Awkward Bumps

No, not muffin tops. I'm talking about when you bump into someone you'd rather not. Let me back up.

I dated a guy once. Shocking, right?

Alright, alright. Here's the very short version. I had finished my two years at community college, met a guy through... his parents (ack - that's a whole other story), hit it off right away, dated for a while, thought we were in looove. Problem? He was in the Navy. He shipped out for 6 months and I played the patient girlfriend waiting for him to come home. I sent cookies, letters, did the whole supportive distance thing. But, you know, I was 21. I did get a little bored at the end of the 6 months, and the letters may have gotten a little farther apart, just sayin'. But he came home and we were sooo happy to see each other.

And then I told him I had been offered a job contract in Maui for a year. I figured it would be fine, after all, he would be gone for another 6 months of that time.

"Well," he said, "we should probably see other people."

Uh, okay. So I wait for you for 6 months, you are stationed in another state, and will be shipping out for another 6 months, but because I'll be out of state for a year, we should see other people?

Well, yes, actually that's EXACTLY what should have happened. Thank God. Even if I didn't think so at the time.

I shipped out. He shipped out. I found freedom in Maui at 21 years old. A-LOOOO-HA!!! 

I met my now-husband. We fell in love. Somewhere of the beginning of that relationship, I got a letter from Mr. Navy Man. He would be on layover in Honolulu. I should come meet him. Oh and I should bring a friend for his friend.

Hahahahahahahahahahaha. Seriously? He's back and calling, so I should go running? No thanks.

Eventually I moved home, with my now-husband. Mr. Navy Man was also back in the area. Remember now - I met him through his family, and I still had ties with them. Rumor circulating was that Mr. Navy Man wanted to date me again. Um, no. I was in a relationship that everyone knew about - we were living together, after all - and I was seriously starting to wonder who this guy thought he was!

On my now-husband's 30th birthday. We are sitting at a table in a bar downtown - me & Hubs, SIL & her husband, & Lela and (I think) another friend. My back is to the door. Lela looks toward the door, smiles, and says through her teeth like a ventriloquist, "Don't turn around, but Mr. Navy Man is heading straight for you."

What the what?

Awkward. Gee, Hi, Mr. Navy Man who supposedly wants to date again, let me introduce my live in boyfriend that I want to marry... 

And marry I did. Mr. Navy Man's family was invited to the wedding. We had disposable cameras on all the tables for people to take snapshots at the reception (Yes, I've been married a long time - since before digital photography - shut it). Mr. Navy Man had his picture taken with his sad face in his hand looking like he was pining for me. They thought it was hilarious. I thought it was awkward. 

Fast forward to six years ago. I've started a new business, new job. It's my first day. I've just seen my first patient and am sitting in the front office doing paperwork. In walk three fireman to do an extinguisher inspection. I look up and who do I see? Mr. Navy Man (who is now Mr. Fireman). I say hi. 

He says, "Wow, hi. How long have you been working here?"

I look at my watch, look back at him, and reply, "About an hour and a half." Dead pan.

Him, "No, really."

Me, "No, really. Just started today."

Ha. That put a spin on awkward.

Yeah, no idea what he's doing today. I assume he's still a fireman. I don't see him around. Unfortunately, his parents split up and I've lost contact with his family. I hope they are all well. 

Yeah, 18 years of happy marriage takes away all the awkward. I just laugh looking back at it now. 

Good times, people. Good times.

***Ally
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Ride A What?

Ride a Duck. That's one of the things Lela wanted to do while she was in town.

Not the feathered kind. The WWII amphibious landing craft that have been turned into tongue-in-cheek tourist attractions in major cities with water.

So Ride The Duck, we did. Lela, me, one of her sisters and her stepson.

If you've never ridden the Ducks, part of the deal is a goofy driver/captain that part entertains-part embarrasses anyone who is willing, while giving you a fairly genuine quick tour of the area by both land and water. Our particular driver donned several wigs and hats, quacked the quacker hanging from his neck, had us wave and yell at complete strangers and played loads of disco music over the loud speaker.

Confession: *we really wanted to be on the Duck that left before us with the driver dressed as a pirate* - we are positive that had he turned around and we'd seen his face, he would have looked just like Johnny Depp. Positive.

Anyquacker, the unfortunate part of our experience was that we picked the same day for this excursion as the Rock N Roll Marathon. Traffic was hell and streets were blocked and detoured.

We sat on the Duck for 40 minutes on one street locked into traffic. We got through it and into the water, but our land tour was pretty much cut out. But the water portion was fun, with great views.

That's the Space Needle for you non-Seattleites.

Here's a 14 second video. Humor me and watch so I can point out a thing or two:

1) Nice wig, no?

2) Nice music, no?

3) Lady in orange - full credit for participation, even with lack of rhythm. She was great.

4) Chick in the white and her friend next to her (that you can't see) knew every word to every song and danced to them all. Hilarious. Loved them.

5) Notice the Duck is just sitting in the beginning. As we begin to move forward again, the song says "Stayin' Alive" and the Captain raises arms, dancing his jig.... as we are moving down the street.  Look Ma, no hands!!! Dude, hands on the wheel please!

I have several more videos, but I won't put you through that. No one should be put through Brick House and YMCA unless you are actually there to experience it.

However, when you are waiting in traffic for long periods of time with nothing but a boat full of strangers and disco music, you do tend to notice things:

Like this fine gentleman. Hey, wait! Is that Will Farrell? Napoleon Dynamite? No, just a local. Let me just say - those shorts were, uh, short. And nice tube socks. We were trying to decide if he ran the marathon in that get-up, or was on his way to a 70's dress up party? Or...?

Fun day had by all.  QUACK!

***Ally & Lela

On the Link on our way downtown for the Duck tour.

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Choo Choo

No, those aren't my sneezes. Though it could be, as allergies around here are at an all time high. Ah-choo!!!

Nope, that's the sound of the steam engine train Lela, her sister and Ally went on. 45 minute ride to a lake, 15 minutes to get off and take pictures, 45 minutes back. Adorable 81 year old Conductor + 3 good friends/sisters + a train full of entertainment = fun times no matter how cheesy the trip.

 Think it stops at Hogwarts?

A few pointers:

Make sure you have tickets. Getting tossed from the train during the trip would stink.

While waiting to board the train, this very excited conversation was overheard:

Woman #1: Does it go all the way to the top?

Woman #2: I don't know, I've never been on it before!

She was referring to the top of Mt. Rainier. It has a summit elevation of 14,411 feet. People die every year trying to reach the top, which can only be done by traversing glaciers and treacherous terrain. Last I checked, they hadn't found a way to run tracks up there yet. But you never know. Did make me wonder if she even read the website or brochure... hope she wasn't disappointed. Here's a picture from USGS so you can see what I am referring to:

Not my picture.

Behind those clouds? We would have seen Mt. Rainier.
Hence the name, Mt. Rainier Scenic Railway.

Not our day to see the mountain, I guess.

Capture quick shots when the sun comes out!

 When forced to use a Honey Bucket, always choose the handicapped version. Please make sure someone more deserving doesn't need it first. The extra space will help you on your quest to touch no inside surfaces with your bare skin will using said plastic pee house.

Make sure your best friend who should know better doesn't take your picture to document use of said plastic pee house.

Delicately frame your snapshots of the destination lake with a tree so that it looks lovely, instead of rather uninspiring, like it truly was.

It is absolutely required to have total strangers take your picture.

Pose for cute pictures.

Get back on the train before the rain starts. Again.

Be cautious of cars. They eat purses when trying to exit them.

Devouring a gut bomb upon completion of trip is a must. Smart women, like Ally, will remove giant rings of raw onion regardless of how yummy before consuming. Others, who will not be named here, will not and will burp onion for the next five hours.

It's really not about what you do. It's about who you do it with and your attitude going in. With us, it's hard not to just put your fun hat on and go with it!

Ally & Lela

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Choices

These were my choices at 10:20pm, knowing I'd have no morning time to post:

1) Get some sleep. I'm exhausted, having an allergy attack, and have a to-do list a mile long.

2) Try to assimilate this crazy, fun weekend into a blog post while exhausted and having an allergy attack.

I chose #1.

I'll be back tomorrow with some of the fun.

Happy Monday. Have a fabulous day!

***Ally

Public Conversations

Yesterday I walked through the Rock n Roll Marathon Expo with my coworker. The expo is like a big trade show for all things running.

I was registered for the Half Marathon race, but due to my foot problems, I'm not running. They don't give refunds, so my coworker, TS, is running in my name.

Any13miler, as we walked the rows, some interesting conversation happened:

* Upon passing the booth with "energy work - massage", the little gal running the booth asked TS if I was his girlfriend. Apparently my wedding ring didn't catch her eye. He, being a smart ass, said yes. She proceeded to try to talk him into trying her energy reading crystal ball machine, which he politely declined, still failing to tell her that we were both massage therapists. She said, "Well how about for your girlfriend?" He told her, "Nothing can help my girlfriend's energy." If I hadn't been enjoying the show of him playing along with her, I would have popped him one.

Paybacks are sweet, however:

* While talking to a Physical Therapist at his booth, the therapist, who was clearly at least 10 years older than us (TS and I are the same age), said to TS, "Well, older guys like you and I..." Bwahahaha. Karma bites back.

However, TS is WAY better to take shopping than my husband. First, I tried on a t-shirt, to which he promptly replied, "No, the neck is too high. It looks funny." Then I was trying on running sunglasses. He was full of all kinds of opinions from the color of the frames to the shape of the lenses. Let me go on record saying - my husband is never that helpful while shopping. It was like shopping with an honest girlfriend.

Wishing you all a happy, fun weekend.

Lela is in town and we are going to be taking pictures and doing silly things to report back about. Starting with a ridiculous train ride today. We are driving just over an hour, to get to a steam engine train ride that will take 45 minutes to travel the route to a lake that would only take another 10 minute to drive to if we stayed in the car, where we will spend 15 minutes, then travel 45 minutes by train back, only to drive an hour plus home again. Cause we are silly like that. Did I mention the cars are open air? There's a roof, but open windows. Oh, and it's going to be 61 degrees for a high tomorrow. I'll be bringing blankets. Brrrr.

***Ally
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The Boys Have Left The Building

That's my skinny son on the left and my not-so-skinny husband on the right.  They are carrying on their backs everything they will need for the next 16 days.

Their trip begins with a 24 hour train ride to New Mexico, followed by a 10 day hike with the scout troop.

What am I going to do while they are gone?  Relax.  And fly up to Seattle an visit Ally!  Woohoo!  Pictures and stupid funny stories will follow in the days to come.

On a serious note, I perused my son's facebook page today.  The good thing about knowing his password is I can then check out his friends' pages.  I saw a lot of 14-year-olds who looked 18 and were telling their girlfriends that they loved them:

Girl:  I love you sooooo much! <3<3<3
Boy:  I love you so much too, Babe.

Barf. 

I also saw many kids at beach parties and in backyards with swimming pools.  All having the time of their lives.

My son wasn't in any of those pictures.

I have to admit I felt a small pang of sadness for him because I don't think he has a lot of friends.  He does have "the girlfriend", but I am not counting her.  Then I thought of his brother in the Marines and all the corny family vacations we have taken together.  His summer may not be spent at parties, but hiking with his father and when he returns, back to another scout camp for a week.  High school cross country starts up shortly thereafter, then our family is going river rafting.

If you ask him, it will probably the most boring summer of his life.  But if you ask me, I say it will be the last summer together as a family before high school starts and that it is going to be the best.

-Lela
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Summer Vacation Plans?

I leave for vacation in approx 43 days. It seems pretty far off, but I can't wait.

I'm not going anywhere really exotic. No Hawaii, no Bahamas, not even Southern California. But we are going to Reno.

Now, often when I say Reno, people think this:

Casinos, right?

But for us, Reno is this:

 Hot August Nights

If you've never heard of it, it's a HUGE classic car show

that takes over the city for a full week.

Every parking lot of every hotel is lined with classic cars.

Parades of cars, show & shines.

Hubs is in heaven when he's there.

Oooh, and last time we saw Fonzie, Ralph and Potsie

(If you have to ask who they are, I'm too old to be talking to you)

And this:

 Lake Tahoe

Unbelievably beautiful.

Virginia Mountains

And most importantly, family we haven't seen in two years.

We'll be doing a road trip with the boy and the dog. Instead of driving straight through, we'll be visiting Klamath Falls, Oregon for a night, and taking a side tour past Crater Lake.

Then we'll arrive in Reno in time to take in the last weekend of the car shows, and then have a week to have fun. The strapping young lad is going to work with my dad and step-brother for the week. They own a paving company and are putting my kid to work. I have a sneaking suspicion that it will be good for him to find out what real physical labor is all about.

Any summer travel plans for you? Exotic vacation? Camping? A little Staycation?


***Ally
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PS - all pics courtesy of Google Images because I was too tired and too lazy to dig out my pics from two years ago. 

Dear Teenage Boys...

Dear Team of 16 Year Supposed Baseball Players,

I have a few words I’d like to share. I realize I am just a “Mom”, and therefore, if you are not my son, you feel no need to respect anything I say. But remember, I’m also the same mom who happens to be the personal trainer who does your winter workouts. I can make you do push-ups and run drills until you puke up that Little Debbie shit you ate before practice.

Got your attention now? I thought so...

I realize there is a small handful of you that really want to play baseball. You show up, you try hard, and you are just as frustrated as I am.

But for the rest of you:

#3 - You, my friend, need to have a frank talk with your parents. It’s time you told them that basketball isn’t just your primary passion - it’s your only passion. I know Dad is a baseball guy and coach, and little brother 1 and 2 both play, but it clearly isn’t your thing. Not that you aren’t talented, you are. But you start every game by announcing that you wish you were home. You flip your teammates shit, and then make error after error because you don’t try and don’t care. 

#2 - Okay, Romeo, we get it. You think you are the cat’s meow. You feel no need to respect anyone, resulting in the coaches having to tell you to do things multiple times. Like pick your helmet up off the ground. What, are you five years old? Do what they tell you. And get a hold of your anger. You need not throw your helmet or bat when you strike out. It’s baseball. Strike outs happen. And you, too, need to have a heart to heart with dear old Dad. Yes, older brother played for community college, but you clearly have no desire. Just tell him already. He'll be glad to save the money.

Parents of #8: Really? You told Coach just last week that you would be going on vacation and Junior would miss SEVEN games? The dates of this season were not a surprise. When you paid a mortgage payment and a half for Junior to play, you were told the dates. You couldn’t plan your vacation in late July or August? Or at least tell Coach earlier that you would be gone during June?

The four of you that are followers - choose who you follow. You can follow #3 and #2 above, or you can follow the small handful that want to be there, cheer on their teammates, want to win and put out effort. Follow the former, and you look like an ass. Follow the latter, and you look like a champ - and you just might end up winning some games.

[14 - 6 = 8]  Eight. That’s how many of you didn’t bother to show up for practice last week. The very same practice that has been on the schedule for two months. What? You think you don’t need practice? I’ve got news for you - your lack of hitting and your fielding errors mean you DO indeed need practice. More than we actually have time for.

For all of you - be glad I am not your coach. If I were, you would have discovered some respect to your coaches and your parents who paid for you to play. You'd have discovered that respect by running until you puked and riding the bench. Call me a hard ass. Even my son, your teammate, thinks Coach has been too easy on you all.



Yep, we're having a dandy season so far. A far cry from our team last year that won three tournaments and lost the fourth in the championship game. I feel bad for my son and a few of the others, who are just as frustrated as I am. I feel bad for Coach who is more frustrated that I am.  Let's hope these boys can find a way to gel as a team before the season is gone. I do believe they have it in them - they just need to find it.

Go Team!

***Ally
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General Randomness

** eBay is a great idea until I have to sit down and actually list all those items. In the meantime, they've been piling up in my guest room. Yesterday, I posted listings. Either this crap sells or it's going to the thrift store. Undoubtedly, my son will again make more money off his Star Wars LEGO sets than I will off everything else. (I do, however, take a 10% service fee for doing all the work of listing his stuff. He gladly pays it.)

** I listed an item on eBay, and the listing specifically said: No returns accepted. And yet within 30 minutes I got a question asking what my return policy is in case the item doesn't work out for her. Ohhh-kay. Once we got that little question squared away, she wanted to know if I had a "Buy It Now" price, when there was clearly not one listed... maybe she's a first time user.

** Of the four baseball games my son's team had scheduled between last Wednesday and Sunday, they played exactly... ONE. The weather is killing me oh so slowly... Don't count your chickens yet, but we are supposed to see 70's for the next 10 days (with one little dip into the 60's). I might do a little sunshine dance if that happens. (Mind you, I don't think it's warm until the thermometer reads 80.)

** Before the last baseball game got canceled, I baked two 9 X 13 pans of brownies for the team dads for Father's Day. Ack! That is NOT something I need sitting around my house. They will be getting two day old brownies on Tuesday for the next game. ☺

** Lela went river rafting with the girls for a weekend trip. We haven't heard about it yet. hint hint hint

** I'm going on vacation in 46 days... not that I'm counting or anything.

** When you write a message for someone on their facebook wall - do you sign your name? Don't. Cause the picture of you attached to your name that's already there tells them who you are. Just sayin'.

** "I live for this shit" might be on my list of best corny movie lines. Right up there with "Nobody puts Baby in a corner".  (The first is from XXX - Vin Diesel - in case you don't know it.)

** My son's calculus teacher for next year sent out homework online before finals for this year had even been taken. The homework is due the first day of school next fall.

** A day and a half of school left for the boy. They are now into snow makeup days from back in November. The last of the finals today, then a half day of wasted time signing yearbooks on Tuesday. He sooooo deserves this summer break! He has worked amazingly hard this year and I'm super proud of him!!

** Sun or no sun, Copper River salmon and roasted veggies on the grill - mmmmmmmm good.

***Ally
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Aging (Un)gracefully

I should have taken better care of my skin when I was younger. 

Tanning beds?  Of course!  Sometimes twice a day.  Sunscreen?  Does Johnson's Baby Oil count?  Smoking?  Only at parties and only clove cigarettes.

The damage is done.  I take full responsibility for my age spots, moles, and warts.  The last time I saw my dermatologist he burnt off two wart-like things on my face with liquid nitrogen.  Ouch.  It left behind dark spots that I am trying to fade with some miracle brightening cream that my insurance doesn't cover.

The real embarrassing problem is the new lump I found on my scalp, just above my forehead.  It started off small, but grew to the size of a blueberry in less than a month.  Weird, I know.  I can't understand why my husband wouldn't look at it whenever I pulled my hair back and said, "Look at this gross lump that just popped up on my head."

The dermatologist was willing to look.  "Oh, that's a barnacle," he said.  Like it was a stray piece of dandruff.

"A barnacle?" I asked, horrified.

"Yeah, it's just an age spot," he said.  "I can just burn it off." 

Ally taught me to be proactive with doctors so I said, "That sounds invasive.  Can't we try a topical treatment first?"  Besides, I knew it was going to hurt and eventually turn into a crusty crab cake in my hair.

"I could cut it out, but it might leave a bald spot," he said, taking a closer look at my head.  "You have a lot of hair.  That's good."

Bald spot?! 

"Okay.  Just do it," I said with a sigh.

That was a few days ago and now there is a lovely black, crusty spot where my barnacle once lived.  It looks like someone put a cigarette out on my scalp.

Wanna see?

I didn't think so.

-Lela
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Free Education

I do not want to talk about my son's 8th grade "promotion ceremony", which requires a cap and gown (purchased together as a set), and the fact that the school will not allow the kids to wear the caps.  I am sure it has something to do with the students throwing them up in the air and the unlikely chance of a deadly cardboard corner poking out some moron's kid's eye.

I refuse to mention the 75 service points that my son earned to attend the school's Disneyland trip.  Every time I signed a permission slip or wrote a check before the deadline, my son "earned" points.  How stupid of me to think the trip was free.  It cost $68 plus another $12 to pay for the buses.

What I really don't want to talk about is the textbook I had to buy.

According to the serial number, the history book my son turned in actually belonged to Charlie.  My son's "missing" book had to be returned or my son would not receive his yearbook (that I already paid $25 for), nor would he be able to participate in the promotion ceremony. 

In a calm voice I said, "Why don't you just get your book from Charlie?"

"He doesn't have it."

"Well, whose book does he have?" I asked, stating what I thought was the obvious.

"He doesn't have a book."

"What book has he been using all year?" I asked.

Wait for it . . . "I don't know."

I decided to change gears.  "How did you get his book in the first place?"

My son proceeded to tell his father and I that he lost his history book months ago, but found it days later in the classroom.

I had to ask, "Don't you write your name in your books?" 

"Yes, Mom."  Duh.

OMG.  This kid was killing me!  "Did you bother to check?  How do you have some other kid's book for months and not know it?"

Oh, the answer was so simple.  "Well, he had a black book cover and so did I."

"Nick," I said, really getting pissed.  "If you were arrested and being interrogated by the police you would look totally guilty!  Your story is retarded."

"Well," he said, "The bad news is the book cost $94 and you can't buy one off Ebay and you have to pay cash because you could bounce a check."  (I know that was a run-on sentence, but I am quoting a 14-year-old.)

Then my husband got upset.  "That school won't take my *bleeping* check?  After all I've done for that school?!"

Actually, he has done nothing for the school.  I do everything.  He does write a lot of checks to the school, but you get the point.

"That's right, Dad.  You have to pay cash."

I was not happy.  My husband had the great idea of writing them a check and daring them not to take it.  I reminded him that he talks a good game, but I would be the one making the payment.  Besides, it was my son's fault and someone had to pay.

Unfortunately, my son does not have a job, nor does he have ninety-four dollars.

So I paid.  In cash.  Which my son WILL be paying back.  It is going to be a long summer of mowing lawns and washing cars.

And no allowance.

-Lela
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Graduation - Not

Do/did you do private school for your kids (or yourself)? Or a K-8 school? Or plain old Junior High or Middle School?

More importantly, do your schools do "8th Grade Graduation"?

If you do, I'm sorry. You'll probably think I'm a nut. But I don't get it.

My son did a K-6 grade school, and they did a "6th Grade Celebration", telling us they couldn't use the word "graduation". However the cake they supplied at the Celebration  had graduation caps on it. *eyeroll* It made no difference to me, really. I just found it ironic.

He attended a middle school, consisting of 7th and 8th grade. Two years. They were lucky to be acknowledged as they were kicked out the door, let alone have a celebration or "graduation". 

But since that time, I've heard the subject come up more and more. Lela's son had an 8th Grade Graduation, but she refused to call it that and called it a "Promotion". (See why we are such good friends?)

So I'm wondering, what exactly are you graduating from in 8th grade? No, I get it, they are moving onto high school, a big step in the world. I get it. But to graduate sort of implies your done with something. To graduate from 8th grade is kind of a cruel joke. Dude, you have FOUR more years just to get through your basic, required education! And it isn't all cheerleaders and football players. It's freaking projects and reports that take hours, teachers who are lazy and let other students grade your work, finals that make you sweat, and pressure to choose a college and a career before you've even decided what to wear to school tomorrow.

I also get that when you've gone to a K-8 private school, you are leaving a group of kids that you've essentially known your whole school-life. Most of them will go to different high schools and move on. I get that, too. You could say you are "graduating" from that time in your life, I suppose. And I'm sure as a parent, I'd get sucked into the hell thrill of it all.

But it seems like things for our kids are sometimes getting puffed up so much, I wonder if they know what real accomplishment is. Everyone on the team gets a trophy. We "graduate" from 8th grade and expect gifts from the relatives with parties and ceremonies.

My nieces "graduated" from their K-8 private Christian school, and for each one, it required, not one, not two, but THREE fancy dresses. Because they are directly attached to their church, there was first some sort of Church ceremony that required a fancy dress. Which was covered by white gown for the whole thing. Then there was the Big Banquet. It is a dinner, award presentations and dance for students and parents only. (You know, girls dance the prerequisite dance with Dad, boys with Mom, then the kids all dance in a big group.) For this, there was a formal gown. Like one would wear to a prom. With cleavage and bare backs. For a 13 year old. In a class of 25 kids. And then last, but certainly not least, there was the actual graduation ceremony, which required another fancy dress, and was again covered by a graduation gown and cap. My child would have been the outcast - at the very least, she would have worn the same dress to the first and third events. And that formal gown? She'd be wearing that to the Homecoming dance next year in high school.

Maybe my neck of the woods is just low key. Or maybe I'm a grinch. High school graduation is a big deal around here. And I like it that way.

***Ally the Grinch
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Hook, Line & Sinker... And A Quote

I'm sharing one of my favorite quotes. But first, a little something I stumbled on:

3 Facts of the world:
Fact 1: You cannot touch all your teeth with your tongue;
Fact 2: After reading the 1st fact... All fools try it!
Fact 3: Fact 1 is false.

You did, didn't you. You mentally paused to see if any of your teeth weren't being touched by your tongue. I'm lame enough to admit I totally did it when I read that. I'm such a sucker.

Okay, here's the quote:

How people treat you is their karma; how you react is yours.
~ Wayne Dyer


***Ally
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How Hubs Made A Kid's Day

My husband and the lawn mower have had a love-hate relationship for the last year or so. He managed through last summer, but recently it's died without explanation twice. And this last time was the final straw.

I came home from the grocery store and my son came flying out the door to the garage to meet me. "Um, you probably want to stay away from Dad. The lawn mower just died."

Uh oh. Apparently no swear words had flown yet, but sometimes it's better to stay out of the way. I peaked out the window to see him looking at it as if it was a puzzle. He'd fiddle with it, try starting it, it would die, and he'd try again.

The lawn was 3/4 mowed. He had to borrow the neighbor's to finish the job.

He decided a replacement was in order. He spent some time researching online, then started checking craigslist. He found one new, in the box, for $50 less than retail. Because that's what Hubs does - he researches and gets the best deal. I'm lucky to have him, because I'm not sure I have the patience to do the same.

Anygrassclippings. We got the mower. But then we had to get rid of the craptastic old mower.

There was an ad on craiglist for someone close by who sold refurbished mowers. Apparently the guy had a little business of repairing old broken mowers and selling them. Hubs called him up and asked if he'd be interested in taking the old mower off his hands - he could see if he could fix it and have it to sell.

Hubs showed up with the mower, and the guy turned out to be a kid in his late teens.

Hubs: "It'll start but then it just dies. I don't know what's wrong, I've tried, but I'm tired of fighting with it."

Kid: "Oh yeah, the carburetor probably just needs to be cleaned out."

Hubs: Shit. Grrr. "Whatever. You can have it."

The kid will probably make $150 bucks off it.

Hmmm, maybe my son should learn how to fix lawn mowers.

***Ally
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Put It On The Table

The boy had just left for school. It was 7am.

The nurse showed up to do my "medical exam" for my life insurance policy renewal, and we sat down at my dining room table. Knowing that I was holding my pee for the urine sample, she promptly handed me a lidless cup with a pour spout on it and sent me off to "fill it to the marked line".

I complied and returned, cup in hand.

She looked up and said, "Just set it right there," indicating that I should set it on a piece of paper she'd laid on my table.

"My family eats there," I said.

"You can put it on the paper," she replied. Apparently, she did so many of these a day, she failed to see the significance.

"My family eats there," I said again.

Finally, she poured it off into two little tubes and capped them tightly.

 

Thanks for the picture, Zazzle

I'll be too old when this policy ends to do it again, thank goodness.

Note to self: When Hubs renews his policy in a couple years, I think I'll have them avoid sitting at my dining room table.

***Ally
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Swap Meet Mama

One of my favorite things to do is attend the Long Beach Antiques Swap Meet.   http://www.longbeachantiquemarket.com/?gclid=CJG18vrTp6kCFQoObAodjSPjuw

Half of my house is furnished and decorated with other people's junk from that place.  I have found old quilts (so what if they smelled like cat pee--I know the secret of getting the smell out), wicker patio furniture (still gracing my front porch), and lots of green depression glass.

Sometimes I am on a mission with a pocket full of cash, like when I was looking for a coffee table.  Found it!  Sometimes I only have 20 bucks and am strictly looking for bargains.  Whatever the circumstance, I always have fun and get a lot of walking done.

Here is a recent find.  I got that cute green toothpick holder to add to my collection of old green glass.  The button bracelet was sort of an impulse buy.  The one that first caught my eye was made with Hello Kitty buttons, but after trying about 10 different ones on (and embarrassingly knocking down a display) I settled on this one.  I figure it will go with anything, right?

Not only do I buy stuff I don't really need, I also get inspiration to make things that I don't really need.  I found beautiful, old chandeliers but didn't want to pay over $100 for them.

So . . . I bought a new one on sale at Home Depot and spray painted it turquoise!  I love the way it makes my boring back patio look so hip and cool!

That's what I do for fun when I am not busy doing housework in an apron, heels, and pearls.

-Lela
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Travel and Summer Fun

Last weekend we went out of town for a baseball tournament for my son's team. It happened to coincide with our first REALLY nice weekend in, well, what feels like forever. It's been a long winter. And spring. Maybe I've mentioned that 500 a few times before?

Despite the 4+ hour drive, there was some good times and humor to be had.

As I've mentioned 500 times, our weather has been less than ideal for a sun-lover like me. But all that wet weather meant the drive was incredibly green and pretty. Especially since the sun was shining. We drove through a big swath the agricultural areas of our state, and it happened to be crop spraying time. We must have seen 10 crop dusters, most of them over fields right along side us, or actually flying over the top of the freeway we were traveling on. Obviously they fly quite low and it was fun to see the planes. (I'm less excited about the poison they were spraying, however, and quickly turned the air vents to recycled air, instead of fresh being pumped in from outside.)

 I wasn't fast enough getting the camera out to get them dipping across the freeway...

Advantage of being the team mom that called and made the block of reservations? The gift basket left in our room! Nice! Fruit, crackers, cheese & chocolate. They'll get my business again.

(another missed picture)

Speaking of which, this was a return trip to this hotel for us, as we stayed there last year for a tournament. They did a little upgrading since then - of the shower heads. They are now rotate a fine spray of water (with zero pressure).  Boy: "This is the coolest shower head ever!" Me: "This shower head sucks! It was clearly designed by a man. A bald man. No one with a full head of hair would design such a thing!" It took a little bit of time, standing on my toes, moving my head in circles to catch the spray, to get the shampoo and conditioner rinsed from my long, thick head of hair.

You didn't actually think I was in the video, did you? Geez!

I mentioned the warm water, right? Sooooo nice. I got to wear shorts AND a tank top. And was still hot. I love, love, love it! (My friend doesn't read my blog, and I didn't get her permission to throw her face in here, so you get Ms. Smiley, instead.)

Grabbing some quick dinner with Hubs and another mom, we found a Mexican restaurant and ordered margaritas. I'm a bit of a margarita snob, and there was something decidedly different with the color. We then spent ten hilarious minutes discussing what color they actually were. (The picture REALLY doesn't do it justice - look at the one towards the back, that's the closest to reality, but still not what we saw.) There was a distinctive blue tint that just seemed odd. Were they seafoam green? aqua? mint? Still not sure, but one thing we could agree on - they were NOT margarita green. And a bit too sweet for my snobby taste, but clearly I made do.

 I don't even know why I posted the pic, you can't see the blue that we saw. Trust me, eh?

I worked out in a fishbowl! Not really, but the hotel workout room is tiny - it contains two treadmills, one elliptical, one bike and a water cooler. The walls are clear glass looking out into the indoor pool area. Or, as my husband said, it creates a fishbowl so that everyone can see you sweat. Thank goodness it was only 10 year old girls in the pool at that time!

I really tried to stop and enjoy the moments, even though it was a bit of a whirlwind weekend. We saw deer wading through chest deep wheat fields, snow still on our mountain pass due to the cool spring, waterfalls created by the melting snow and foals and calves playing in fields. We took time between games to sit in the courtyard with a cool drink and just enjoy the warm weather. One of the fields they played on was in an incredible little setting. Beyond the field was a small river, and just up from the river was this great house perched at the base of a hill in this little valley. I told Hubs I could live there if the nearest decent store wasn't hundreds of miles away. But then maybe I wouldn't need much living out there.

With the exception of the trees, everything green in this picture will be brown by mid-July. It's been a wet spring. Even the river was still running high.

Summer brings baseball, sunshine, good times and a level of peace that I thoroughly love! ♥♥♥ And it's simply more fun with all the little quirks thrown in.

***Ally

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Heads In The Tub

One of the very last things they tried for my MIL's cancer was a round of chemo that made her hair fall out. That decision is a whole other blog post, probably not for this blog. She acquired two wigs (not high quality, but wigs, nonetheless) and some head scarves. Also a chemo/cancer hat that I bought her and had sent to her.

The reality is that she only wore some of these things a couple of times. Her health deteriorated quickly and she never felt the need to wear them at home.

When MIL died from cancer, SIL, Hubs and myself had the chore of going through her house and cleaning it out. During that experience, we came upon MIL's wigs and head scarves. I commented that there had to be somewhere we could donate them to, so that they could be used by someone who needed them. SIL took them insisting she would be able to find somewhere to donate them, as she happens to work in a hospital. I did take the hat I had bought for MIL, as she had never had the opportunity to wear it. I donated it to an organization in Ontario called Hats Off To Chemo that accepts only new chemo hats.

Fast forward 15 months. SIL is just now unpacking the three car loads and a moving van of stuff she took home from MIL's.  June 1st, a box arrives. Inside was Easter gifts yes I said Easter on June 1st - this is the timeline the crazy woman works on Our gift is a bag of tulip bulbs, sealed inside an airtight ziploc, where they've been sitting for at least a month, likely much, much longer. I did say June 1st, right? Straight into the garbage, mold and all.

Also in this box was an oversized ziploc bag, containing two smashed wigs, three headscarves and a leaking bottle of wig shampoo. Oh, and a note explaining that SIL had asked all around her local contacts but state laws prohibited used wigs from being donated and she hoped I would have better luck.

I tamped down my flaming anger at 1) her not being able to look outside her very small world that revolves only around her and use the freaking internet another reason I can rest assured she will NEVER read my blog, 2) not being asked if I wanted to or was willing to take on this little project before she took the liberty of just sending them to me, 3) her poor packaging of said wigs, and 4) the musty smell of the scarves and wigs due to the leaking-bottle-of-shampoo-with-the-lid-not-screwed-on-tight and sealed in an airtight bag for  months and months and months. AHEM.

Of course, I am a go-get-'er-done kind of gal. Approximately 8 clicks of the mouse and 3.5 minutes landed me a list of 5 organizations that accept donations of clean and gently used wigs for cancer patients. The first on the list was in Little Rock, AR - my MIL lived in Hot Springs - appropriate, don't you think?

Next task was the fact that they needed to be cleaned. I got everything hand washed, and laid out to dry. Drying the wigs was a little tricky. I wadded up a hand towel, pushed it up into the inside of the wig, then propped the whole thing on the top of a champagne bottle. Voila! My own homemade wig stand! I set them both up like that and placed them in the center of the bathtub to dry.

Here's the funny part (because there IS a funny part): the dog came in the bathroom, spotted the wigs out of the corner of her eye. Her hair stood up on end and she started nosing up to them trying to get a sniff without getting too close. (damn I wish I'd had my camera!) Any noise or movement had her jumping back away from them. Apparently, she either thought I was a mass murderer, or had hunted some animals for dinner. 

Forty-eight hours later, and the wigs were on their way to the post office. (It was kind of freaking Hubs out to have them in the house.) It is more difficult to donate the used scarves, even though they are in pristine condition. I'm not giving up though. I'll find a way.

I hope you never find yourself in the same predicament (or know someone in need of a donation of hat or wig), but if you do:
Hats Off To Chemo
Wigs.com - Donate Your Wig

There's something satisfying knowing that someone else's day may be a little easier, a little brighter, because of a few extra minutes of effort.

***Ally
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Public Lady Business

I'm currently doing physical therapy for a couple of problems in my foot to get back to running. My PT is all kinds of awesome-ness and has a "Running Clinic" within this PT office. She just treats runners. She is amazing at breaking down mechanics, form, problems and injuries. I heart her.

Their PT office is a rare one - they are in the basement of a building and they have a pool. They use the pool for therapy, but they also have a program for past patients to come work out in the pool. These folks fit one category: very overweight, diabetic, bad knees (or hips or back). (I'm not judging - I know these things because they talked about all of them while I was there) Most of them have difficulty walking out of the water, some using walkers, so getting in the pool offers them a mobility freedom they rarely get. They can move, they can get exercise. It's pretty cool.

So, my PT got me in the hot-tub-warm water, where I wanted to get a floaty and take a nap we worked on teaching my legs to activate some muscles that had been taking a lazy vacation and reteaching my body how to run with better mechanics.

Then I got out and headed to the locker room to rinse off and change. Oh yeah, if you've read this blog at all, you know how much I like public restrooms - you can only imagine me in a public locker room.

A rather immobile older woman had come in and was attempting to change for the pool. She worked her way over to the same bench I had my stuff on where I was getting dressed. She struggled, but managed to get her pants and underwear off (I know, TMI, I'm getting to the point), then she sat. Down. On the public bench. Naked. Stark Naked. Do I have to spell this out for you? All her Lady Business was naked, out there for the world, and sitting smack down on the bench. The public bench. The same bench my things were on. The same bench that only God knows how many other women had sat on. Naked.

I quickly realized this was likely a more common event than I had considered, with the general lack of mobility of the patients here. Without trying to look like I was panicking, I grabbed my things and hung them on the hooks on another wall. I slowly stepped away from the bench.

Ah yes, my next trip to the pool locker room will be done with he same finesse that gets me in and out of a public restroom without touching a single surface with bare skin. I'm good, people. Damn good.

In the mean while, my PT is awesome. Did I mention that? I'm running three intervals of 5 minutes on the treadmill right now, mixed with endless minutes of cycling on the trainer. I get to move up to 6 minutes this week as long as I continue to have no pain. It feels both incredibly lame (only 6 minutes? That's only 18 total!) and amazingly wonderful (6 whole minutes! That's 18 total!) - all at the same time!!

***Ally
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Spice It Up

I want romance, excitement, thrills!

And I am tired of waiting for my husband of almost 16 years to make the first move, so I decided to take action.  First, I searched the Internet for "Ways to spice up a marriage".  Personally, I thought the advice was pretty lame and generic:

1.  Go on a date.  Unfortunately, my idea of a date and my husband's idea of a date differ greatly.  I want to dress up and go to a restaurant with a view and live music.  My husband would be happy with Denny's or microwave popcorn and an Adam Sandler D.V.D.

2.  Do something nice for your spouse.  I think I do nice things for him all the time.  Does making dinner count?  I washed his car once.  Oh, I always fold his underwear, although I rarely put it away for him.  I could work on that one.

3.  Wear sexy lingerie.  It doesn't fit anymore.

I had to think out of the box on this one.  When my husband came home from work I asked him to name 3 extracurricular activities that he would like to do, thinking I could incorporate at least one of those into a surprise weekend get-a-way.

He cocked his head to the side, a sign that he was putting real thought into his answers.   (My plan could actually work!)  Then, he said, "Skydiving.  I would really like to go skydiving again, but it's really expensive."

Okay, that was only the first one and I was definitely not doing that.

He continued.  "Dirt bike riding would be fun.  Yeah, dirt bike riding," he said, starting to smile.

Shit.

"And camping, I guess."

"What about beer?" I asked.  "You like to drink beer, right?"

"Yeah," he said.  "You could drink wine while I drink beer."

Now we were getting somewhere.

At least I have a starting point.  After this post I am going to research campgrounds near wineries.  Maybe I will even bring the dirt bikes.

But skydiving is out of the question.

-Lela
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How To Survive A Middle School Track Meet

My son made the middle school track team.

Thankfully, they only have one meet that includes three other local schools.  Today was the big day and my husband just happened to be free.  I was planning on going to the whole thing from 9:30am to 1:30pm, but my husband had the great idea of telling my son to text us when he found out the exact time of his event.  Husbands are smart like that sometimes.  Moms will just waste the whole day.

I barely took a sip from my first cup of coffee when the text came in.  He was running the mile at 9:30!  Oh, crap!  I had to dump my coffee, hit the shower, and leave. 

We made it in time.  First we had the pleasure of watching the girls run the mile.  Well, most ran.  One girl walked a lot.  I know this sounds inappropriate, but I whispered to my husband, "Dude, even I can run a mile without walking."

We cheered on my son, who came in third with a 6 minute mile.  We cheered for all the other kids we didn't know, but went to my son's school.  We were killing time until my son's next event at noon, but we were growing weary so my husband said, "The relay races have 8 teams of 4.  That's 32 chances to drop the baton.  How many times do you think they will drop it?"

"Okay, Rain Man,"  I said.  "Ten percent would be 3 drops of the baton."

I hoped no other parents could hear us.

So we watched, cheered, and secretly waited for 3.2 (actual 10%) to drop, just to pass the time.  But those Napoleon Dynamite look-a-likes proved us wrong.  No one dropped a baton!

Eventually we got to watch our long-legged son run anchor on his relay team.  They didn't win, but it finally meant we could go home.  "Yay!" 

I mean, "Yay, team!"

-Lela

Why I Love Email Subscriptions

I know that some may look at an email subscription option and think, "No way. I have too many emails to weed through as it is." And I totally get that. I do.

But I love it. Because my reader is out of control. You know, I started filling that thing with blogs to read, back when we first started this foray into Blog Land.  But since then, I've become a little more savvy in my reading choices. Some of the blogs I followed have long since stopped posting. Or you know, I just don't connect with a blog the way I thought I would.

At any rate, I have a reader overflowing with things I may or may not read, and the mere thought of going through and thinning it gives me hives and makes my hair fall out in clumps. Though I know I need to one of these days. Eventually.

In the meantime, being able to subscribe to my favorite blogs via email, to get notified when a new post is up, that is perfect in my world.

The problem is, that there are a few blogs out there that I would LOVE to remember to read. But I forget. Because it doesn't come to my inbox. My brain is lazy like that. And they don't have an email subscription box.

I'm merely suggesting that if you don't have an email subscription option, maybe think about it. Cause I really do want to read your posts!

And while we're at it, let's talk email - how many email accounts do you have? Me? I have three. Enough to drive me crazy. One is associated with this blog. One is my professional/personal email account. The other is our family account. What's that? Well, see, back when dinosaurs were roaming the earth and email was just out, we signed up for AOL (with a free floppy disc, I'm sure) and opened an email account. No one ever thought you'd need more than one, let alone my own. Eventually, we did change that from aol.com to gmail.com, but alas, we still use that for online purchases, and still have some family and friends that use it. So three it is. (I'm not counting the two AOL accounts that are still registered to us, but I only check and empty about every six months. Why haven't I just disabled them???) How many do you have?

***Ally
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