his 3 alarms go off. First, the radio blares for 15 minutes, followed by the buzzing alarm clock, and finally his phone alarm rings. After kicking and nudging him a while, he gets up and shakes the whole bed while putting on his pants and socks. Don't ask.

After he revs up his loud diesel work truck and lets it idle for 10 minutes, the neighbors and I can hear him drive off to work. Thankfully at that time I have a small window of peace and quiet before the paper boy (middle-aged man driving clunker with no muffler) throws the news onto my driveway with a noisy "thud".

That is my signal to go wake up my son for school.

I gotta get my own cave.

Lela