••• Sunday, August 29, 2004

Feel Me, See Me
Friday last,
Was Screamy Eemy.
Now I feel
All Dreamy Creamy

What would serve
As nerve embalmer?
A Dreamy Muse
Called Rowan Calmer.

Sidenote: Sandy, Can You see me now?

••• Friday, August 27, 2004

Friday Kabbitch
Things that bugged me this week:
Reality Olympics. If they're going for the Reality TV effect for the Olympics, maybe they should hire some professional reality TV camera operators.

I'm talking about coverage of the Men's Gymnastic High Bar Debaucle. I'm talking about the clumsy camera work as it followed Greek-Olympic-God-Like-Official-Glancing-Nervously-Over-Shoulder Guy as he approached the Crappin'-His-Pants-Malaysian-Judge Guy (or Deer-Caught-in-The-High-Beam Guy), who was sitting next to Woman-of-Unknown-Origins-Giving-Classic-Hey-I-Didn't-Crap-My-Pants-But-I-Think-I-Know-Who-Did look, while the spectators screamed for blood.

Pssst...Hamm...On that other matter, if ya didn't really earn it, do ya really want it?

Fruit of the Loo, (or Lemon over Poo). I'm talking about fruit scented air freshener used in the bathroom. Bad idea.

It's Just a Shame, Shame Shame... The current Viet Nam Veteran War is hurtful to both candidates, all Viet Nam veterans and me. The war was a tragedy. Your issues are trivializing. Trifling. Let's move on. (Frankly, I'd think the Power That Be might want to steer clear of topics related to War Without Reason.)
Things that scared me this week:
It's 8am, Do You Know Where Your Son Is?My teenager sleeps in late in the summer. Real late.

Sunday, about 12:30a.m., I gave him a kiss and went to bed. The next morning, my husband left for work at 8:00 and I was up 30 minutes later with the Cakers.

As I walk past Cam's room on my way to get Ana up, I notice his door is slightly ajar. That's weird. He always sleeps with his door locked. I peek in and he's not there.

Downstairs, his wallet is on the kitchen counter, along with his cell phone and the key to my car. My car is in the driveway, just where he left it the night before.

I call my husband, who says he noticed Cam's door cracked when he got up at 7:45. I call my ex-husand who does not know of any appointments. I expressed to him a worry that Cam had snuck out during the night and maybe been injured. In my mind, the sneaking out was a slight reality, but the not sneaking back in before being missed, unless he was mortally wounded, was not. My ex can't believe Cam would sneak out, but I can't believe he would be up at 7:30am without cause.

I'm trying to appear calm and rational, while fighting the urge to throw up. The Cakers has picked up on my frenzy and is running around the house calling her big brother's name and becoming increasingly upset.

I look in the back yard, to see if he fell climbing up or down his balcony. I look in my car, in the weight room. In the garage, his basketball is where he left it. Basketball was the last hope. There is no other explanation for his being gone than that he snuck out and was injured somehow.

Finally, at 9:00am, I call his best friend's cell phone. Oh, he's at the high school getting his schedule changed. He got there real early to sign up, but at 7:30, there were already 17 seniors in front of him.

I cried a little, but no one heard.

When Cam returned, 30 minutes later, he knew he had effed up big before I even said a word. He explained that he had started to write a note on the whiteboard, when his ride showed up. Worried that the dog would bark and wake the baby, he slipped out without detection. He also assumed he'd be home before I got up.

I was obviously relieved that he was safe, but what really excited me was he had gotten up at the crack of hell, on his own, to perform a responsible task. Whee!

First Day Jitters Or Delirium Tremors?
Didja hear about the teacher in Kentucky who was pulled over on her way to work on the first day of school? She blew a .2 on the breathalyzer. At 7:30 in the morning. You can read about it here

Things That Made me Sad This Week:
Amy has a broken heart.
Wrap up
Sorry about the lengthy post here. I've been off my game this week.

And my brain feels like it's trying to crawl out of my skull so as to open a can of whoopass on my unwitting soul.

We're going to the cottage for the weekend. The weather is supposed to suck, but I don't care. That's what I call love.

P.S. When you're not in the mood for blog, is it better to post crap anyway or not at all?

P.P.S. Yesterday's post...face appearing to be smooshed through a too small opening?...like birth? Okay. Lame. Thanks anyway Teresa!

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••• Wednesday, August 25, 2004

Just Some Fluff to Ease a Weary Mind
First of all, the dog days of summer done bit me in my ass. And it do hurt.

My summer vacation is officially over and I returned to work today. Typically I feel a little sad at summer's end, but mostly I am excited to get back to the routine, my clients and co-workers. Today I felt no excitement at all.

In fact, I actually felt like crying on the drive in today. I suspect this sudden dinge was related to having to devote my last day of summer to seeing my son through wisdom teeth extraction.

On a knitty knote, I'm making some headway (or backway) on Joanna's Dreamy Creamy pattern (is it Creamy Dreamy? I get so consufed....)

This is a nice fun pattern. The shaping keeps it interesting and also gives it an extra feminine feel. And this yarn? You have to feel it to believe it.

I Just Can't Face it No More....
Ever wonder what really goes on in those Born Again Chat Rooms?

Well...it ain't a pretty sight.

••• Sunday, August 22, 2004

Why Can't You Just Get it Through Your Head?
It's over, it's over now.
Yes you heard me clearly now, I said,
It's over, it's over now....
-Boz Skaggs

Just a little tune that won't get over my head. As best as I've been trying to deny, it's time to face up. Summer's over. It's over now.

Wednesday I return to work for the first of two days of mandatory inservice training. For me, it means two days of back-to-back one and two hour meetings.

Last week was benignly crazy for me, and it seems I hardly sat down for more than a few minutes at time, except for getting my hair colored and cut.

Cam is currently at his senior retreat, where I put in several hours yesterday as a parent volunteer. Just several hours before my assigned shift, I realized I had also signed up to bring two dozen cookies to the affair. Let's just say, over the past three days I've been one melt(down)away shy of a full batch.

I have started a new project but have had little time to work on it. It's Joanna's Creamy Dreamy design (check the attorney's sidebar. Sorry J. It just came tumbling out of my fingertips.) Cute stuff.

I've heard much about the Calmer yarn but couldn't believe my fingers when I was finally able to touch it for myself. This stuff is soft as a bunny's booty.

Here's what I have so far:

It looks like a pretty easy knit. The back is plain stockinette, so the fun won't really begin until I can interface with the VanDyke Lace. I'm adding two inches boobease and an inch in length, in case anyone cares.

I've been on line in bits in pieces over the past five days and unfortunately have not had time to hit the blogs. I hope all is well.

And Greta, Sweetie, Happy Birthday! (The greeting, it belate and I be sorry!)

Before returning to work on Wednesday, I have a couple more days of craziness, including a final appointment with photographer (sr.picts) and Cam getting his wisdom teeth out on Tuesday. I guess it's kind of a good thing to be so busy up until the end, as it leaves me no time for weeping.

••• Thursday, August 19, 2004

A Waste is a Terrible Thing to Mind
Girl's night at the cottage was a grand time, and everyone agreed it will become an annual summer event.

Amid the late night giggle snorting and booty Krumpin', and unbeknownst to my tipsilating friends, I harbored a secret fear. A preoccupation. A thing. In fact, amid all the merriment and Butter Shots, I actually had a lot of shit on my mind.

Insert scary segue music.....to fadeaway.

....How This Scary Shit Got Started
The first week of our vacation, in late June, an electrician stopped by the cottage with orders to install wiring for some sort of alarm.

Initially I hadn't given his presence much thought. But after watching him go between a hole in the yard and a crawl space in the cottage, my curiosity was piqued.

So I asked my husband what the electrician was doing.

And the rest went something like this:

He's putting in an alarm.

For what?

Waste system.

The what?

The waste system.

I don't know what you mean.

Waste. Sewage.

Like stuff that goes down the sink?

Mmmm..Like that, and the other stuff.

Other Stuff?

You really don't know what I'm talking about, do you?

I'm scared.

Okay. See the hole where that guy is working?


That's where it goes to get chopped up.

Where what goes to get chopped up?


No really. What gets chopped up?

I'm wasn't kidding. Poop.

I know you weren't kidding. You're lying.

See those tanks over there?

What tanks?

Those white caps sticking out of the ground....?

You mean those aren't helium silos for the Fourth of July celebration?

No. Those are tanks filled with shit. Our shit. After you flush the toilet, it comes here to get chopped up, then it shoots over there, into a tank.

So what's the alarm for?

It tells us when all three tanks are full.

Is that important?

If you don't want the chopped up version of our family humanity spewed throughout this lovely, lakeside community, it is very important.

So the alarm goes off, then what?

Then we call the waste management company to come and take it away.

What happens if you don't hear the alarm?

You don't want to know.

I'm going to faint.

You're fine.

Because those are huge tanks and only need to be emptied, like, every three or four years, right?

Uh. No. An average family of four will fill one tank per week. Three tanks, three weeks.

They're probably talking about average rich families. Fiber rich families. Families rife with courtesy flushers. Average families with mutant genes which cause them to be highly susceptible to intestinal infortitudes.

They're talking about families like us.

Hold me...
Needless to say, the next couple days were pretty tense, for me. After staying up one night, listening for unapproved running of water or other illicit bathroom activity, I decided that someone needed to take control.

The next day, I passed out a daily allotment of flush tokens to each cottage resident. Along with three flush tokens, each person received a free pep talk on the importance of potty planning.

When I realized that the tokens had fallen into the garbage, just as my words had fallen on clogged ears, I initiated plan B. The Flush Buddy system. Per the Flush Buddy system, no one may flush until his/her Flush Buddy approves the bowl contents as flushworthy. After the ass-essment, said buddy initials a chart posted on the bathroom door.

First they laughed at me. Then they flushed with wild abandon.

With my attempted external management strategies going straight in the crapper, I decided to impact from the inside out. Diet.

While no one noticed when I removed all semblance of fiber from the domicile, there were a few questions about the flour/salt doughballs I served for dinner one night.
Mom, isn't this Christmas ornament dough?
Of course not. They're called "Gravy Balls." Very healthy. All natural and fat free. Eat up, before they set.
When my husband recommended burgers for dinner another night, I immediately envisioned a family-wide e-coli epidemic and related flushes. Aggravating this fear was the concern that with everyone lining up at the Loo, who would be available to keep an ear out for the alarm? We ate well-done that night.

Eventually, I realized that the diarreah on the brain had runneth over. I had turned into a neurotic poophead. I needed to start a movement to let it go.

That same evening, I served up a special meal, of my own creation. A casserole. A pees offering, if you will. As we sat to sup, I apologized to all for my recent, most stinky attitude. The new dish was a hit and my guests were gracious.

That night, for the first time in several, I slept like a babe. And just before nodding off, I smiled at the success of my new culinary creation. Now, what did I name it again? Oh yeah...Momma's Imodium D-light...ZZZZZzzzzz.

Back to Girls Night, and Shit Or Sticking to a Theme, Like Pooh on a Shoe
Needless to say, I was more than a little nervous about the girl's night being ruined by a geyser of doo. This fear prevailed, despite my being armed with the knowledge that we had two empty tanks to play with.

After getting loopy, I finally confessed my filthy fears to my buddies. While they were at first sympathetic, by the end of the evening my dirty little secret had become a source of friendly fodder for the proverbial fan. i.e. They gave me crap, with love.

To keep our minds out of my collective cesspool, the next day we distracted ourselves with a bit of shopping. I eventually wound up in a yarn shop and wound up with a bit of this:

And I'm here to tell ya, I've been feeling Calmer ever since.

For the record, I do have a project in mind for this puddle of puff. But more on that tomorrow, 'cause now I gotta go. I'm suddenly feeling a little flush.

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••• Monday, August 16, 2004

Monday Mourning
I was up until 1:00 am nearly finishing a rather lenghty post. When I got up this morning to finish it up, I found about 2/3 of it had been lopped off the end. Grrrrrr.

Anyway, later this morning I'm heading up to the cottage with three girlfriends for a day of sunny pleasures and a night of debaucherous decadence. I'm even thinking about "coming out" to them....about the blog. (They already know I'm kinda weird. )

When I told The Cakers I was gonna spend the night with my girlfriends, she said "I spend the night at Nana's. I spinned and spinned and spinned."

Here's The Cakers showing me how she spinned the night at Nana's.

I gotta go, I'm late!

••• Sunday, August 15, 2004

"You can only get your hands on so many balls."

I heard this just minutes ago, from an NBC sportscaster covering an Olympic beach volleyball event (Aussies vs.USsies).

But I really think he was talking to me.

About yarn.

Of course.

It's been a hellacious week 'round here. Nothing big. Just slow burn aggravation.

A post of some substance is forthcoming.

••• Thursday, August 12, 2004

Got to Bag it Up
Keepin' it short today, again.

Cam has a senior class retreat next weekend. A month ago, parents were given an assignment to write a love letter, of sorts, to be given to their child to read, at the closing of the weekend. I've had this assignment for a month and it remains but a gleam in my mind. It's due tomorrow.

And the cleaning lady cometh. And the pre-cleaneth cleaning needeth doneth.

I finished the French Market Bag.

I like how it turned out, but I admit I wasn't expecting it to be so small. I guess that's why one should thoroughly check the specs before embarking on a project?

I had intended giving this to my mother-in-law, but I think it's going The Cakers. It'll make a nice doll carry-all. I'll try the pattern again, with a thicker yarn, bigger needles and deeper body. Next time I'll make the circular bottom instead of the square.

Dull and duller this week.

Regarding yesterday's post, my husband said "I don't get it." When I told him that I just figured out this great mystery, he said "You're joking." Uh-No.

P.S. I'm watching the news about the current squirmish in Na*jaf. My brother has recently transferred from a palace assignment in Baghd*ad to security transportation of important peeps from the airport to various cities.

He's been emailing daily, detailed updates on his adventures and says that he's having a blast. I can practically see the ear to ear grin. And then I try not to think about it. Period.

••• Wednesday, August 11, 2004

This Just In....
Dear Lady With Toothpaste in Her Hair (Clothes,Shower Curtain, etc.):

After you put the toothpaste on your electric toothbrush, try waiting until you have the brush in your mouth before turning it on.

Cosmically Yours,
The Universe

P.S. We've been watching this phenomenon for weeks now. At first it was sort of cute, in a quirky, eccentric kind of way. But eventually, it was merely pathetic. Really.

••• Monday, August 09, 2004

How Was My Weekend?
So glad you asked!

The ambiance was incredible.
The food was unforgettable.
The company, nearly edible.
And the rest? Well..Unregrettable.

::And that's a wrap!::

••• Friday, August 06, 2004

Sac de Bleu!
How can you tell a boy French Market Bag from a girl French Market Bag?

The oui-oui!

Knitting up this sac is funner than a bag full of monkeys. Certainment. (Apologies to Francais enthusists and dear, sweet Madame Kerr. It's been 30 years, k?).

I'm knitting this up in Elann wool (leftover from my Must Have, which Must Be around here somewhere, waiting for a fine finish) and some Brown Sheep Nature spun. I'm using the square bottom version, but now I'm wishing I didn't. It's looking kind of...how you say...Snarky?

I'm hoping to begin felting tonight so it can be gifted to my mother-in-law, next week.

Am I Excited?
Does a Bear Knit in the Woods?

I hopped over to Lansing yesterday, to check out the Threadbear's new threads. All I can say is Day-ng.

And to the fact that, from door-to-delicious-door, it took me under 55 minutes...all I can say is Double Day-ng!

Lots of little bears have been very busy getting the place ready to open the doors this weekend. Matt and Rob have been blessed with a troop of volunteers, lead by Admiral Sarah. I was able to help for a couple of hours and if you order/purchase any Lamb's Pride, check out the perfect positioning of the price tags. uhh..but don't check to see if the color code matches the label. They say location is everything.

I only had a second to take a picture before I had to zoom home for dinner. Please note that this shot does not contain a certain someone who threatened (lovingly, of course) to take my heart out with a dull stitch gauge template if I included him in the picture. And I really hated to leave when there was so much yarn to sniff work to do.

This picture doesn't do the place justice. It's huge. Vast. Behemothesque. Definitely the biggest yarn store(not a shop, by my definition) I've ever seen, anyway. ::And honeys, I've been around::

Oops! Gotta Run. (While I'm really excited that The Cakers has a bright future as a forensic veterinarian, I think Cheddar would like to keep his eyes in their respective sockets, at this time.)

Happy 5 year wedding anniversary to me and mine. We're heading to the cottage tomorrow, for a private celebration. Whee!

I really want to post but have no time for extensive editing now, so please pardon the faux pas'

••• Wednesday, August 04, 2004

Be Kind To Your Blog Day
I'm spending my designated computer time today cleaning up around the blog-sty, as in updating sausage links and srubbing between little jpg-gy toes. (hmmm...Do jpggies have toes? It would behoove me to know this. No?)

Meanstwhile, I found this Fluff-o-Fun over at Hatamaran's.

Which flock do you follow?

this quiz was made by alanna

Based on my responses to this quiz, I'm going to interpret "trendy" as "ill-defined."

Tomorrow I'm thinking of calling on the T-Bears, who have recently returned to my neck of the woods. ::As in one hour away!::Woohoo!::

Please don't hate me 'cause I'm beautifuly situated.

I hope to return home with some yarns to share. 'Specially since I'll have the Cakers' in tow.

Happy Humping!

••• Sunday, August 01, 2004

Not Fit For Human Consumption. That would be me. I used to experience this condition about once a month, for a day, if that. Now? Once a month, for about three weeks.

And now, a long premenopausal whine...
A Wreak in Review
Gonna potty train the Cakers.
Big Girl Undies? Check (Bob Bob Bay Pants, even)
Potty Chair? Check
Case of M&M's? Check
Bladder of Steele? Double Check
Willing Participant? Uh, no.

The Cakers is thrilled with her new undies and wears them with pride. But when she has to pee, she asks for a diaper. That's when the fun begins.

Before getting the diaper, I bribe her to the potty chair with an M&M and a little poem (One piece for sitting and two for....peeing).

Once she's on the potty chair, I ply her with more M&M's, read her books, serve tall cups of water, run the faucet (oops, did I spill some on your leg?) and even tandem pee (hey, what's a girl to do with all that water running?). After 10 minutes (no pee), she abruptly stands, grabs her neveryoumind and demands a diaper, which I promise to fetch.

On the way to the diaper tree, I'm distracted. I check my email, empty the dishwasher, hava cuppa joe an read War and Pees.

Finally she yells, Momma! Diaper!

Here I come! I yell back. And show up with another book.

Read a book? I ask, donning the smile of a preacher's wife. The Cakers looks pained and her knees are clenched together. But she agrees.

Chocolate milk? Okay.

Giddy with confidence, I'm sure we'll soon be whizzing past all previoius expectations.

Alas, she starts twisting and writhing. She is no longer curious about George and whether or not he pees in the toilet or in the tree, or in the yellow hat.

She wants her diaper and she wants it now. I gotta pee!!! She cries from her potty chair, hands tucked below.

So I put the diaper on her (no need to traumatize, yet) and she skadiddles to the playroom. Two minutes later she hands the diaper back, wrapped tight and still steaming. Five pounder, I'm guessin'. Bladder of Steele. That'll serve us well, someday.

Tuesday: See Monday

Senior Pictures.
First of all, my son approached my inquiry about senior pictures the same as he does questions about ACT applications, cleaning his room and current English grade: Huh?

Next came the argument:
Do I have to?.
Rite of Passage, says I.
Exasperated sigh. So you're telling me I can't be a senior without a senior picture?
Yes, that's what I'm telling you.
(I've only myself to blame. He wasn't pottied until 9th grade).

Then he was assigned to find a photographer.
How do I do that?
Have any of your friends had their pictures taken?
Friends...pictures....have they?
Mom. ::insert OMG look:: We don't talk about stuff like that. Like "Dude, I had my senior pictures taken today, it was sweet."

He finally came up with a photographer and I made the appointment. Then came the outrage and disgust that this event was to suck up two hours of his precious sleep life. You'd think I'd asked him to look through his undie drawer, in search of my misplaced sani-thong.

Then came the argument about what to wear. Remarkably, he was able to pull a couple decent outfits from some dark, stinky place. But only after I threatened to take him shopping.

Overall, the shoot went better than I expected. The photographer was well-versed in methods of hooking the adolescent ego, without being schmaltzy. He even convinced Cam to walk to a nearby park, taking shots all the way down the busy street.

But dang, if I ain't parenting in a couple different worlds.

Thursday: I gained 10 pounds. (In all fairness, it took all day... )

To husband, I say: I'm fat.
Says Husband, in return: But you try so hard not to be.

I cry.

Weighty update
I don't feel fat anymore. In fact, my jeans are so tight, I don't feel anything below the waist.

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