Monday, November 24, 2008
Ads that Make Cents
Okay, just a quick side note-----Why is ADSENSE running an ad about how to be a better parent on my blogsite? Which one of you (few) readers squealed?
I Just Called to Say I Love You
In keeping with the start of Opening Week for Deer Season, I'll stick with what I don't know....(as usual!)
I'm not a seasoned hunter's wife---Well, I am the wife of a seasoned hunter, but I myself am new to the game. For three years now, I watch as the holiday season approaches, and my honey gets increasingly excited over the prospect of heading even further north than we are, simply to spend days on end freezing his butt off in the hopes of maybe catching/sighting/ hitting something other than a friend. He packs long- johns, sweat shirts, camoflauge coveralls, gloves, hats, super thick socks, guns, and some times ammo. Although the joke is- one trip you get the gun, the next you get the ammo, but never the two together!
He will sit in a tree stand after walking for miles (yep--miles-this from a man who thinks tv remote switching is an olympic sport!)-for miles he will walk in deep snow...all alone in the deep woods day after day in hopes he may even catch something other than a cold!
The first year we were together, I gave this expedition of his a lot of thought and came to a very logical conclusion! This really was not a hunting trip, per se. This was simply a long planned weekend away with the boys (which by the way was a heck of a lot easier to understand than freezing one's buns off for sport!)
Of course! They'd be drinking, and eatting out at fine restaurants, playing cards till all hours, and making up tales of the 12 pointer that got away. The dress clothes were probably packed at the bottom of that duffle bag, and I'm pretty sure at least one of those shotguns projects a simple flag that says "BANG!" when fired.
So, off he goes, my mountain man, headed in to the wilderness (Uh-huh , said I, try to stay warm, snicker, snicker!)
This left just myself at home with a house full of kids and dogs to while away the hours with. So what's a girl to do? A couple of phone calls and a quick trip to the liqour store, and we had all the makings of an afternoon party going on---after all, I wasn't the only hunting season widow in town.
Well, party animals that we were, the house was pretty much empty by nine, and I had quite the little buzz going, so I had an IDEA! I would call honey, who I'm sure by now was knee deep in scotch and poker, and say good night.
Well, I dialed the JUST FOR EMERGENCIES phone number he left on the fridge, and waited for about six rings. It's a one room bunk house, so I figured they really were deep in the beverages and couldn't find the phone. What I got on the other end of the phone was a very sleepy hunter who was quite amused that honey's new girlfriend had called hunting camp in the middle of their night's sleep. Apparently opening day begins around 3 am, and they had all been fast asleep since seven!
After a real quick hello/goodbye honey, as all his buddies poked fun and jabbed him with testosterone filled "wifey called" barbs I selpt soundly in the knowledge that those fools really did enjoy walking for miles in layers of clothing so thick you can't bend over, on the slim chance your fingers won't be too numd to actually pull a trigger should the occasion occur!
Oops, my bad.
Oh, but the NEXT night (and every hunting night since) Honey is SURE to call me before they go to bed, just to say goodnight. Ain't he sweet? Of course, should he ever forget to make that call, I could always call him around, oh say, nine thirty! Sweet dreams, baby!
I'm not a seasoned hunter's wife---Well, I am the wife of a seasoned hunter, but I myself am new to the game. For three years now, I watch as the holiday season approaches, and my honey gets increasingly excited over the prospect of heading even further north than we are, simply to spend days on end freezing his butt off in the hopes of maybe catching/sighting/ hitting something other than a friend. He packs long- johns, sweat shirts, camoflauge coveralls, gloves, hats, super thick socks, guns, and some times ammo. Although the joke is- one trip you get the gun, the next you get the ammo, but never the two together!
He will sit in a tree stand after walking for miles (yep--miles-this from a man who thinks tv remote switching is an olympic sport!)-for miles he will walk in deep snow...all alone in the deep woods day after day in hopes he may even catch something other than a cold!
The first year we were together, I gave this expedition of his a lot of thought and came to a very logical conclusion! This really was not a hunting trip, per se. This was simply a long planned weekend away with the boys (which by the way was a heck of a lot easier to understand than freezing one's buns off for sport!)
Of course! They'd be drinking, and eatting out at fine restaurants, playing cards till all hours, and making up tales of the 12 pointer that got away. The dress clothes were probably packed at the bottom of that duffle bag, and I'm pretty sure at least one of those shotguns projects a simple flag that says "BANG!" when fired.
So, off he goes, my mountain man, headed in to the wilderness (Uh-huh , said I, try to stay warm, snicker, snicker!)
This left just myself at home with a house full of kids and dogs to while away the hours with. So what's a girl to do? A couple of phone calls and a quick trip to the liqour store, and we had all the makings of an afternoon party going on---after all, I wasn't the only hunting season widow in town.
Well, party animals that we were, the house was pretty much empty by nine, and I had quite the little buzz going, so I had an IDEA! I would call honey, who I'm sure by now was knee deep in scotch and poker, and say good night.
Well, I dialed the JUST FOR EMERGENCIES phone number he left on the fridge, and waited for about six rings. It's a one room bunk house, so I figured they really were deep in the beverages and couldn't find the phone. What I got on the other end of the phone was a very sleepy hunter who was quite amused that honey's new girlfriend had called hunting camp in the middle of their night's sleep. Apparently opening day begins around 3 am, and they had all been fast asleep since seven!
After a real quick hello/goodbye honey, as all his buddies poked fun and jabbed him with testosterone filled "wifey called" barbs I selpt soundly in the knowledge that those fools really did enjoy walking for miles in layers of clothing so thick you can't bend over, on the slim chance your fingers won't be too numd to actually pull a trigger should the occasion occur!
Oops, my bad.
Oh, but the NEXT night (and every hunting night since) Honey is SURE to call me before they go to bed, just to say goodnight. Ain't he sweet? Of course, should he ever forget to make that call, I could always call him around, oh say, nine thirty! Sweet dreams, baby!
Friday, November 21, 2008
Come Back Here You Wascally Wabbit!
Hunting season is upon us. Now my husband has been hunting since he could practically walk. He's been to lots of different places all over the world, and he's hunted all kinds of game. But, as he's gotten older (haven't we all?) he suspiciously has come home with less and less prizes. He is a great hunter, and he only hunts what we (ok-mostly he and the kids) will eat. He is great with a cross bow, rifles, practically Rambo in First Blood. He HAS gotten Boar before. Maybe he IS Rambo? I never have seen them together.
Anyway, as with anything else, you would think your skills improve over time. But increasingly, hubby goes hunting and returns from a week in a VERY rustic cabin with the boys (5 of whom have sleep apnea---I can't imagine there's a deer for miles that's had a good night's sleep while they're there!) and yet he returns having killed nothing more than a bottle of good scotch. The only thing that get's bagged is him.
A few years back, he's up at Camp Catch a Buzz with four of his buddies. It's freezing, there's a good bit of snow o the ground, and each hunter goes off before the crack of dawn in a different direction, so as not to pull a Dick Cheney. They huddle in tree stands for hours, not moving, freezing off various body parts,...and hopefully they sight and bag something other than each other.
Well, his brother and friends all head out, and hubby decides to wait for the sun to come up a little and warm the unfriendly skies some. At one point, hunny decides to go outside to check weather conditions(probably to make another exscuse not to be freezing in a tree stand some where 50 feet off the ground. He looks out the door, and what does he see right next to their truck, but a beautiful 8 point buck. He reaches inside the door to Camp Kill a Bottle, grabs his rifle, makes a perfect kill shot, while still in his skivies (now, dear reader, that IS a sight!). He's back in front ot the fire with a glass of scotch as the others return mid day with frozen facial hair and empty hands. Rumor has it, he made the shot through the two open front windows of his brother's pick up. He swears he would've made the shot whether they were open or not!
He fancies himself a man's man, my baby-love, (no, we are NOT talking Broke back Mountain---I don't think!), and he prides himself on his fishing and hunting prowess. He is a big, burly, handsome man who takes pride in filling his family's freezer. And we are immensely proud of his talents.
Of course, not every year does the game come to you, and thus as he heads to Camp this year, it is more likely that he will carry home a hang over and not much else. Thank God we have King Kullen to pick up the slack!
Anyway, as with anything else, you would think your skills improve over time. But increasingly, hubby goes hunting and returns from a week in a VERY rustic cabin with the boys (5 of whom have sleep apnea---I can't imagine there's a deer for miles that's had a good night's sleep while they're there!) and yet he returns having killed nothing more than a bottle of good scotch. The only thing that get's bagged is him.
A few years back, he's up at Camp Catch a Buzz with four of his buddies. It's freezing, there's a good bit of snow o the ground, and each hunter goes off before the crack of dawn in a different direction, so as not to pull a Dick Cheney. They huddle in tree stands for hours, not moving, freezing off various body parts,...and hopefully they sight and bag something other than each other.
Well, his brother and friends all head out, and hubby decides to wait for the sun to come up a little and warm the unfriendly skies some. At one point, hunny decides to go outside to check weather conditions(probably to make another exscuse not to be freezing in a tree stand some where 50 feet off the ground. He looks out the door, and what does he see right next to their truck, but a beautiful 8 point buck. He reaches inside the door to Camp Kill a Bottle, grabs his rifle, makes a perfect kill shot, while still in his skivies (now, dear reader, that IS a sight!). He's back in front ot the fire with a glass of scotch as the others return mid day with frozen facial hair and empty hands. Rumor has it, he made the shot through the two open front windows of his brother's pick up. He swears he would've made the shot whether they were open or not!
He fancies himself a man's man, my baby-love, (no, we are NOT talking Broke back Mountain---I don't think!), and he prides himself on his fishing and hunting prowess. He is a big, burly, handsome man who takes pride in filling his family's freezer. And we are immensely proud of his talents.
Of course, not every year does the game come to you, and thus as he heads to Camp this year, it is more likely that he will carry home a hang over and not much else. Thank God we have King Kullen to pick up the slack!
Thursday, November 6, 2008
Games People Play
Okay---I've always been some what of a game player--not board games-they kind of make me bored, but games of skill, luck, something you could bet on---Poker has always been fun for me, blackjack, foos ball, dice , (left right center is my absolute favorite-something about little kids banging on a table at holdiday time yelling lefty lefty lefty-) and good old pool.
My obsession with pool goes way back to when we were little kids, and Grandpa East Rockaway (don't know why, but OUR grandparents always assumed the identity of the town they lived in-Thank God they didn't move to the same neighborhood as the Grandparents Baldwin!!!) anyway, Grandpa (of the) East Rockaway Grandparents had this huge regulation then state of the art slate covered pool table installed in his otherwise cavernous but empty basement--(I'll never know how we played hide and seek down there- the only place to hide was behind the stairs---and we ALL hid there whenever WE weren't it!!!) Okay, I never DID say we WERE bright kids!
Any way, we would go over to Grandpa's house and play pool for hours on end, and on Sunday mornings, for some strange reason, I used to watch Fats Domino(?) play professional pool on t.v. with my Dad...I'll bet you didn't know that pool used to be a spectator sport! Yup. othing like the quiet that fell over a room as Fats managed to sink every ball on the table without ever touching the cue ball. As I got older, my skill and love for the game increased.
Eventually, we had our very own state of the art slate covered pool table in our own not so empty basement. Now we could play with our friends and cousins all the time. Of course, we were young , and easily bored, and some times we liked to put a different spin on the game that involved 16 hard balls, slate, and cushioned sides.....
Well, one day, one of us not so bright cousins developed the game of war, in which you would place your fingers over the cushioned side of the table, while another not so bright cousin would ram the balls trying to smash your fingers before you had the chance to pull them out of the way....At the same time, you would be trying to smash the unrpotected fingers of your cross table opponent---This had all the makings of any great sport....skill, determination, and an urge to hurt yourself doing something that otherwise seems foolish!
As you might imagine, someone was bound to get hurt...And you would be right...Someone would have broken fingers...Well not quite...Remember how I mentioned pool as a spectator sport? Well, we WERE professionals!!!! Of course we had an audience...And that audience of course had to be those cousins too young to actually play (not because we were ensuring their safety, but simply because they couldn't see above the table!)
Well, the under five crowd was cheering and the balls were being whipped back across the table in both directions at furious rates of reckless speed.
Little lesson in physics here---do you know what happens when two fairly weighted objects are propelled towards one another and meet with great impact? Well, I can attest that at least once, one of those objects will become a pop fly and land on the head of the littlest (and by far the favorite ) cousin.
Of course the sound of that cue ball smacking poor Jo's cute little head was punctuated by a one second delayed WWWWWAAAAAAAHHHHH!!!!! Once, again, the thoughtful, ever mindful, concerned bunch of hoodlums that we were, we all ran right over to her, with hands over mouth to SHUT HER UP before the grown ups heard!!!
Have you ever tried to stifle a hysterical4 year old who now not only has a goose egg on her head, but is practically being smothered by her beloved siblings and cousins? Think Regan during her exorcism!!!!!
Needless to say, our new found game was NOT a big hit when the s..t hit the fan, and I pretty much remembered playing MY own trump card as the parents started screaming (after all, I, too, was one of the babies of the family...I was just a little taller, and therefore not sitting on the couch when the fireworks started, and shouldn't my parents be grateful that I also was not injured ? As near as I can remember, I (as usual) escaped unscathed, as opposed to my older siblings and cousins who SHOULD KNOW BETTER! WHAT'S THE MATTER WITH THEM ANYWAY? WHAT WERE THEY THINKING???
Well, our war pool days came to some what of a halt after that, but that's okay...we soon found that you could ride Big Wheels (remember---Two huge plastic tires spun by hand levers with you plopped in the middle ---helmets? what were those?)--any way, wouldn't it be great to ride those bad boys down our front driveway that just happens to end at a 90 degree angle to our closed (of course) underground garage door! Sounds dangerous??? Don't worry... we sent the little kids down first to test it out!!!!!
My obsession with pool goes way back to when we were little kids, and Grandpa East Rockaway (don't know why, but OUR grandparents always assumed the identity of the town they lived in-Thank God they didn't move to the same neighborhood as the Grandparents Baldwin!!!) anyway, Grandpa (of the) East Rockaway Grandparents had this huge regulation then state of the art slate covered pool table installed in his otherwise cavernous but empty basement--(I'll never know how we played hide and seek down there- the only place to hide was behind the stairs---and we ALL hid there whenever WE weren't it!!!) Okay, I never DID say we WERE bright kids!
Any way, we would go over to Grandpa's house and play pool for hours on end, and on Sunday mornings, for some strange reason, I used to watch Fats Domino(?) play professional pool on t.v. with my Dad...I'll bet you didn't know that pool used to be a spectator sport! Yup. othing like the quiet that fell over a room as Fats managed to sink every ball on the table without ever touching the cue ball. As I got older, my skill and love for the game increased.
Eventually, we had our very own state of the art slate covered pool table in our own not so empty basement. Now we could play with our friends and cousins all the time. Of course, we were young , and easily bored, and some times we liked to put a different spin on the game that involved 16 hard balls, slate, and cushioned sides.....
Well, one day, one of us not so bright cousins developed the game of war, in which you would place your fingers over the cushioned side of the table, while another not so bright cousin would ram the balls trying to smash your fingers before you had the chance to pull them out of the way....At the same time, you would be trying to smash the unrpotected fingers of your cross table opponent---This had all the makings of any great sport....skill, determination, and an urge to hurt yourself doing something that otherwise seems foolish!
As you might imagine, someone was bound to get hurt...And you would be right...Someone would have broken fingers...Well not quite...Remember how I mentioned pool as a spectator sport? Well, we WERE professionals!!!! Of course we had an audience...And that audience of course had to be those cousins too young to actually play (not because we were ensuring their safety, but simply because they couldn't see above the table!)
Well, the under five crowd was cheering and the balls were being whipped back across the table in both directions at furious rates of reckless speed.
Little lesson in physics here---do you know what happens when two fairly weighted objects are propelled towards one another and meet with great impact? Well, I can attest that at least once, one of those objects will become a pop fly and land on the head of the littlest (and by far the favorite ) cousin.
Of course the sound of that cue ball smacking poor Jo's cute little head was punctuated by a one second delayed WWWWWAAAAAAAHHHHH!!!!! Once, again, the thoughtful, ever mindful, concerned bunch of hoodlums that we were, we all ran right over to her, with hands over mouth to SHUT HER UP before the grown ups heard!!!
Have you ever tried to stifle a hysterical4 year old who now not only has a goose egg on her head, but is practically being smothered by her beloved siblings and cousins? Think Regan during her exorcism!!!!!
Needless to say, our new found game was NOT a big hit when the s..t hit the fan, and I pretty much remembered playing MY own trump card as the parents started screaming (after all, I, too, was one of the babies of the family...I was just a little taller, and therefore not sitting on the couch when the fireworks started, and shouldn't my parents be grateful that I also was not injured ? As near as I can remember, I (as usual) escaped unscathed, as opposed to my older siblings and cousins who SHOULD KNOW BETTER! WHAT'S THE MATTER WITH THEM ANYWAY? WHAT WERE THEY THINKING???
Well, our war pool days came to some what of a halt after that, but that's okay...we soon found that you could ride Big Wheels (remember---Two huge plastic tires spun by hand levers with you plopped in the middle ---helmets? what were those?)--any way, wouldn't it be great to ride those bad boys down our front driveway that just happens to end at a 90 degree angle to our closed (of course) underground garage door! Sounds dangerous??? Don't worry... we sent the little kids down first to test it out!!!!!
Monday, October 27, 2008
Bring Your Pet to School Day
We have three dogs, dauschunds, that we've been given over the years. My kids had two min males, and hubby's son had a full size dauschund. Now I always suspected that my males were not gay, but limited in options. However, having added Rusty (our token female ) to the mix, it's pretty clear....They are in fact gay. Now, a dog's sexual preferences are their own, and I'm all for freedom of your own choices. however, poor Rusty can't figure out why noone wants her! We've tried day at the doggy salon, sweet smelling bath soaps, but all to no avail....poor baby- what's a woman to do....
Nor is this the only time I've been hoodwinked by a pet.
Years ago, we had a big back yard, and at one point my then husband decided to get rid of some old bricks and rocks laying in a corner. What should appear to the delight of a then 5 year old D.J., but a garden snake. Now, it wasn't very large, maybe the length of a ruler, and the width of a pencil....And we had fish tanks and turtles and frogs....but snakes never were on my list of creepy crawly or slithery things I needed to have. Of course try explaining THAT to a 5 year old and my then husband who was by now acting like the suburban version of Steve Irwin. (isn't he gorgeous as he takes me into it's death roll) "It' will be educational "----Oh yeah did I ever learn a few lessons!
Well, this slithery snake ended up in a spare fish tank, and after a quick $60 drop at the pet store(complete with live crickets -this just keeps getting better doesn't it---, this poor thing who had the misfortune to crawl across our yard was now a captive pet. Oh joy. Be still my beating heart. Of course, after two weeks, barely anyone, besides me of course, even knew he was still there.
One time our little hostage managed to squeeze through the ttank and the screen cover....He was MIA for 2 weeks before he reared his ugly little head up through the baseboard heating in my son's room. It wasn't enough to simply find him....I paid my more-scared -of- snakes-than-I-am step daughter $10. to actually throw him back in his dungeon(I mean habitat).
Not enough to have to house the little creep. Nope. Our dear elementary school was presenting for the 1st time ever!!!!!! Bring Your Pet To School Day! (oh, mom, pleasssssse, you just gotta bring hime...pleasssssse) Well, I was thinking (insert expletives here), but I heard me say "of course we'll bring him to Bring Your Pet to School Day. Which, by the way, could only have been created by someone without a five year old, an infant, or pets!!!!!! Oh joy to the world.
How the heck was I going to monitor a snake cage, a stroller, and an infant by myself?!!!!
I tried another tactic..." D.J, maybe you could bring myrtle(our turtle)." I said, mentioning his first pet, who, I could just toss in a shoe box and squeeze it into the baby's diaper bag right next to the formula. "Who?" he inquired....Of course. Silly me...he hadn't glanced at that turtle since he learned there was upkeep involved.... Now, I don't mind myrtle. He doesn't sneak out of the
tank, and the poor dear will probably out live me. And, at his speed, he's not great escape risk...Heck, he can't even fit under the baseboards, no less in to them.
But, alas, on this occassion I was stuck with the snake.
The night before Bring Your Pet To School Day, we set out to scrub the snake's habitat. It wouldn't do to bring in a cage filled with snake doo (is that what it would be?)---so, D.J. and I (interpret I) cleaned the tank---- This was always fun, starting with me wrassling this monster into a sauce pot with a heavy lid tossed on to it. I scraped, washed, rinsed, rebedded, and returned the heat rock (heaven forbid he catch a chill!--It's not like he doesn't know how to get closer to the baseboards) and his little climby stick -a high rise with a view?
Finally, I dumped (yes dumped) that litlle vermin back into his cage- where upon he set to work making a mess of it again..After all, what else did the little bugger have to do...
The next morning, I set out to meet D.J. and the entire kindergarten on the back law courtyard of the school. I loaded snake and tank into the back of my car. I loaded baby Andrew in his car seat, as well as Andrew's luggage, which depending on the journey, could number into several hundreds of pounds of equipment. Today we were traveling lite, simply a strolller, a diaper bag, some bottles, my pocketbook, and of course the snake.
Loaded and ready to go, we head on down to the school.
Upon arrival, I spy some other pet drivers arriving. Oh look, there's Tommy's mom walking that cute little tea cup pup that could fit in her purse! Oh, and there's Judy's mom with their cat in a small little carrier. No sweat.
I got out of the car and put Andrew in his stroller. I slung his luggage over the handles, and nearly tipped the kid head over heels from all that weight. I readjusted my pocketbook to his lap. Now he was squished, but at least it was evenly distributed.
I took the snake tank out of the car. at 10 gallons, it was a handful, and Andrew's lap was already in use. Hmmmmmm. Okay. I took the snake tank five feet closer to the school. Then I walked back five feet and retrieved Andrew, his luggage, and my bag. I walked the stroller that same five feet to the snake tank. I picked up the snake tank and went another five feet. Back to the stroller. Another five feet with the stroller. (Did I mention this animal shindig was at the BACK of the schoolyard?!)---Well, after about seventy five of these 5 foot sprints, with sweat dripping between the blades of my shoulders, wheezing like an iron lunger on worst day.... We (Andrew, his luggage, my bag, and of course the snake) made it to the back of the school.
"Cool" D.J. brought a snake---woo hoo...."Hey Mom," the little bugger asks me, "Can I take him out and hold him?" Now, I've already explained, I don't touch snakes, and if that little vermin decided to make his exit from the jumpy palm of an unsuspecting 5 year old, I wasn't chasing the little bastard down.
D.J.'s friend Thomas had also brought a snake AND his Dad.... Perfect...Let them play snake handler. We were just fine with our lid on. Half an hour later, presentations over, me, Andrew, Andrew's stroller, his luggage, my bag, and of course the snake tank start heading all the way to the parking lot. Five feet snake, five feet stroller, five feet snake, five feet stroller-surely you get the picture by now.
Well, we return home (finally!!!) and I take Andrew out of the car seat and in to the house...I take in Andrew's luggage, my bag, his stroller, and finally I place the snake tank on the kitchen table.
A little while later, I go to put the snake back into my son's room and out of my sight. It occurs to me that the snake is still in the same position he was in when I left the house that morning. I go outside and get a long stick ..Again, I do not touch snakes. I lift the lid, waiting for the snake playing possum to attck, and poke it with said stick. It doesn't even move. I poke it again, this time pushing it.. The whole body, in the exact s shape that it's in slides without changing shapoe whatsoever. The snake, as it turns out, that I had humped bakc and forth, back and forth, had the poor manners to drop dead. That's right, we brought a DEAD pet to bring your pet to school day---Can you imagine if the kids HAD actually held him? I needlessly dragged, toted, and carried the kid and cage and luggage for essentially nothing. I could've put the thing in my pocket and just whipped it out when we got there.
You'd think D.J. would be heartbroken over the demise of the cherished snake. So did I. So I did what every good hearted mom would do....I tossed the snake in the garbage pail and put the cage back in his room. He never noticed.
Nor is this the only time I've been hoodwinked by a pet.
Years ago, we had a big back yard, and at one point my then husband decided to get rid of some old bricks and rocks laying in a corner. What should appear to the delight of a then 5 year old D.J., but a garden snake. Now, it wasn't very large, maybe the length of a ruler, and the width of a pencil....And we had fish tanks and turtles and frogs....but snakes never were on my list of creepy crawly or slithery things I needed to have. Of course try explaining THAT to a 5 year old and my then husband who was by now acting like the suburban version of Steve Irwin. (isn't he gorgeous as he takes me into it's death roll) "It' will be educational "----Oh yeah did I ever learn a few lessons!
Well, this slithery snake ended up in a spare fish tank, and after a quick $60 drop at the pet store(complete with live crickets -this just keeps getting better doesn't it---, this poor thing who had the misfortune to crawl across our yard was now a captive pet. Oh joy. Be still my beating heart. Of course, after two weeks, barely anyone, besides me of course, even knew he was still there.
One time our little hostage managed to squeeze through the ttank and the screen cover....He was MIA for 2 weeks before he reared his ugly little head up through the baseboard heating in my son's room. It wasn't enough to simply find him....I paid my more-scared -of- snakes-than-I-am step daughter $10. to actually throw him back in his dungeon(I mean habitat).
Not enough to have to house the little creep. Nope. Our dear elementary school was presenting for the 1st time ever!!!!!! Bring Your Pet To School Day! (oh, mom, pleasssssse, you just gotta bring hime...pleasssssse) Well, I was thinking (insert expletives here), but I heard me say "of course we'll bring him to Bring Your Pet to School Day. Which, by the way, could only have been created by someone without a five year old, an infant, or pets!!!!!! Oh joy to the world.
How the heck was I going to monitor a snake cage, a stroller, and an infant by myself?!!!!
I tried another tactic..." D.J, maybe you could bring myrtle(our turtle)." I said, mentioning his first pet, who, I could just toss in a shoe box and squeeze it into the baby's diaper bag right next to the formula. "Who?" he inquired....Of course. Silly me...he hadn't glanced at that turtle since he learned there was upkeep involved.... Now, I don't mind myrtle. He doesn't sneak out of the
tank, and the poor dear will probably out live me. And, at his speed, he's not great escape risk...Heck, he can't even fit under the baseboards, no less in to them.
But, alas, on this occassion I was stuck with the snake.
The night before Bring Your Pet To School Day, we set out to scrub the snake's habitat. It wouldn't do to bring in a cage filled with snake doo (is that what it would be?)---so, D.J. and I (interpret I) cleaned the tank---- This was always fun, starting with me wrassling this monster into a sauce pot with a heavy lid tossed on to it. I scraped, washed, rinsed, rebedded, and returned the heat rock (heaven forbid he catch a chill!--It's not like he doesn't know how to get closer to the baseboards) and his little climby stick -a high rise with a view?
Finally, I dumped (yes dumped) that litlle vermin back into his cage- where upon he set to work making a mess of it again..After all, what else did the little bugger have to do...
The next morning, I set out to meet D.J. and the entire kindergarten on the back law courtyard of the school. I loaded snake and tank into the back of my car. I loaded baby Andrew in his car seat, as well as Andrew's luggage, which depending on the journey, could number into several hundreds of pounds of equipment. Today we were traveling lite, simply a strolller, a diaper bag, some bottles, my pocketbook, and of course the snake.
Loaded and ready to go, we head on down to the school.
Upon arrival, I spy some other pet drivers arriving. Oh look, there's Tommy's mom walking that cute little tea cup pup that could fit in her purse! Oh, and there's Judy's mom with their cat in a small little carrier. No sweat.
I got out of the car and put Andrew in his stroller. I slung his luggage over the handles, and nearly tipped the kid head over heels from all that weight. I readjusted my pocketbook to his lap. Now he was squished, but at least it was evenly distributed.
I took the snake tank out of the car. at 10 gallons, it was a handful, and Andrew's lap was already in use. Hmmmmmm. Okay. I took the snake tank five feet closer to the school. Then I walked back five feet and retrieved Andrew, his luggage, and my bag. I walked the stroller that same five feet to the snake tank. I picked up the snake tank and went another five feet. Back to the stroller. Another five feet with the stroller. (Did I mention this animal shindig was at the BACK of the schoolyard?!)---Well, after about seventy five of these 5 foot sprints, with sweat dripping between the blades of my shoulders, wheezing like an iron lunger on worst day.... We (Andrew, his luggage, my bag, and of course the snake) made it to the back of the school.
"Cool" D.J. brought a snake---woo hoo...."Hey Mom," the little bugger asks me, "Can I take him out and hold him?" Now, I've already explained, I don't touch snakes, and if that little vermin decided to make his exit from the jumpy palm of an unsuspecting 5 year old, I wasn't chasing the little bastard down.
D.J.'s friend Thomas had also brought a snake AND his Dad.... Perfect...Let them play snake handler. We were just fine with our lid on. Half an hour later, presentations over, me, Andrew, Andrew's stroller, his luggage, my bag, and of course the snake tank start heading all the way to the parking lot. Five feet snake, five feet stroller, five feet snake, five feet stroller-surely you get the picture by now.
Well, we return home (finally!!!) and I take Andrew out of the car seat and in to the house...I take in Andrew's luggage, my bag, his stroller, and finally I place the snake tank on the kitchen table.
A little while later, I go to put the snake back into my son's room and out of my sight. It occurs to me that the snake is still in the same position he was in when I left the house that morning. I go outside and get a long stick ..Again, I do not touch snakes. I lift the lid, waiting for the snake playing possum to attck, and poke it with said stick. It doesn't even move. I poke it again, this time pushing it.. The whole body, in the exact s shape that it's in slides without changing shapoe whatsoever. The snake, as it turns out, that I had humped bakc and forth, back and forth, had the poor manners to drop dead. That's right, we brought a DEAD pet to bring your pet to school day---Can you imagine if the kids HAD actually held him? I needlessly dragged, toted, and carried the kid and cage and luggage for essentially nothing. I could've put the thing in my pocket and just whipped it out when we got there.
You'd think D.J. would be heartbroken over the demise of the cherished snake. So did I. So I did what every good hearted mom would do....I tossed the snake in the garbage pail and put the cage back in his room. He never noticed.
Friday, October 24, 2008
The Storm of the Century
Tonight The kids and hubby and I are going to the movies with some friends...Surprisingly enough (haha), this triggers an early childhood memory for me, dear reader........
It was the sixth grade, and my world of new friendships and territories was growing..... Our sixth grade annex (again, if you are a constant, dear reader, please exscuse the repetition, for I know it is hell---The Storm of the Century) combined many elementary schools and kids from all directions. As is true of all kids at that age, (i think), it was time to spread my wings a little from the local kids and start stretching out a little. Now, I was the third born of three, so my parents had been there, done that some what already.... Anyway, I think because of this what I like to call "Multi-child syndrome (after two the folks lose track of every one!), I was granted permissions my siblings may not have enjoyed.
One such permission, was to go to movies with a friend from a neighboring town. Now, I may not have been that clear on just what town it was or exactly how we would get there, but I was going....
After school one winter's day, Lisa and I headed toward her house in (gasp) THE OPPOSITE DIRECTION from my home territory. Now when I was a kid, we put a lot of mileage on our feet.. (see WALK THIS WAY)...We were familiar with our own area pretty much everywhere, so to walk another mile in an opposite direction didn't bother me in the least.
It was the sixth grade, and my world of new friendships and territories was growing..... Our sixth grade annex (again, if you are a constant, dear reader, please exscuse the repetition, for I know it is hell---The Storm of the Century) combined many elementary schools and kids from all directions. As is true of all kids at that age, (i think), it was time to spread my wings a little from the local kids and start stretching out a little. Now, I was the third born of three, so my parents had been there, done that some what already.... Anyway, I think because of this what I like to call "Multi-child syndrome (after two the folks lose track of every one!), I was granted permissions my siblings may not have enjoyed.
One such permission, was to go to movies with a friend from a neighboring town. Now, I may not have been that clear on just what town it was or exactly how we would get there, but I was going....
After school one winter's day, Lisa and I headed toward her house in (gasp) THE OPPOSITE DIRECTION from my home territory. Now when I was a kid, we put a lot of mileage on our feet.. (see WALK THIS WAY)...We were familiar with our own area pretty much everywhere, so to walk another mile in an opposite direction didn't bother me in the least.
I remember we went to see Animal House-maybe it was for the first time or for the one hundredth- I don't recall that, but I DO remember all the kids hooting and howling in the theatre---particularlty when Bluto asks "Guess what I am now!"
The movie was great fun, and I remember it was starting to get dark out when we escaped the movie theatre. It was also starting to snow.....
What started out as flurries became a near blinding blizzard, and after an hour (of what should have been a fifteen/twenty minute walk), I was hopelessly lost. For either pride or damnation, it never occurred to me to knock on a door or ask for help....I just kept on walking , and walking, and walking.....
I walked for hours before I finally spotted the local hospital, cut around to the back, and finally found myself just a few blocks from home...I walked through my front door, half frozen, and icicles in my hair. I quickly changed clothes and dried my hair....no way I was going to admit to having been lost for hours in a the worst snow storm of the eastern sea board(ok,ok -maybe that's a slight exageration).
After all these years, I still try to figure out what went wrong that day. As near as I can recall, I lost my way at the hospital. What I figured for the front side must have been the back, I guess...
Anyway, that's a Suism I don't think I've EVER shared before....and judging from my following on this blog, I guess I STILL haven't----hellllooooo....is any one out there?
Anyway, just to be on the safe side of the street (and the right side), I checked the weather report......We aren't expecting any 50degree surpirse snow storms tonight!!!! I'm good!!!!
Thursday, October 23, 2008
Soul Sister
We all have our sibling rivalries, it's simply part of the territory, that goes along with sharing/borrowing clothes without permission, fighting over whose turn it is to do the dishes, feed the dog, etc. It is also a great forum for passing along habits good and bad. Eventually, someone ends up getting thrown under the proverbial bus....
Come back with me, if you will, dear reader, to the mid 1970's....Elton John was wearing duck outfits and moon boots, most girls were duplicating David Cassidy's shag hair cut, and some of us were hanging out in cars that didn't even run.
The car in question belonged to a member of the Cleveland Ave crew---As ominous as that sounds, we were really just a bunch of kids from the block without a basement to hang in the winter months. Our most threatening member was G.J, who had all the earmarks of a biker dude, except for the bike and biker friends and hot chicks.....You get the picture...He DID have the mirrored sun glasses AND the required oversized black faux wallet complete with chain...And he insisted on wearing only worn and tried old levis. If his mom dared to buy him new ones, he'd insist they not be washed for the first few weeks, so they could then also be worn and tried old levis.
Anyway, the car that didn't run was currently parked in Pete's driveway. I remember it being a Barracuda of some sort, and when (if) it was ever finished being restored, it would be the hottest car since Greased Lightning....
To digress a moment, before my sister and I and four of our nearest and dearest piled in to that car:
My dear kister, at the ripe old age of about 15 had committed a most cardinal sin that year...She had been sentenced to SUMMER SCHOOL.....Now, apparently, summer school was not just a reflection of my sister's lack of interest in homework or studying, but, as my mother was quick to point out, A REFLECTION ON HER UPBRINGING!!!! We did not DO summer school...That showed a lack of homework and study control on the part of your parents, who not only did NOT have to be the one to suffer through lazy days of summer in a classroom, but who apparently would suffer severe social repercussions due to your (no, not stupidity) but lack of APPLYING yourself.
Now, my kister is VERY applicable, and that year, she was also applying herself to her first tastes of alcoholic beverages. Well, in order to procure a single night out from her summer school house arrest, she swore to my mother, God, Allah, and any one else required that she would a) be home early b) she would take her tag a long sister (always a clincher) and c) she would d0 NO drinking.
Okay, so with trustee sister (that's me!) in tow, we headed down the block. After joining our fellow deliquents in the aforementioned soon to be classic car, it was discovered that someone had acquired beer......(Boy, was IT a different world back then).
Despite peer pressure, my sister stayed true to her word....She would not renege against her word and face the wrath of mother, god, and Allah....."Thanks folks, but none for me." she repeated throughout the evening. I did NOT see the harm in MY having one or two. After all, I had not shamed our family with the forever stimatized summer school...In fact, I was a pretty good student...Shouldn't that be worth something?
Two beers and a buzz later....Kister urged us that we must return to the dungeon of her summer school - home. We walked the block to our house, where upon the warden mother was waiting at the front door, lights ablazing----Now, we weren't late, she just wanted to make sure my do good sister had not been up to no good.
My sister practically skipped in to the house, knowing she had DONE the Right thing..... I remember sheepishly bringing up the rear with a bit of a stagger.... Close on her heels I followed, as kister bounded in to the house.....
No sooner did we enter, than my mother smells the sickly sweet smell of stale beer emainating from her charges (okay, so it was THIS charge emanating)...As my mother yelled at my sister for drinking...(granted she wasn't-but admitting that you LET you baby sister WAS was not going to save anybody)--any how, as long as mom was preoccupied, I scooted through the dining room, down the hall and right in to bed.......The last words I heard before deep slumber took me that night was "You should try to be more like your sister".....
Sorry, sis.....
Oh, and about that brand new pair of maroon high heel boots you told me never to touch.....Sorry about that loose heel....Thirteen year old feet were not made to walk at that angle!!!!!
And the sweater you caught me wearing in the hall way at school which you demanded I "take it off right now!!!!"
And the billion other offenses committed by a kid sisiter.....
Sorry---and most of all Thanks for letting me live by not following though on all thoses threats...Nobody loves ya like me!!!!!!!
Come back with me, if you will, dear reader, to the mid 1970's....Elton John was wearing duck outfits and moon boots, most girls were duplicating David Cassidy's shag hair cut, and some of us were hanging out in cars that didn't even run.
The car in question belonged to a member of the Cleveland Ave crew---As ominous as that sounds, we were really just a bunch of kids from the block without a basement to hang in the winter months. Our most threatening member was G.J, who had all the earmarks of a biker dude, except for the bike and biker friends and hot chicks.....You get the picture...He DID have the mirrored sun glasses AND the required oversized black faux wallet complete with chain...And he insisted on wearing only worn and tried old levis. If his mom dared to buy him new ones, he'd insist they not be washed for the first few weeks, so they could then also be worn and tried old levis.
Anyway, the car that didn't run was currently parked in Pete's driveway. I remember it being a Barracuda of some sort, and when (if) it was ever finished being restored, it would be the hottest car since Greased Lightning....
To digress a moment, before my sister and I and four of our nearest and dearest piled in to that car:
My dear kister, at the ripe old age of about 15 had committed a most cardinal sin that year...She had been sentenced to SUMMER SCHOOL.....Now, apparently, summer school was not just a reflection of my sister's lack of interest in homework or studying, but, as my mother was quick to point out, A REFLECTION ON HER UPBRINGING!!!! We did not DO summer school...That showed a lack of homework and study control on the part of your parents, who not only did NOT have to be the one to suffer through lazy days of summer in a classroom, but who apparently would suffer severe social repercussions due to your (no, not stupidity) but lack of APPLYING yourself.
Now, my kister is VERY applicable, and that year, she was also applying herself to her first tastes of alcoholic beverages. Well, in order to procure a single night out from her summer school house arrest, she swore to my mother, God, Allah, and any one else required that she would a) be home early b) she would take her tag a long sister (always a clincher) and c) she would d0 NO drinking.
Okay, so with trustee sister (that's me!) in tow, we headed down the block. After joining our fellow deliquents in the aforementioned soon to be classic car, it was discovered that someone had acquired beer......(Boy, was IT a different world back then).
Despite peer pressure, my sister stayed true to her word....She would not renege against her word and face the wrath of mother, god, and Allah....."Thanks folks, but none for me." she repeated throughout the evening. I did NOT see the harm in MY having one or two. After all, I had not shamed our family with the forever stimatized summer school...In fact, I was a pretty good student...Shouldn't that be worth something?
Two beers and a buzz later....Kister urged us that we must return to the dungeon of her summer school - home. We walked the block to our house, where upon the warden mother was waiting at the front door, lights ablazing----Now, we weren't late, she just wanted to make sure my do good sister had not been up to no good.
My sister practically skipped in to the house, knowing she had DONE the Right thing..... I remember sheepishly bringing up the rear with a bit of a stagger.... Close on her heels I followed, as kister bounded in to the house.....
No sooner did we enter, than my mother smells the sickly sweet smell of stale beer emainating from her charges (okay, so it was THIS charge emanating)...As my mother yelled at my sister for drinking...(granted she wasn't-but admitting that you LET you baby sister WAS was not going to save anybody)--any how, as long as mom was preoccupied, I scooted through the dining room, down the hall and right in to bed.......The last words I heard before deep slumber took me that night was "You should try to be more like your sister".....
Sorry, sis.....
Oh, and about that brand new pair of maroon high heel boots you told me never to touch.....Sorry about that loose heel....Thirteen year old feet were not made to walk at that angle!!!!!
And the sweater you caught me wearing in the hall way at school which you demanded I "take it off right now!!!!"
And the billion other offenses committed by a kid sisiter.....
Sorry---and most of all Thanks for letting me live by not following though on all thoses threats...Nobody loves ya like me!!!!!!!
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