Currently Browsing: Silly I Tell You
Nov 25, 2013
Much to my surprise, maybe 6 months ago, I surrendered to the concept of a computer/device calendar. Yes, Google calendar. It has a 31 as it’s icon. And Mark and I attempted to “share” our calendars so we could stop asking each other about commit-table dates.
A couple of months ago, before October of ’13 and a post-a-day, I had received yet another reminder/notification from my Ever Diligent Google calendar which informed me, I had absolutely no events scheduled for today. Just like my yesterday and my day before that.
Google was ever so subtly telling me I had no life. Didn’t I already know this oh Great Google in the Sky.
But today, I received the same “I have no scheduled events” email and I felt relieved. Because on top of being awoken at 4:45am this morning to care for my 9 month-old, the battery dying in our car at the grocery store yesterday, and planning to plan to decorate several Christmas trees, wreaths, house mantels, etc,… I will happily take a day of nothingness. It’s all in the way that you look at it. Thank you Oh Great and Powerful Google One for showing me the truth.
Nov 18, 2013
Last month, as I searched for a photograph that wasn’t my outdated head shot, I was reminded yet again that I don’t exist.
All the pictures in our family albums prove my disappearance.
According to these pictures, our family seems to have had some really wonderful times. At the beach, in New York, and at friends’ houses. But alas, this poor family was missing a Mommy. Or she was invisible. Because I remember being there, there’s just no proof.
I am the one thinking enough of the moment to take the pictures, mostly. Occasionally my son wants to commandeer the camera and can come up with some pretty good ones. But he’s eight and he makes me nervous with the equipment. My husband sometimes volunteers to do the picture-taking but hates to download them. So I may exist in an alternate Android phone universe.
I finally daringly used the technology available and took two selfies with the kids. One of which can be seen on the About Me page.
My timidity in doing so was a fear of seeming vain. But I guess vanity is preferable to transparency. Even Waldo is there somewhere.
Aug 23, 2013
Welcome my husband Mark and his second post. It’s a manly subject this one.
I don’t get it…
I found myself pondering the meaning of something I saw dangling from the trailer hitch of a pick up truck driving next to me. At first it appeared to be some sort of trailer adaptor. Maybe an electrical plug for the trailer lights, or possibly a safety chain mechanism that would come into play should the trailer separate from the hitch.
As I looked closer, I recognized this to be truck testes?! Yes, balls… hoobers… whatever vernacular you choose to use, it was them. I continued my commute, vexed for miles over what I had seen and what it meant. And decided that the logic for such ornamentation was beyond my comprehension. I didn’t want to want to know why.
Whew… I was glad that was over. Until the next month when, as I got into the car with my eight year old son, there they were, proudly displayed from the polished hitch of the pick up truck parked in front of us. Eye level. It was a don’t ask don’t tell moment but again, I‘m wondering what it meant. Open up your mind and see what you come up with.
Option number one: It’s a red neck thing. Nah. It doesn’t figure.
On this particular truck there was no gun rack, no confederate flag, no NASCAR decal’s.
Option number two: Testicular cancer survivors. This one would have made the cut if it wasn’t too coincidental that all the vehicles were pick up trucks. Does that mean that pick up trucks cause cancer? Mmmm nope.
Option number three: Lorena Bobbitt fan club, maybe? But she didn’t target the whole package. Just the John Thomas. Ode to what was left over?
Option number four: Man with a small penis? Judgment call.
Option number five: I think this one sounded the best, Inguinal Hernia. It’s a medical condition whereby the intestine gradually slips into the scrotum through a blown out entrance. Uncomfortable, hell yes, but it could make you the hit of the party. So why not advertise?
I will remain an advocate for freedom of speech, but I just don’t get it. And when and if my son asks me why would someone hang those there I’ll just have to tell him, I don’t get it.
photo credit: Devlin Thompson via photopin cc
Aug 9, 2013
When last I spoke of the stove, the story wasn’t going well. Sears had “messed” up. All their kiss butt customer service people couldn’t put it back together again. And I had given up hope. But not Mark (or Kathy). No. He was the picture of perseverance. He went online to a company called PartSimple who refurbishes parts. And ordered us up some rehabbed stove’s brains for $137, plus shipping.
My Dandy Handyman
The part came on Tuesday. He said Thursday he’d put it in. I had waited this long. Today, Thursday, he began to install it only to find that he was going to have to disassemble the new Johnny 5 to swap a part of the part. So he practiced pulling it apart like an assembly line pro. Did you know the soldered component boards are called “bread boards”? He did. Bad soldering memories for him. But this only involved his leatherman.
And he stuck that bad boy in and…TA DA… As I no longer dared to hope…It worked.
Fiona says he’s her favorite Daddy
So I made roasted red potatoes tonight to go with my Faidley’s crabcakes and fresh tomatoes and cucumbers from the garden. And we may have to celebrate with a bottle of Smoking Loon Pinot Noir. Yippee. Here’s to my husband and boo hiss to Sears, you schmucks. I have my oven back no thanks to you. My friend Anne suffered the same fate with the same stove BTW.
I am glad my oven cleaning effort won’t go to waste
The beginning and end of the story, all appliances suck and are necessary. See Stupid Plastic Parts for more appliance breaking hilarity.
Jul 14, 2013
The second week in July brought the long-awaited Brittish soccer camp. Which was promptly renamed Camp Hurts Alot. A half hour before we were due to be there, we realized that the shin guards were missing in action. And I grumbled on the five-minute drive over to the high school that “Mommy would be compromising her principals by going to the place that starts with a W and ends with a T to buy new ones”. Returning with them, my phone rang. It was his coach Kevin. In his cute Scottish accent, he says Eamon wasn’t feeling well. Later that night I figured out he had hit his head on the ground. That would explain why his vision went dark and fuzzy. An almost concussion.
Eamon is the handsome one on the left.
His buddy Isaac had a bloody nose. Some girl had an asthma attack. And another kid fell on a bee that stung them in the neck. When we got home, the first day of his sunburn made his eyes look like someone had punched him. And he said his toe hurt. He needed a soft surface to sit on. And his too long toenail had bent back. By the end of the week, despite repeated applications of 30 proof sunblock, he had those shiners. And the last day? Some kid squirted him in the eyes with perfume. Apparently, he was hysterical. My phone only flashed, no beeping for missed calls, only e-mails. Right. When I arrived, he was fine. Luckily, the heavy downfall of rain had brought them inside to play in the gymnasium. Coach Kevin was a doll. Eamon never complained about the burn.
Saturday, Fiona and I went looking for Daddy and Eamon.
Baby Bjorn that I used with Eamon too.
Are they in the kitchen?
Oh Hello Mr. Crackers.
There they are outside in the garden.
We found them in the garden weeding around Eamon’s tomato plant, two volunteer sunflowers, and a cluster of cucumber vines that must have seeded from one of my fits of composting.
This was the only smile my child had while outside. I guarantee he”l be a white-collar worker.
And Sunday, today, well it was a full on work camp day for Eamon since he chose to bold face lie to Dad yesterday. Shakin’ that bush boss. So he got the pleasure of mulching the garden patch. And various other outside tasks before noon. Then they came inside for some Mommy requested Honey Dos. Out with the guest bed and assemble the crib for Fiona!
Now that the bubble of stuck has been broken in her room, I can maybe advance to actually hammering down the details and decisions on the redesign of her room as suggested in this post.
I would however like to be a little less productive and a have a little more Summer fun. Anyone want to join me? Remember Camp Shalagh from last year? Offer still stands. Remember how much fun I had with the first attendee, my long-lost friend Sarah? Book a slot now.
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