The Spartan's Wife

And a Good Ken Griffey Day to You, Sir!

2012-01-16T05:50:00.005-05:00

For about the last 10 years the third Monday of January is a very special day for my family. No school. No work. We sleep in...and we honor Ken Griffey, Jr. It all started in New Orleans when my middle son, Bub, was in 1st grade. I asked him if he knew why they didn't have school one particular Monday and he announced it was Ken Griffey, Jr. Day. Hence, a new celebration was born.

In honor of this holiday, in no particular order, I am posting some memorable things my kids have said.

Our oldest son, Buddy, is (sometimes) a man of few words. His mantra from the time he could put words together has always been "Be nice to Shane." I don't know what injustices were forced upon him as an infant - but we have lived by these words ever since. Say what you mean and mean what you say - Be Nice To Shane!

Since we're always being nice to Shane, some sweetness must have rubbed off on him at some point. When he was about 7 or 8 we were talking about a dog that I used to have -Teddy. I said he was now in heaven. Buddy popped up and said "Is he with your dad?" Oh, my heart just filled with love - as I answered "yes, absolutely." To which he replied "Do they know Abraham Lincoln?" (I'm guessing they do.)

Now I've mentioned son #2 before - and his shock and disdain at graffiti spelled wrong on a bathroom wall. (I have humongous balls.) The graffiti itself was ok - his displeasure was that the word humongous was spelled incorrectly. Lesson learned - if you are defacing property - the least you can do is spell it correctly!

But, Bubby for all his political correctness has a sweet side. At about the age of 5 we were playing "My Favorite" - where you ask what your favorite whatever is - vegetable, fruit, tv show, etc. I asked "Who's your favorite Mom?' to which he unblinkingly replied with glee "MISS LORRIE." Ouch! But, who could blame him - he and Miss Lorrie had a mutual adoration for each other. But still....I thought I was a gimme!

Now Sissy...for those of you that knew her as a young girl - we were lucky to hear her voice let alone have a conversation. I know that is surprising for those that know her now - but believe me when I say - Bubby was her voice for 5 years! But, every once in awhile she would say something that would stop us in our tracks. My favorite took place when she was 6. We were walking into Target and she had a horrible look on her face and then started crying..."Why would you want to be tortured with your pet?" I had no idea what she was talking about and she kept saying they were doing it next door. I told her no one was being tortured and we didn't have a pet - so we were safe. When we were walking to the car it occurred to me what she had heard. PetSmart had salespeople saying "come in and get a portrait with your pet." Yes, we've had her hearing checked since then.

But my favorite Sissy quote is recent - not from her "tortured" childhood. It doesn't even need an intro...."I do have a good memory. I just forget things." Amen, sister!

And a happy Ken Griffey, Jr Day to all!

Two Sides to Every Island

2012-01-05T21:17:00.005-05:00

I noticed my last two posts might have been misconstrued as "un-Okinawan." They were not meant that way - just a little venting on why I should be a Luddite because I can't handle technology - and the demise of the USPS! But, I can totally see where someone might think I am not enjoying my time here.

Truth is - this is not ever where I expected to be at this point in my life! We'd done the Asian thing and thought I'd checked that block. I have a son in college that is now 10,000 miles away - and soon our 2nd will follow - so you might understand the reluctance to jump right in. I knew enough from the first go around that Okinawa is a few year behind - and if I, as the least technology inclined person, feel that way - you can imagine what a savvy teen has to adapt to! But, here we are for better or worse.

To set the record straight here are things I do like about Okinawa.

First - we are on an island. I don't think I need to elaborate. Water is everywhere and some of the views are spectacular. You can be having the worst day of you life, suddenly be at the top of a hill - and suddenly your breath is taken away by the beauty of the island.

2. I have a mama-san that comes once a week and cleans my house. I did fight this because I'm not too busy to clean my own house - and the kids aren't so busy they can't clean. But, after realizing I am giving up a lot to be here - I conceded and she comes once a week. She is the most adorable lady. She tries to teach me Japanese - mostly with disastrous results - but I can say "delicious" and "rain" with no problems! I changed the living around over Christmas and yesterday she told me it was "deluxe." Sometimes she cooks dinner for us - and well, I'm going to love anyone that shows up with food!

3. Sushi Go Round. You push a button and a train delivers your sushi. Even if you don't like sushi - what's not to love about that?

4. Island Gift Shops run by spouses organizations. I don't even know where to begin...Goodies from Thailand, Viet Nam, Japan, Hong Kong and even Germany and England! The merchandise is spectacular, very reasonably priced - and best of all - all the profits go to charities.

5. Japanese radio. Sometimes FEN (Far East Network) plays some horrible music in the middle of the day - it's like club music - which would be fine at night - but not at 3 in the afternoon. So, I will switch it to a Japanese radio station. I can never understand what they are saying - lots of giggling followed by "kudasai kudasai." (Kudasai is a request - I don't know what they are asking for) - and then they will play Rhinestone Cowboy. Very random music. Sometimes the DJs will speak English - but it doesn't translate very well. "Music flavored ice cream" is a favorite and I also like the sponsorship of KFC "Ve do schicken lright." I am not being mean - I think it's cute. One day I also heard the Doobie Brothers. The DJ identified them and followed with "They are not really brothers." Thanks for clearing that up!

6. The activity bus. Oh, praise Jesus and all the saints - why doesn't every school system have this set up? If the kids have an activity after school - sports, drama, tutoring, anything....they take and activity bus home. Mama doesn't have to stop whatever it is she's doing and pick them up! I love this.

So, the next time I am on a hill viewing the ocean listening to Japanese radio while my mama san is cleaning my house - I will have time to go to the gift shops and sushi go round because the activity bus will be taking my children home!

Miss Me/All Mail Has Not Been Posted!

2012-01-02T08:46:00.004-05:00

Miss me? I've missed sharing my views to an interested world - I can tell you that! I don't know where the time went - I'm usually much better at communication.

Speaking of communication....Christmas kind of sucked in the land of Okinawa. Oh, the gift giving and receiving was wonderful, the food added unwanted pounds and the decorations were Griswold worthy - but I'm talking about Christmas cards and specifically the Post Office.

When we lived here before - the daily trip to the post office was the highlight of each day. You don't get home delivery over here - you must physically go to the post office. Well, our last tour was well before email, texting, vonage, skype, etc. The USPS was all you had, baby. Every day except Sunday, you trekked to the post office to see what mail you might have. Some days your neighbor asked you to get her mail - she just gave you the key. Sometimes nothing. Sometimes only a bill. Magazines seemed to come all on the same day. But personal letters - nothing like it in the world! Someone actually took the time to put pen to paper. It was a wonderful feeling. But the most special feeling was the yellow slip. It meant you had a package.

Young Marines worked at the post office. I had one neighbor bake goodies for them all the time. Her creativity worked - they would not only call her when she received a box - they would help her load it when she got there.

The most profound thing about the mail - when all the mail had been put out for the day - the Marines would put a sign in the window - "All Mail Has Been Posted." That meant they were done for the day - so you did not need to come back. (And as silly as it sounds - when you are desperate for communication - you check 3 and 4 times a day.)

So fast forward to the present. The Post Office is no where near the happening place it was. First of all - no mail on Wednesday. They don't issue keys - only combinations. No sign saying if they are done posting mail. The only thing that is the same is the yellow slips. There is still nothing like seeing that in your box.

Anyway - I mailed all my cards the first Monday in December. I was very proud of myself knowing that even though I moved 10,000 miles - people would still get a card from me.

YEAH. A WEEK AFTER CHRISTMAS.

I don't know why it took so long to get to the States -but I'm blaming that for the reason we received so few cards. To those that asked for my address - you have no idea how much your cards meant to us. For those still receiving our cards (and please, check the postmark) - I am totally expecting your holiday card now that you have our address. And a little yellow card in my box wouldn't hurt, either!

Luddites...Unite

2011-07-28T21:48:00.004-04:00

Oh, for the love of God - all I want to do is vegetate in front of the TV. I can't. Apparently someone watched a DVD last night and the system is still on DVD. Add to the fact I'm in a foreign country, the TV is an early 90's model, the cable information card is in Kanji - and now you've got me writing a blog about how I'm weighing the option of becoming a Luddite.

I am not against invention or innovation. Really, I'm not. I just want to watch TV. I want to turn on an appliance of any type and have it work. That's all I'm after.

I finally got my Japanese cell phone yesterday. All I wanted was a way to communicate if the need to communicate arose. I held out on my original cell phone until this century. Sad as it sounds - I was forced to finally obtain a mobile phone because if the rest of the world had them (and I'm using the word "world" to mean coaches, parents, teachers - people in my children's life.) It was super easy for them to change plans on a whim because they had a form of instant communication. I showed up early, late, and during many a practice because I didn't get the information. What did the world do before cell phones? THEY SHOWED UP AT THE RIGHT PLACE ON TIME!

Anyway, all I want out of a cell phone is the ability to call. The Japanese businesses are very wise. They have a captive audience over here that think living without a cell phone is to be a pioneer with Lewis and Clark. So, your plan includes an IPhone 4 with every option available. I didn't text too often in the states - who am I going to text on this island where I know about 5 people? And to add to my trials - all, yes, all the directions and contracts are in Japanese. I might have sold my first grandchild. I'm not sure what I signed. I still haven't made a call yet because you have to dial different configurations of numbers. I'm good with 7 digits. That's my limit. Any more and I'll go back to using a tin can and ball of string to communicate.

I received an Ipod Shuffle for my birthday about six years ago. It has exactly four songs on it because I can't stand the process of downloading songs. I don't want to drag anything on my computer. I want to push a button that says "record" and be done with it! What ever happened to tape recorders?

Back to the TV. We've had cable connections that offer 500 channels. And that was a low end contract. We usually watch three channels. ESPN is one of them. I don't know what the other two are - but I know what shows are on them. Growing up we had three channels. Channel 6, Channel 10 and Zanesville. Sometimes we could get a channel out of Wheeling and sometimes we could get another channe from Columbus. We got cable somewhere along the line. TBS was the bomb. I think TBS may be one of the channels we routinely watch. It shows "The Office" a lot.

I think our cable here in Okinawa gets 75 channels. When we lived here before - we got one channel - The Far East Network - and you watched what was on. It didn't matter that Silver Spoons had been off the air for six years. You enjoyed it and anticipated the airing of the show! Of these 75 channels - I have watched A&E - Toddlers and Tiaras, and Bon Jovi on David Letterman. The kids have watched Comedy Central. Hubby is excited because we get the Big Ten network - although he has yet to watch anything. I might watch something else - if I could just figure out how to get the TV to work.

Happy Mother's Day

2011-05-07T15:30:00.009-04:00

Three Things I Didn't Learn From My Mother

Every late spring/early summer I would hear mom rustling around in her closet - and inevitability - her summer sandals would make an appearance. I loved these sandals - not because it was the advent of warm weather - but because these sandals were probably the least practical shoes my mother owned. They were tan, open toed, of course, and had different tile like colors on the top. The heal wasn't very high - but I loved the sound of the clacking when she walked. Years later - I can imagine she still has these shoes. Each fall she stored them back in tissue in probably the original shoe box and saved them for the next warm season. I don't think I have ever stored a pair of shoes in a shoebox, ever. Wherever they land on my closet floor is where they stay - and that is if they even make it to the closet.

I don't remember my mother ever just sitting and watching TV or chit chatting. Oh, the TV may have been on but she was always crocheting or doing some type of needlecraft. Growing up I didn't appreciate her talents and would sometimes wrap my dog in one of her crocheted afghans or I would use one for a towel as I caught some sun on the patio. She made these gold beady things that were put over jars and dishes - they were gorgeous albeit hard to explain. My sister and I pulled our hair up on top of our heads and covered the bun with her creations always stretching them out. I can't sew, crochet, knit, or any other hand craft. The afghan she crocheted for my first son will never be used - it is the only piece of handicraft I think that we didn't destroy!

My mother also apparently either had access to more hours in a day or made the most of her allotted time! She was a nurse and on the days she worked - she would always have dinner ready before she left in the morning. Even if she wasn't working - dinner was in the oven by the time we got home from school. After a jaunt to the grocery - she was always chopping and dicing. I might cut celery if we're having a party - but it usually stays in stalk form until I need it for a chicken salad.

Three Things My Mother Did Teach Me

That coupon hoarders show absolutely kills me. My mom has always been a coupon queen. Now, she never saved $700 in a single Kroger visit - but in her time - she could do some damage! She was and is very practical - and had a what she called her "blizzard supply" in the basement. It consisted of 50-100 different kinds of jars and cans at any given time. Anything from spaghetti sauce to canned frosting. The bathroom closet was the same way - soaps, lotions, shampoos - all from her couponing madness. I appreciate she took the time and energy to show me how this saving business works. The guilt eats me alive if I happen to go the grocery without my coupons.

If we had a blizzard supply in the basement - we had a container bonanza in the garage! The woman saved every type of glass jar or plastic container that was empty! I laugh when I think of this - some of our cereal bowls were actually containers that once held butter and we had juice glasses that were originally some type of cheese dip. They were meant to be reused in these fashions - so some companies were green before it was cool to be earth friendly. I don't know what ever happened to those collection of Cool Whip containers, though. Although I don't keep all sizes and shapes of jars and containers - I do recycle thanks to her early efforts of cleaning up the earth.

Every single time someone poured a drink in the kitchen whether it be iced tea, Pepsi or milk - Mom's radar would hone in and you would hear "Pour it over the sink!" It didn't matter if she was in the basement, down the street or saying the Rosary at church - she would just know you were pouring grape juice into one of those cheese jars in front of the refrigerator! Every night as I Swiffer my kitchen floor of sticky beverage residue - I silently curse myself for not making this a rule in my house.

Three Things I'm In Agreement With My Mother

Mom used to have "funny" rules - and they used to drive me crazy. If I was leaving the house my coat had to be buttoned, zipped, belted or whatever - because "You look cheap if your coat is opened." I don't know where this logic came from, and I can assure you as soon as I was out of sight - the coat was open - probably more out of spite than comfort. But you know what - I don't know if women necessarily look "cheap" with an open coat - but they sure look sloppy. Score one for Mom!

Cleavage was never to be on display whether you were wearing a bathing suit, v neck sweater or strapless prom dress. She used to threaten to pin a rose to our bosom area if even a hint of cleave was showing. While I used to think she was a Purtian - I find myself searching for scarves, pins, corsages, shawls - anything to cover the breasts of these young girls running around today. Jeez, girls! Leave something to the imagination! Mom - 2.

If my mom thought I was hanging around someone that could possibly be a bad influence - she would call that person "an occasion to sin." I thought this was hysterical - what a funny way to say I wasn't allowed to do something - because they might make me sin. Oh, that woman knew what she was talking about. Years later I often tell my own kids - if you have to sneak, lie, cover your tracks - is the friendship worth it? Mom said it much quainter. Mom wins.

Editing Drama

2011-04-17T18:44:00.003-04:00

I can't edit my last post. I am a huge believer in paragraphs. Please don't let Sisters Renita or Mary Rose read this and think I learned nothing.

Moving Moving Moving

2011-04-17T17:38:00.011-04:00

Spring Cleaning! Whooooooo Whoooooooo! I love this time of year! Throw the windows open - pour a little Lysol down the sink...Get rid of the crap that we've been tripping over all winter...put stuff away to deal with next spring cleaning....oh, wait. I can't do that this year, we are moving. True - I move a lot - about every 24 - 36 months. You would think I would have this down to a science - but somehow the strangest possessions keep following us from location to location. I always have a long purging process before we move - and I do get rid of a lot of crap - everything from old soccer cleats to last year's must have Jasmine Springtime candle from a homecoming formal to a box of salted fish. Yet, I still have this junk that continues to move with me.

This includes: 1. A pair of pink bobby sox that I'm not sure were ever in style. 2. A jar of cumin from the Tarawa Terrace Commissary. (Commissary no longer exists) 3. Black Christmas flats with embroidered candy canes. (They'll be cute when I'm 70) 4. My punch bowl and 36 punch glasses. I haven't served punch since 1995. 5. Wine with Anything lipstick that goes with nothing. 6. Hair curlers. Not hot rollers - actual plastic curlers. I think they were once my mom's. 7. My ghetto blaster from college. The tape recorder hasn't worked for years and the volume is permanently set out "2." This is just a sample of things that I can't seem to get rid of.

I also have a collection of things I will never get rid of. I don't even see these things for years at a time - but I know I have them should I ever need them. Among these gems: 1. A stuffed banana called Anna Banana. (it works great for bunko!) 2. My varsity jacket (came in handy when Sissy received hers - and hubby has his too, so this isn't really a fighting point) 3. All of my albums, cassettes and 45's. True, I don't have a record player - but, but nothing, nothing, is better than folding out "Frampton Comes Alive!") 4. Yearbooks, photo albums, scrap books, etc. I keep everything and I know exactly where to find what I need. 5. Every pair of glasses I have ever owned.

The problem is - we can only take a limited amount of weight with us and the rest has to go to non-temporary storage. We won't have access to anything in storage for three years. I guess I'll just hope pink socks and hair curlers don't make a comeback. But, I'll take Wine with Everything just to be safe. And the lipstick, too.

I'm officially a prude....Whips and Chains Don't Excite Me

2011-03-01T17:35:00.004-05:00

It's been a long time coming...but the day has finally come to admit - I am officially a prude.

It all started as I was taking three kids to an early morning activity at school. It was still dark out, kind of drizzly - and I had to cross traffic to get to their school. A song is on the radio and I kind of like the sound, so I turned it up. I could feel my head bobbing - I needed to wake up - I guess this song, sung by a girl, was as good as a way to wake up as any. And then....oh my god....did she just say what I thought she said? Next line - ok - maybe I was mistaken. Then the coupe de grace...."But chains and whips excite me." I quickly turned the channel on the radio.

I forgot about it for a few days then I got stopped at a train crossing. Same thing - kind of a cool song - then I actually did a double take again. There is no way I heard what I heard.

"Cause I may be bad,
but I'm perfectly good at it
Sex in the air, I don't care,
I love the smell of it
Sticks and stones may break my bones
But chains and whips excite me"

My daughter listens to this song!!!!!

Now, really, I do like the song - there isn't much to it - and it'd probably be great to dance to or whatever. And if you are a consenting adult .....hey - go for it. But does my 15 year old need to be singing to the smell of sex and whips and chains?

I'm sure this is an old topic - I'm sure Mom probably exclaimed to Dad "Did you hear that? Make a little love? Get down tonight? Filth, Dick, pure filth." KC and the Sunshine Band's song is kind of quaint by today's standards.

After hearing the song - I You Tubed it. If you want to see a degrading video - this is the video to see. Again, if you are an adult and are mature enough to explore your sexuality - giddy up. If you are a young girl - I would be confused as hell. Why is she dressed in latex walking a man on a leash? Is this something you need to be thinking about at 15?

So, as much as I hate to admit...I am a prude....but, I am proud to say....I may be bad but I'm perfectly good at it.

And would you like insurance with that?

2011-02-08T22:17:00.002-05:00

CRAZY!

Sissy and I went on our annual Super Bowl Shopping Spree. It's funny how this annual event started with me just not wanting to be home during the Super Bowl and has evolved into me spending money on my daughter. Oh well. She's happy and I don't have to watch the game. Someone's happy!

Last year's shopping spree, for those of you that remember reading about it, my senses were assaulted! This year, either I've adapted to the music and the smells - but this year my good sense was assaulted - literally!

We went to a mall - and I think we ended up buying merchandise in 8 or 9 stores. Everything from department stores like Penneys to boutique type stores like Teaopia. We got some great deals and really, as much as I hate shopping - we did have a nice time. But, without fail - each time I approached a register to purchase our goods - the clerk tried to sell me something else. Not necessarily merchandise - but additional charge cards, service protection or in one bizarre case - theft protection. I declined everything but after about round 2 - it go annoying.

Just sell me what I want and leave me alone. I don't mind if the cashier says something like "did you see the shoes that match this purse?" - that's fine - maybe I didn't and we all know you can't have too many shoes. But don't ask me to buy a rewards card, insurance, give you my email address or fill out a survey. And while were on that - don't give me six different receipts with coupons that I have to spend $250 worth of jewelry at Sears to save $5.

Why do I get so uptight about all these offers? Glad you asked. I just want you to focus on what I am buying - not new goods and services. I had to go back to two stores because they forgot to remove the theft device. Another they forgot to run my gift card. And in the last, they didn't give me back my credit card. How about we just focus on the transaction at hand.

And these coupons.....bait and switch....I don't know what you want to call them. Especially Macy's. I do like Macy's - and shop there a lot - but they always send these coupons that at face value look fabulous. Save 20% shopping spree. Then you turn the coupon over and everything in the store is an asteric except for maybe clearance item underwear. What's the point? This particular day if you wore red - you were supposed to receive an additional 10% off your purchase. Only if you didn't use your Macy's card. What the hell.

How about just price everything the same for everyone? No special offers or discounts. Just one price for everyone that shops. It's not that hard.

Anyway, yesterday I went to the post office - probably hands down my least favorite place on earth. I'm sending my taxes to our accountant. It's a manila envelope full of papers. No, no explosives, liquids, chemicals. No delivery confirmation (HUGE SCAM), no insurance. No, I don't need any packaging materials. No, I am good on stamps and other postage products. I finally paid and left. I glanced at my receipt. According to the receipt it was going to Elizabethtown, KY 42701. Unfortunately, I was mailing it to Zanesville, OH 43701. Again - how about we just focus on the job at hand and forego the other goods and services? I'll let you know where the taxes end up.

My Friend Heather

2010-11-27T08:30:00.004-05:00

"Send a birthday greeting to Heather" was in my inbox this morning. Damn those people over Birthday Reminders - don't they realize Heather died three years ago?

While I'm saddened that I lost my friend - the reminder made me smile. Heather was my very first friend as a Marine Corps bride and I think of her often. We were newlyweds together on Topsail Island, NC. She had a month of marriage on her when I met her - so she was my mentor of sorts. She was adorable. Cute. Petite. Used the word "wicked" and said "idear" instead of "idea."

We had mirror image homes on the beach with these super small kitchens. (Hey, it's the beach - who's cooking?) There was a bar extending from the kitchen counter - probably a couple of inches higher than a table. She came home all excited one day because she bought bar stools so she and hubs could eat at the bar and not have to walk the extra foot to the table. The seat to the bar stool was higher than the actual bar - but she was so proud of her purchase!

Being newlyweds as well as new to the Marine Corps - neither of us had any idea most of the time what was going on. She and hubs were invited to a beach barbecue and she agonized for weeks over what to wear to this thing. A couple of decades later - it certainly seems like a no brainer - it's a barbecue on the beach for God's sake! But, this was a command function, hub's boss was hosting and they were expected to be there. And everyone knows officers' wives are snobby witches with a huge stipend for clothes. She ended up wearing this cute cotton dress with a jacket and high heals. It really was pretty and she looked stunning. An hour later she came barrelling up the drive, sand flying, words cursing and taking clothes off as she running in the house. Apparently a Tshirt and cut offs would have sufficed. Oooh, she was mad - and that New England accent turned on like nothing I'd ever heard before. We just sat back and watched the show!

We had fun setting up house side by side. We admired and laughed at each other's wedding gifts. We helped each other decorate. We tried recipes on each other. We learned we knew nothing about this new way of life. We both eventually got jobs and moved on base - but our friendship remained in tact. Our husbands deployed both together and separately. We went to dinner. Met for walks. Shopped. Cried at movies. Tackled projects with our glue guns. Looking back - what an innocent life. So young and carefree.

In the military - someone has to move - and this time it was me. We were headed for exotic Louisville, KY. She was my last stop before we left. She gave me a video cassette of a movie we had seen together. I cried all the way home at the loss of not having her part of my everyday life. This was a good decade before cell phones and email.

Life continued for both of us. We didn't have daily or weekly calls - but we did write letters. The Marine Corps took them to Panama and us to Japan. We never managed to be stationed together again - but we did see her hubs from time to time. For a couple of tours we seemed to follow each other. Email brought us close again - she would just write funny things although I think most were unintentional. "I saw three dolphins today. One in the front. One in the back and one in the middle." So simple and pure. One night I saw her hubs on CBS news. I immediately called her - "I knew you'd call" she laughed.

Heather was diagnosed with some kind of hideous, insidious brain cancer. She remained her upbeat self even having to know what the future held. Towards the end she would simply forward emails. I think that was her way of staying in touch. I'm not going to pretend to even know what her family went through. She left a wonderful husband and two teenagers.

I think back to the last time I saw her in person in 1989. The video she gave me was Beaches... a movie about two young girls that meet on a beach.

The morning after....

2010-11-26T11:09:00.003-05:00

I don't sing. I don't dance. And I sure as hell don't shop the day after Thanksgiving!

Nope. Never. Although the thought of listening to a football game (s) for the 72 hours is forcing me to reconsider this idea. And I say listen to football - because no matter where I am in the house - a tv is on a football game. And it is blaring. And we all know....what do I hate more than shopping the day after Thanksgiving? You got it. FOOTBALL.

I'm very mission oriented. I like to get up early and do what I need to do. I admit I'm a little Rainmanish when it comes to certain activities. If I am not at the grocery/commissary by 9:00 a.m. - I won't go. I get irate when it gets near the holidays and the commissary is always busy. This is my time! You've got the rest of the day to shop like you do the rest of the year. Why are you infringing on my time???

I'm like that with all kinds of shopping - be it Wal Mart, Costco or a mall. I get there when it opens, get what I need - and go. If I need a silver engraved ice bucket with a diamond studded lid - I get it - and go. The display of gold engraved ice buckets complete with diamond studded lids and a $100 gift certificate holds no interest for me - as that is not what I am there for. I am not a fun person to mission shop with. I admit that.

However - when I shop with no purpose - it is a lot of fun. We can take all day and look at Agent Provocateur lingerie if you want.

But the thought of getting up early and rubbing shoulders with people who never see the light of day before noon and only a partial list of things I need - I don't think I can do it. My suburban is too big to fit in most parking spots - especially when Mr Iminabighurry spots my backing lights and insists on waiting for me to back out instead of looking for another spot.

But this inane football noise complete with yelling and fist pounding may force the issue.

Do they have drive through counselors?

Thanksgiving.....

2010-11-25T09:32:00.008-05:00

This morning as I was removing my wedding and engagement rings to prepare for Thanksgiving, I realized I am such a cynic - I can truly find the bad in any situation, motive or idea. I can't imagine anyone's jaw hit the table upon reading that confession....so I am going to shock you by reliving happy Thanksgiving memories.

Growing up, we never went anywhere for the Thanksgiving holiday. All of my dad's family lived in town - but my dad being the youngest of 8 kids with a 20 year difference from the oldest sibling - our cousins were all about 10-15 years older than us, so relatives celebrated with their extended families - and we stayed home. That was fine with me - and I think rooted my tradition of staying home for all major holidays. My mom cooked a turkey and all the fixins. We lived in Ohio - so good hearty food - and if Mom got really fancy - we might have marshmallows on the sweet potatoes! We ate and my dad and brothers watched football. That that is about all I can remember for the first 18 years of my life. Still my favorite tradition - staying home and eating!

My first married Thanksgiving was spent on the beach at Topsail Island, North Carolina. Hubby's company commander invited us to their home for dinner. Egads! A captain, his wife and two kids! I was tasked with an appetizer. I can't remember what I took - but I do remember the dish I presented it in. A crystal heart shaped platter we received as a wedding gift. What it had to do with Thanksgiving - I'm not sure - but I was proud to use it! We were dining with another couple - from California. Talk about intimidating.....Wendy was tasked with sweet potatoes. She whispered to me she used her mom's Citrus Yam recipe. I was scared. What the heck do oranges have to do with yams - or sweet potatoes where I come from! I was pleasantly surprised. A light orange zest really does bring out the flavor in an orange vegetable! Who knew? The next day I prepared my first Thanksgiving dinner for my groom and me. With the help of a shower gift cookbook - it was a wonderful meal. His birthday was in two days so we had birthday cake for dessert. Then we took a walk on the beach. Perfect!

Fast forward five years to Okinawa, Japan. We had literally just moved to this tiny island in the Pacific. By just moved - I mean we arrived Monday afternoon of Thanksgiving week. Thanksgiving was the last thing on my mind as we deboarded the plane with a 6 month old and every possible thing we could hand carry 10,000 miles! This was the November I realized the Marine Corps is truly one family. Our sponsor on the island invited us to a potluck Thanksgiving dinner at a place called the Eagles Nest. I don't know what I took, if anything - and I'm pretty sure I just showed up jet lagged beyond belief not knowing a soul. These wonderful people took us in and gave us a reason to be Thankful. Alone on an island without a family in sight we became each other's family. As I type this - I am thinking of the people there we are still in contact with - some are even neighbors now here in Northern Virginia.

The next year in Okinawa I remember buying celery for $8 at the commisary. Ouch! But, I digress!

Several years later, for reasons still not clear - we drove back to Ohio from Cherry Point, North Carolina. We had never done this before - and we have not done it since! I seem to remember trying eat carb free at Thanksgiving. Hmm. Potatos. Bread. Pumpkin pie. Yeah. Didn't go over so well! We ate everywhere we went. Actually, the reason we went back to Ohio is that hubby had Stealer tickets for that weekend. Someone had the brilliant idea that he could go to Pittsburgh with my brother and then just fly back to NC and I could pick him up in Raleigh on Monday. I must have been in a no-carb induced coma - because I agreed to this. The kids and I drove back to NC by ourselves. A regular trip takes about 8 hours. This took 12 and we were only in Wythville, VA. So, making the command decision - we stayed in Raleigh for the night and picked up hubs at the airport as scheduled the next day. We enjoyed free warm cookies at 10 p.m. Carbs for everyone!

My favorite part about this trip happened in West Virginia. Son #2 was probably 7 or 8 at the time. We stopped to get gas and he came out of the rest room just absolutely disgusted. I asked what was wrong. He reported someone had written "my balls are humongous" on the bathroom wall. BUT - they had spelled humongous wrong. Lesson learned and we still live by this rule...if you are going to deface property - the least you can do is spell it correctly.

One year we ate at the chow hall with the Marines. Boy, talk about a throw down! Not only did they have turkey and dressing - but steak and lobster, too! By a happy coincidence - my cousin and her family lived at the same base - and my fondest memory is her husband eating at least 4 different kinds of pie. Pie. And you know how I feel about a pie!

This year my inlaws are visiting. Our first born is home from college. It's chilly outside. No citrus yams - but I am making a pecan cinnamon yam. Yum! I don't have much use for my crystal heart shaped dish except at Valentine's Day - but I am using my new turkey platter I won at Bunko. But one thing remains the same - the same wonderful cookbooks I received at a wedding shower all those years ago. Pan Gravy on page 62 is stained with flour, oil and other foods - but I rely on it every year. "More gravy, please," is music to my ears!"

As I put my wedding and engagement ring back on after doing the dishes, I take a few minutes to remember a cold Thanksgiving weekend 24 years ago. It was the year I said "yes" to all of this.

My Thoughts on Port o John Sharing

2010-11-01T10:20:00.003-04:00

Because I'm fully aware of many of the pressing issues of the world - it is finally time for the reading public to hear my thoughts on the most important debate of modern times - Two Huge Events in Washington, DC sharing Port o Johns.

In a word. NO. In two words. HELL NO. In three words. OH, HELL NO.

I was fortunate enough to attend the Marine Corps Marathon on Sunday. I was unfortunate enough to be one of the last people to leave the Marine Corps Marathon late Sunday afternoon (and not because of my performance - so save your jokes!) The port of johns were locked until early Sunday morning - and I take a great deal of pleasure of probably being the first person in the VIP port o johns. (What can I say? I know the right people.) While I wouldn't say the VIP port o john was the Cadillac of portable restrooms - I didn't see any faux marble or bidets - I would say it was at least a 4 door sedan. However, by the time the day was over - there was absolutely nothing VIP about the accommodations. I mean - you go in, you do your business, you leave. Or you would think. And the VIP accommodations ran out of water - so that was no longer an option.

Anyway, when you gotta go - you gotta go - so I stepped out of my comfort VIP zone - and if I thought those accommodations had gone to hell - I sure as hell wasn't ready for what awaited on the other side. As I refused cubicle after cubicle while shaking my head - one of the operation officers jokingly (I think) commented "Do they not meet your standards, Miss Kate?" And the funny thing is - I don't even have standards. But no way. I ended up driving to a Shell station in Woodbridge.

My point, and I do have one, the facilities were used for about 10 hours on Sunday. I can't imagine if they had been open the day before to share with another event. I mean, there are people in my house for whom I would lovingly take a bullet - but I won't share a bathroom with them. So share a port o john with 30,ooo strangers on a two day event? I think you know my views.

40 Years of Motherhood

2010-07-06T00:15:00.002-04:00

Last week my dad would have been 74 years old. That is simply unfathomable to me to even consider him an older man because he died when he was 46 years old. But that isn't the saddest part of this post.

I was talking to my aunt, my dad's sister, who happens to share the same birthday as my dad. We were talking about a distant relative that just had a baby - and her eldest daughter was 15. Yikes! Talk about starting over! She then went on to say that my grandmother - her mother, had eight children - and 20 years and 17 days separated the oldest (my uncle) to the youngest - my dad. That's almost 40 years of raising kids!

Why is this so sad? I never knew my grandmother. My dad never knew his mother. She died when he was 7 years old. She didn't live long enough to received the pure gift of being a mother for 40 years. I feel sad for everyone involved. My uncle, the first born - the child that new her the longest. I feel sad for the children in between - 3 aunts and 3 uncles. Their mother may not have been around for graduations, weddings, births of grandchildren. I feel especially sad for my dad who only had his mother for 7 short years.

While I was growing up, we had a picture of my dad standing in front of an old style car. He's wearing jeans that are cuffed, a puffy style coat and some kind of silly hat. He has a slight grin on his face and is staring at the camera. The back of the photo reads he is 7 years old. I always knew that the picture was taken the day his mother died. Even as a little girl I thought that was weird - why would anyone think to take a picture that day? One day I asked my dad why they took his picture. He explained that he was sent outside and someone thought a great way to occupy his time would be to take his picture. 40 years later I think that is an incredibly sensitive way to handle the situation - someone certainly was caring for him and trying to keep him occupied. But, he didn't remember who took the picture. I have it in my living room now. I don't have many pictures of my dad as a child - I would imagine it is because his mother died so young, his father was a farmer, and his siblings were so much older than he.

As few pictures I have of my dad as a child - I have only two of my grandmother. One is her wedding picture. It was probably taken around 1915 or so. She is wearing a high collared lacy dress and her hair is pulled up. We share the same widow's peak - which is precisely why I always have bangs. For years this is the only picture I ever saw of her. A couple of years ago a distant cousin sent me some pictures of her family during the 20's, 30's and 40's. My own daughter was probably 7 or 8 at the time and she was looking at them before I had the chance to examine them closely. She held one picture up of a of a man and a woman holding a baby and a couple of kids standing in a field. She asked why I was dressed in old time clothes and who was the baby? My heart skipped a beat. It certainly did look like me in a 1930's frock. Eerily so. It was my grandmother. And she was holding my father.

Things I Used to Think

2010-04-16T14:27:00.003-04:00

I like to think I lead a pretty simplistic life. Good is good. Bad is bad. Not a lot of gray areas. Apparently this all started at a young age as I recall what I am lovingly titling "Things I Used to Think." Generally there is no basis for any of these thoughts - I just think they are funny now.

1. All bad kids are given to Indians. I do not have any idea where this idea came from. But if a kid is acting up and being a brat - I still think to myself "He's going to have to go live with the Indians." I can also remember thinking that the Indians took the children somewhere along the Muskingum River near Terry's Tavern in Zanesville, Ohio. Really. No earthly reason anyone would ever tell me this. But I suspect my sister.

2. People with the same last name are related. My friend Kelly Carpenter not only shared the last name with The Carpenters - she also had every one of their albums. They had to be cousins or something! Fortunately, this idea turned out good for me in the end - as I do not want to be related to Nazi war criminals.

3. Everyone knows how to swim. Hmmm. Turns out they don't.

4. Anyone older than me is infinitely smarter and cooler than me. Except for the Rosecrans Class of 1979 - I'd have to go with false on this one, too.

5. Long melodious names are much better than short ones. They sound prettier to the ear - but think of how long Victoria Franchesca Mussolini has to spend filling in the bubbles on her SATs than Ann Clark. But Victoria probably aced the history portion.

Wives Can Suffer From It, Too

2010-04-01T08:51:00.004-04:00

****This is in no way making light of any ailments.

I think I may be suffering from Post Traumatic Stress Syndrome.

I heard a song yesterday that stopped me cold in my tracks and by the end of the song I was in tears. I immediately googled the lyrics to the song - and then continued to cry for another 20 minutes. Fortunately, I had the strength to get on with the rest of the day but the song continues to haunt me. Even this morning, I, fool that I am, wanted to see if it had the same affect on me. Guess what - it sure did.

The song is Meet Me Halfway by the Black Eyed Peas. I love the Black Eyed Peas! If there is a band that can get you moving and having fun - it is certainly them! I secretly dance to them when I think no one is looking and I've been caught on more than one occasion singing along with them. So you can imagine my surprise when this song caught me off guard.

Then it occurred to me why I got so emotional. The Black Eyed Peas managed to capture my exact feelings while my husband was deployed to Iraq. But, this is where it gets crazy. It's been a while since he deployed....but the song made all the feelings I felt while he was deployed very fresh. It is not an overstatement to say I was totally blindsided by the song and the feelings it refreshed.

Here is a link to the song with the lyrics. I like this link because there is no visual - which might have been a bad thing - I was alone with my thoughts.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lllNepYe2z8&feature=related

What you need to know about me - most people think I am not an emotional person. I may be opinionated. I may be loud. I may be cynical - but most people will never know how deep my emotions run. I am a closeted emotional wreck most of the time. Give me a good movie and the tears will flow. Probably not related to the movie in any way - just a good reason to cry over everything I am thinking about. I don't think this is a good thing - but this is just how it is.

Back to the song...it captures the exact mood of every day my Marine was gone. I'm guessing only other military wives can understand the depth of feelings a deployment conjures - but I'm sure there are spouses feeling the same depth of emotions if their husband is gone overnight or a week. But, people, 7 months is a long time. A year is a long time. I should be lucky I only had the 7 months.

He had deployed many times before - but never for that long - and certainly not leaving me with three pre-teens. And this was different - it was a war zone. He was a commander. I had people that needed to be taken care of.

During the day I was spot on with all my duties, obligations and responsibilities. I was a little Marsha Brady - I was a member of everything from clubs, to school groups to team mom. It kept me occupied and only a little amount of time each day was reserved for thinking about Iraq.

But after the meetings were adjourned, games played, dinner fed and the kids off to bed - I would find myself with about 10 hours before the routine started again. And if I remember correctly, each and every second of those 10 hours was reserved for missing my husband and best friend.

It's not like I could pack the kids and fly to the dessert. Would it be - I would have done it. I just wanted to see him. Talk about stupid things. Laugh.

Sometimes if we timed it just right - he would log on to his account and we could email back and forth in real time. I would pray for these nights and sometimes not go to bed until 2 or 3 in the morning just hoping he might be there. On the nights we did connect - it was usually for about 10 minutes. So while I lived for these 10 minutes - we had to eventually say goodbye so he could start his day and I could end mine. I still don't know which was worse - missing our online conversations or saying goodbye.

"I can't go any further than this" Wow. What a profound statement in just 7 words. Literally, I couldn't go any further than the Internet to be close to him - that was as close as I could be to him. The kids and I went to Caroline Beach for Spring Break during this time- and staring at the ocean while having a 10 minute midnight email tag was probably the closest I ever felt to him while he was gone. Take those same 7 words to another level - and this is very uncomfortable. If I didn't stop myself from obsessing about him - I believe I might have fallen into some chasm of crazy. I had to stop watching the news. Reading papers. Talking about it. Our midnight dalliances were as far as I could take the relationship. So it wasn't as if I didn't care. I cared too much. About me. My family. My sanity.

I don't mean to make light of of post trauma - it is a real medical condition and true heroes suffer from the syndrome, but I do think it might be possible for those left behind to suffer from it, too. Why not? I certainly never thought I'd have a reaction to a song like that. The squadron returned on a September day a few years ago.

Maybe I'll just stick to my Earth Wind and Fire CD. It kept me going while things were tough. One song in particular I would blare from my car stereo and sing along at the top of my lungs. I would always take the CD with me when we had squadron functions and invariably the song would get people on their feet. The song? September.

These are the lyrics in red -

I can't go any further than this

I want you so badly, it's my biggest wish

Cool, I spent my time just thinkin' thinkin' thinkin' bout you

Every single day, ´cause I'm really missin' missin' you

And all those things we use to, use to, use to, use to do

Hey girl what's up yo... what's up, what's up, what's up

Can you meet me halfway, right at the borderline

That's where I'm gonna wait, for you

I'll be lookin' out, night n'day

Took my heart to the limit, and this is where I'll stay

Oh oh oh oh oh I can't go any further than this

Oh oh oh oh oh I want you so bad it's my only wish

Girl,

I travel round the world and even sail the seven seas

Across the universe I'll go to other galaxies

Just tell me where to go,

just tell me where you wanna meet

I navigate myself myself to take me where you be Cause girl I want I,

I... I want you right nowI travel uptown (town) I travel downtown

Wanna have you around (round) like every single day I love you alway, way

(I'll meet you halfway

Can you meet me half way)

Right at the borderline

That's where I'm gonna wait, for you

I'll be lookin' out, night n'day

Took my heart to the limit, and this is where I'll stay

I can't go any further than this

I want you so bad it's my only wish

I can't go any further than this

I want you so bad it's my only wish

Let's walk the bridge, to the other side Just you and I (just you and I)

I will fly, fly the skies, for you and I (for you and I)

I will try, until I die, for you and I, for you and I, for for for you and I,

For for for you and I, for for you and I, for you and I

Can you meet me half way Can you meet me half way

Can you meet me half way Can you meet me half waaaay!

Meet me half way, right at the borderline

There's where I'm gonna wait, for you

I'll be lookin' out, night n'day

Took my heart to the limit, and this is where I'll stay

I can't go any further than this

I want you so bad it's my only wish

I can't go any further than this

I want you so bad it's my only wish

Memories and Reality

2010-03-13T14:35:00.003-05:00

Yesterday Mr Spartan and I had the opportunity to visit a place we used to live. We lived aboard Cherry Point for three years and moved from there in 2006. (We've since moved 3 times - but that's another post.) Driving around the base there had been a lot of changes - some good, some not to my liking - but it is funny how skewed your memory can be.

It got me thinking about my favorite house ever. It is located in Zanesville, Ohio. My friend lived in the house until we were probably in 5th or 6th grade.

I adored this house. For starters, every time we took the Maple Avenue exit - you could see the house. That, in an 8 year-old-mind - is the tops. I would beg whatever parent was driving to honk at the family if they were outside.

The house was located on a cul-du-sac within and within walking distance of Tom's Ice Cream Bowl - a favorite Zanesville spot for over 50 years. If I spent the night - we could walk to Toms and get ice cream. There were no Ice Cream parlors anywhere in my neighborhood - except I guess you could get a coke at the gas station down the street.

The house itself was like none I had ever been in. It was part stone, had sloping roofs, and green shutters with little heart cutouts. It had three livable stories and a basement. We lived in a ranch style house - so to me - the thought of stairs were a dream come true. I guess the front of the house was actually sideways - and from the highway you were looking at the side of the house. But this made no difference - because on the side of the house was a little terrace accessible through the living room window. I had only seen a terrace like this in various books I had read and movies I had seen that took place in Paris. Oh, how glorious it would be to open the door and stand on a terrace with room only for me!

The front of the house - actually the side - had a front door and a grand foyer that led to a sweeping staircase. The thought of having to walk up all those steps to a bedroom -- I would pray a silent prayer upon entering "please ask me to spend the night, please ask me to spend the night!"

But the most spectacular thing about the front of the house - it had a huge deck/terrace on the 2nd level leading out from the master bedroom! Oh, this was high living! Just the thought of such glamour - and in little Zanesville! Surely this home was built for a movie star.

The main floor had the kitchen, dining room, grand foyer, some type of parlor and living room. Oh, the living room...not only did it have the terraced window - it had french doors. FRENCH DOORS! Doors within a room. High style, indeed!

After climbing the grande staircase (there was a landing in the middle of the stairs...to die for!) you would enter the floor of bedrooms. We had the master bedroom - previously mentioned with the deck. I believe there was also a fireplace - but if it wasn't a fireplace - it was a shelf . There was another bedroom - but I don't remember much about it. A rather large bathroom - with two doors. Two doors! The 2nd door led to the bedroom of my friend. No one I knew had a bathroom attached to their own bedroom! Oh, dream of not having to walk into the hall to use the bathroom. This girl had it made.

At the end of the hall - and or some reason - my mind remembers the hallway as circular - was a door leading to another set of steps. I hesitate to call this an attic - because it was two rather large rooms. One room to to the left had been a bedroom - and probably could still be used as one - but we used it as a play room/office/school room. How grand this house must be to have extra rooms for our use only! Across the hall was another room. In my mind, both rooms are huge - as big as ballrooms. This room held a portable clothing rack filled with dance costumes. A couple of the older daughters were talented dancers - and this is where the old costumes went. I loved to look at them - just to see the spangles and glitter. Such glamour. And it could be mine for the night.

The family moved to South Zanesville in mid elementary school for reasons I don't know. I loved their new home, too. I have not been in the house off Maple Avenue since probably 1975 - but I pass it every day when I'm in Zanesville. Perhaps because it sits within spitting distance of the Maple Avenue Exit off I-70! Maybe because you could walk to Tom's which even though the ice cream is still out of this world - I don't even like parking in that neighborhood.

It's still stone. It's still green and has the cute shutters. It's kind of now surrounded by large houses that have been converted into apartment units, but it is still single family. I have no idea if the family knows how much I loved that house. I would love to go through it again to see if it is as grand as I remember. But, I think I'll just be content with my memories of the glitz and spangles of the 3rd floor costume room and the convenience of thinking the ultimate convenience to an 8 year old girl was not having to go in the hallway to use the bathroom.

My Thoughts on Hell (I'm Guessing)

2010-02-08T08:02:00.003-05:00

I've had a lot of time to think about hell lately. I used to think hell was quite possibly the worst of everything. A proverbial assault of your senses. Such as repeatedly watching a horrid scene and unable to do anything about it. The shrillest sound whirling in your ears. The worst pain imaginable (I thought a kidney stone was pretty bad.) A horrid putrid smell.

But I was wrong. I know this now because I've had a glimpse of my own personal hell.

I was way off on the scenery. While there is something to see - you are unable to make out much of it because it is so dark. Not pitch dark - but dark enough that you can see words and shapes - but dim enough not to make any of them out.

The worst noise is still there - but it is not like a siren, or an alarm, rap music or even a baby screaming. It is an endless montage of radio play by play of a football. IS THERE ANYTHING WORSE than radio coverage of any sport? No, there is not. But football is the worst.

What's worse than Limburger cheese mixed with sewage? I'll tell you. 50 different sweet smelling perfumes all mixed together. You can't even breath after that!

And while a kidney stone is a horrible pain where if someone would have opted to stick a needle in my eye I would have done it - I have to say an ice cream headache is much worse. It only lasts 10 seconds - but it seems like a year. Yes, I have to say a perpetual ice cream headache would be an appropriate hell trait.

And where did I get my glimpse of Hell? A store called Hollister. I'll take the blame for the ice cream headache - I didn't need the double chocolate chip mint frappacino - and as punishment God granted me an ice cream headache as we were standing in line to purchase a shirt. Is it too much to ask to turn up the lights so we can see what were doing prior to purchasing a $26 Tee shirt that looks like it belongs in a rag bag? And turn down the inane play by play and for the love of god - does perfume have to permeate every inch of this store? Oh, my head hurt as I pounded the ice cream headache with my fist.

As we left the store with every sense assaulted - my darling sweet daughter knew I was discombobulated and suggested we go to Macy's. "They've got stuff in there even grandmas can wear."

Ouch. You check your pride at the door of Hell, too.

Fast thoughts on Fast Food

2009-10-16T11:28:00.004-04:00

For a change of pace - I'm going to list things that annoy me about fast food. I am turning into Rainman when it comes to fast food, I admit it - but these things need to be addressed.

When did drive through restaurants make the sweeping change of having to drive around the building two and three times just to get your order? What happened to the drive thrus of yore when you simply pulled up to a microphone, ordered, drove about 10 feet to window, you paid, received your food and off you went? Now you pull in the entrance drive completely around the building to get in the drive thru lane, stop 3 times for different things and then have to completely circle the building again to exit. Forget it. One circle and I'm done.

Since we're talking about drive thrus - what's the deal with drive thrus that don't give you a cup of water? They will sell you a bottle of water for $1.79 - but won't give you water in a cup.

Along those lines - when did fast food restaurants start making you pay for extra condiments? Yeah, that extra ketchup pack is worth the .5. No way.

And McDonalds charges an eat in/take out tax. Don't even ask me what that is - because I don't know - but check your receipt next time. You are getting an extra charge for eating in or taking it to go. The employees don't know what it is either - ask them sometime.

Why does McDonalds now call the Double Cheeseburgers ...McCheesys? The double cheeseburger used to be on the $$ menu - but they've been replaced by the McCheesy. The Double Cheeseburger is it's own price now. That was an expensive lesson for my two sons that had $4 between them.

And who are these people that go to fast food and expect a gourmet made to order meal? I'm fine with the no lettuce, extra pickle - by all means get what you want or don't want on it. I'm talking about the person that asks for saltless fries. Or the yogurt parfait with nuts on the bottom. Or the freshly brewed cup of coffee.

Oh, but worse than the special order is the "what do you want" people. They can be found in the drive thru, mostly - and occasionally at the counter. These are people that have about six kids, and ask "what do you want" while at the counter or speaker. Drinks are the worst. The drive thru employee lists them. The driver lists them to to the rider. The rider asks for a drink not mentioned. The driver finally just says "water" and the next thing you know they are questioning their bill because they've been charged $10 for bottled water, $2 for condiments and by golly, the nuts are on top of their parfait.

I'm not one to brag - but I've been told on more than one occasion by a drive thru employee..."thank you for having your order ready." One of my proudest moments!

Smugness Pooling at My Feet

2009-09-21T11:50:00.003-04:00

Oh, I can be a smug queen when I want to be. Some people might say I want to be smug every day - but that's not the case. I'm often dissatisfied with myself as often as I'm satisfied. But one place I know I'm always in the right is at the Commissary. (That's a grocery store to you civilian folk.)

I don't like to shop. There. I've put that out there. I enjoy browsing for stuff I don't need. I love to dream about expensive antiques I'll never own and the beach house I will one day decorate in a beachy motif. (I know, the beach! Go figure!) But when it comes down to shopping - I'm just not a fan - especially when I need something. Unfortunately - we always need something from the grocery - milk, bread, cereal, coffee filters, 36 bottles of Gator-Ade. Something. So it is usually me and my bad attitude headed out the door.

If I must go to the grocery - I go early. I must be there within 5 minutes of it opening. Even more than shopping - I hate crowds. So, I am usually at the store as early as I can get there. This morning was awesome. Got there so early I was even able to park in one of the spots reserved for "Any Colonel." Yippee! That's only happened once before - so today was going to be a good day. I could feel the smug smile playing on my lips.

I had my list of needs and wants. My goal is always "get it and go." No lingering. No loitering. I have my coupons presorted according to aisle. (I love to save money as much as I love saving time.) I enter the store actual 10 minutes before it opens. The angels are smiling on me today!
I pulled out a cart - again, angels smiling, one came lose without 4 attached, and I entered the store. Full smug smile.

I should have known at the precise moment I walked through the electronic door that my luck had ended. I had entered the land of unpurchased case lots. Oh, the horror. A pack of twelve cans of sauerkraut was the first thing I saw, followed by the rutabaga, jumbo box of Rice Krispies (big enough to feed a fraternity house breakfast and offer seconds,) and the all purpose 48 piece Clorox Cleaning Kit. I've nothing against buying in bulk - it's just that I don't like storing 120 gallon ketchup bottles in my coat closet. The leftovers were everywhere. But, I've done this dance before - so I deftly made my way down the aisle to the produce. Smugness still intact.

Ah, crap. It's Monday. That means it's retired couples day. Frank and Helen have decided to make a day shopping for bargains. I know in my heart of hearts that Helen would rather be anywhere than shopping for groceries - but Frank, a novice, only doing this for the last 15 years, thinks he's in charge. That means I have to navigate around him in his "I'm spending my kids' inheritance T shirt" while he's yelling "Helen, they've got Idaho potatoes for 3 cent cheaper than the ones in your cart. Did you hear me? 3 cent!" "And don't forget to by Charmin. I don't like that cheap stuff. Helen? We need some Raisin Bran. I like the one with the extra raisins. Helen? Are you listening?" At this point, Helen has moved over to the wine aisle - which is located in another store.

Next are Mary and Marcy. Mary and Marcy are a team and are shopping together. have to pick up every single apple, tomato, green pepper and leek to find the perfect specimen. They can't or won't move...they are on a mission, dang it. Must. Find. Perfect. Squash. And they are a team. They will put all the groceries in one basket but when they get to the checkout - they will sort it out and it will actually be two bills. I ran for the hills.

Fortunately, I don't need much produce today so I grab my not quite yellow still green bananas and head to the condiment aisle. Oh shitake mushrooms. What have we here? It's Rebecca, Elizabeth, Jennifer, Katherine - someone that refuses to shorten her name, drinking her cup of Starbucks coffee in her own private little world. Her basket is in the middle of the aisle. You can't go to the left or right of it. She is standing five to ten feet in front of her cart drinking her coffee and just staring at the pearl onions, extra large pimento olives and bread and butter pickles. And staring she is. Lovingly and longingly. She's in some type of coffee coma induced by the overwhelming selection of condiments. Marcella, Pricilla, Veronica, Suzanna will still be standing there when I leave and still drinking her Starbucks oblivious to the fact there is a 10 cart pile up caused by her.

Yikes! No condiments today except peanut butter and lucky for me it is on the end of aisle. Onward to the cereal aisle.

Oh for the love of God, who invented kids anyway? Here we find Bex (short and flirty for Becky) and her brood of 10 kids all under the age of 6. It's not so much the kids I object to as it is Bex. Jordan wants Trix but Tyler is allergic to the red dye and wants Honeycombs but not as much as Trey wants Super Sugar Crisp. Bex reminds them all that Nicole can't tolerate sugar and Ashley only likes corn flakes and would Michael remind everyone what happened the last time he ate gluten? I got the hell out of Dodge the last time I ate gluten. Thank god my family is full of cereal freaks. They eat what I buy them. That's the rule. I picked up the discards from the Health-tastic family and went on my way.

My favorite aisle - FROZEN FOODS! Yippee - that means my time in the store is almost at an end. I just need to get to the milk, grab some eggs and call it a day. But, wait, I can't get around the corner because Tabitha is standing there. Oh, and Tabitha can't move, you see. Why is that? She points to her cell phone and shrugs. I understand. The cell phone enables your rudeness. Got it. It renders you unable to do anything but talk on the phone and the universal point to the phone as your nodding your head tells the world "this call is more important than your need for survival so I will be on this phone as long as it takes my friend to tell me about her date."

I hate people that talk on cell phones in the store. Detest them. What makes them think the cell phone renders them invisible? Why does courtesy fly out the window when someone picks up their cell phone? I never talk on my cell in a store. I would never talk on my phone in a store. It is the worst kind of rude. I just shake my head when I see this decay of civilization and inwardly my smug smile takes over to get me through the rest of the day. I am above cell phone talking.

I am thinking this as I walk to the register. I don't need my husband reminding me to get things. I don't need my friend finding the bargains of the day. I don't need Starbucks to get me through the grind of shopping. My smug smile is in full gleam as I make my way to the check out line.

Hey. They are giving out free samples of coffee. Well, it is free and this woman is doing a job. Ok, I can have one as I wait to check out. I won't be holding up any lines. Finally a line clears and I make my way over to the conveyor belt just so happy in my own smug little world.

I put my coffee on the edge of the belt and begin unloading my loot. At the exact same time the cashier asks paper or plastic my cell phone rings. As I hurriedly rush to answer it the cashier gives me the look of death as I mouth plastic. As I answer the phone I slowly feel the aforementioned smugness pooling around my ankles. I hear my husband on the other end of the phone reminding me to get him blueberry wheat checks. As I look down I realize it really isn't smugness pooling at my ankles. It's the coffee I knocked over in my race to answer the cell phone.

Tide + Bleach+ Snuggle = Happiness AKA SEARS SUCKS

2009-07-15T17:49:00.003-04:00

I finally have my new washer. It only took three weeks, 19 hours of phone calls to Sears, three trips to the laundromat, $56 in quarters and a visit to Lowes, but by golly, it's spewing out clean clothes.

We own a home in Chesapeake, VA that we are renting to a military family. I love my Neptune washer and dryer in that house - but since it is a front loading washer, Sears requires a $180 service call to "pin" the mechanisms for the move- or it will void the warranty purchased with the machine. So long $300. Plus, the laundry room was built around the appliances -so we left the washer and dryer with house. After all, how hard is it to get a new washer and dryer? They sell them everywhere - as a matter of fact, I saw one for sale in the parking lot of 7-11.

As it turns out - if your purchasing a major appliance from Sears - the answer to the previous question is "pretty (expletive expletive expletive) hard.

I did my research. I knew exactly what I wanted and did not want. I'm a simple kind of gal -I move about every two years - so no gadgets, no digital readouts, no front loaders. It has to be a large capacity - there are 5 of us. I'd be happy with an on/off switch and maybe an optional fabric softener disposal - but if that is too frilly - back to the on/off. Same with the dryer. Ultimately, I purchased a GE Energy Star qualified washer and dryer. Yea me. I even managed to go green. This was done on June 29. I chose this particular combo because it had the shortest delivery time - even though all through the Sears Appliance Center I read "NEXT DAY DELIVERY" on almost every wall. "Jarel" said the delivery delay was due to the holiday weekend, even though by my calendar, the holiday was a good 6 days away. I'm nice. I didn't push. I could enjoy a laundry free 4th of July. (Although I'd been without a washer since June 23rd.)

July 2 I can't stand it any more and go to the Laun-do-rama in this cute little picturesque Maybury like town. I took in four loads of clothes figuring I had enough towels to get me through until the delivery.

It was hot. It was hard work carrying in all the clothes baskets. It was expensive - although maybe I really didn't have to buy the iced latte, dammit, I deserved it. It wasn't until I was folding the clothes I realized I had not washed one single shirt, short or sock of my eldest son. Kind of funny. But not really. He could wait until the 7th. I was home by 10:30 a.m. and fantasized about how my life would change when Sears showed up at my door.

Apparently, while I was gone, everyone decided to change their clothes at least 3 and shower 4 times a day with a fresh towel. I found myself back at the laund-do-rama July 7. This time it's 8 loads of clothes and two loads of towels. Again, by myself, hot, dirty, and nothing to read. Someone had cleaned out my quarter stash in the car. Miang, the attendant, and my new best friend, offered me a job because "You very efficient." Not so efficient that I failed to notice my 2nd son didn't have a stitch of clothing in the lot. There was nothing funny about that. I bought an iced latte and a muffin. God was against me, too. The muffin was burnt.

Ah, sweet Jesus. July 7 arrived and my bounty pulled up at 10:15. 10:45 I make my first service call to Sears. I try to explain to them that while water is in the washer - there is no movement of any sort. Yes, the water will drain, but again, no movement and the clothes are sopping wet. Deborah tells me to make sure the washer is plugged in. The tells me to drop the lid the magnet connects. Great suggestions if your an idiot and are not familiar with a washing machine. Seven phone calls and several hours later, Sears, Sears Delivery, Sears customer Service, Sears Customer Solutions and Sears Credit all confirm that a new washer will be delivered on July 14 and the other washer taken away. It is important to understand that each department is a separate entity of Sears and there is no communication between any of them. Although each did suggest I wait for a repairman on July22. Thank you, no. I want a new washer, not a new washer that has been fixed.

July 14 comes. Manuel and Jesus pick up my washer in the Irony Mobile - a panelled van that says "Next Day Delivery, Guaranteed." They load up the washer, but, wait a minute, they want my dryer, too - and guess what - there is no replacement for either. After Jesus makes several phone calls - he hands me the phone and Bonnie in Delivery tells me the replacement order is currently in production and will arrive on July 27.

Uh, no. Thus begins my 9 hour session with Sears where I finally realized Sears could give a crap about me, my laundry, my life, my dirty clothes, my second grade teacher, the wheels on the bus or the possible demise of No Child Left Behind.

Too late for a long story short - but basically, every single department blamed every single other department to include the the offspring of Jesus. Bottom line - their solution was to make me wait until July 27 - the magic day GE would give birth to this special appliance. I could, if I wanted to, go back to Sears and pick out another washer and dryer - but they couldn't promise a delivery before June 23 due to the tremendous success of the July 4 holiday sale. Oh for God's sake. I live 30 miles from Washington, DC. Not one Sears has this washer in a warehouse?

At 4:30 I just gave up. I put my head on the table and upon opening my eyes saw I had been resting on a Lowes advertisement. What the hell.

I got in my car. Drove to Stafford. Walked in to Lowes. Asked if they had this particular washer in stock. Yes, they did. How soon could I have it? Next day delivery. Bought within two minutes of entering the store - and cheaper than Sears.

Hmm. Sears is right in front of Lowes. The exact same Sears I started at. Walked in, slammed my receipt down - made them credit my account in front of me and take the delivery charge off. Buck need permission to do that - because after all, the product was delivered. It got ugly. I won, though. Delivery charge credited as well. And account cancelled - card cut up in front of Buck. Tears in his eyes. Glee in mine.

Doorbell rang at 7:30 this morning. I had a full load of laundry spinning by 8:00.

Day went exceedingly well. Tide. Bleach. The smell of clean clothes. Phone rings at 3:00. Sears wants to know when they can pick up my washing machine that had been delivered.

I hope Lowes sells carpet cleaners to clean up the remnants of my head exploding.

The Joy of Moving

2009-07-07T17:08:00.003-04:00

Ah, truly - there is joy in moving. While it may not be fun or enjoyable to watch coffee tables fall off moving trucks, finding broken antique marble heirlooms in your driveway or a suit jacket mixed in with pots and pans --- moving really does bring me some private joy in a way that nothing else can.

It's not the meeting of new people. Or the excitement of finding new haunts and hangouts. Or even the thought of getting something new whether it be a lamp, a pillow or even curtains. It's the simple joy of remembering where things have come from.

The big ticket items like the furniture and carpets - eh - who cares. They were purchased with care - but to me they are just things. Maybe my kids will have fond memories of the green sectional sofa that has been delegated to the basement because I hate it and this basement is the only place it has ever fit. I'm talking about the little things that don't mean anything to anyone except me.

Unpacking the kitchen can be a chore - but it is always the first thing I tackle. As I unwrap each dish, crock or serving utensil - I can remember where it came from. I have a blue checked plate that reminds me of a birthday in Okinawa from my friend Meg. It was made in her hometown in Massachusetts - and the thought of her carrying it back from a vacation to give to me for my 30th birthday just makes me smile. I have a quiche plate that is the only thing I have ever won at Bunko. I don't make quiche all that often, but I refuse to get rid of the plate that made me a winner. I have a cake cutter from a friend in NC. Nothing special about it - I just like it and she knew I needed one.

I have a lot of stuff from my mother's kitchen. Two of my favorite items are cook books from when I was a little girl. The Cooky Book is my favorite book - I remember poring through it with my sister wondering why my mom never made any of the cool cookies. (Could it be because she had 4 kids and no time? Maybe!) There is a gingerbread house that I swore I would make one day. I haven't done it yet, but as long as the book is here - there is hope. The other book is a Betty Crocker collection my mother received as a shower gift. I have a picture of me sitting on the counter at the age of two licking batters with the cook book next to the bowl. There is something oddly comforting about that photo, the book and the beaters.

My favorite kitchen serving ware also came from my mother. She gave me a sterling silver lazy Susan tray with individual crystal serving dishes for vegetables and dip. I had never seen it until I got married. She had received it as a wedding gift from a relative and always thought it was too nice to use. The gift card was still attached. That makes me sad. How can something be too nice to use? I use it at every party even though the silver is a little tarnished. It makes me think of my parents in the early part of their marriage.

The other piece or pieces my mother gave me were used by her. I had some girls over for a Mary Kay party when I was 18. I didn't even know what Mary Kay was let alone why I would be have some friends over. My father had recently died and it felt kind of weird to be doing something so trivial as to trying out make up. But Mom said to have them over. Mary Kay requires a food treat - so who the heck knows what I planned to serve Mary, Bobbi and Jan - (yes, really!) - but I do remember being shocked when Mom pulled out these adorable triangle plates with matching cups! Who cares what your eating when your eating off something as cute as this bridge set! I never knew my mom had anything as darling as these dishes! Again - she thought they were too nice to use. There is something ironic about pulling out the good dishes after someone dies.

Anyway, I own them now - and while I don't use them every day - if someone is over for lunch - they are my dish of choice!

So, while everyone else organizes bedrooms and alphabetizes the garage - I have my own private memory party in my kitchen and dining room. And it lasts until someone informs me that we have no food.

Say What?

2009-06-11T21:03:00.003-04:00

I was born in and raised in a small Ohio town called Zanesville. Easy to say. Easy to spell. Not many variations on either. I guess I was lucky all those years. If someone shook their head in my "Zanesville" response - it was usually because they didn't know where it was located - not because it had a different pronunciations.

I've had my share of living in towns that don't quite have the same easy sound as Zanesville. At 23 I moved to Topsail Island, North Carolina. You'd think Topsail would be easy to say and understand. It took me at least 4 months to realize the Topsol Island and Topsail Island were the same place. I guess it is easy to weed out foreigners - strange folk would say Topsail and locals would shake their heads and giggle amongst themselves. I never did pronounce it correctly.

Topsol took us to Camp Lejeune, NC. Ok - this could be a hard one - but pretty much everyone calls it Camp Lejune. Unless you're over 40 - then you reach back to the French and suddenly your walking around saying Lejurn. True story. At the age of 40 you must submit to the French pronunciation. It was true in the 1980's - and it still holds true today. Those youngsters don't even know what they're saying.

Then on to Kentucky - home of the most garbled name I've ever heard for a city...Louisville. Growing up where I did - we said Lewieville. Imagine my surprised to find Kentuckians refer to this great city as Lllvlll. You almost have to swallow to say it correctly. I found myself saying Lllvlll a about a year into our sojourn. I found myself saying Lewieville again the day after we moved out of the state.

Onto Fort Leonard Wood. Not much you can do with that. Except it's located in Missouri. Or to the uninformed - Missourah. Never did figure that out - nor did I succumb to saying the "ah." I sleep easy at night knowing I could never pass for a Missouri local.

We then found ourselves in Okinawa, Japan. That really is a whole other post. Okinawwa vs Okinowa. Futenma vs Futeenma. Gushikawa vs Kitanakagusku. Another day.

New Orleans! Oh no! I was flogged for three years because I said New Orleans. Neighbors from the Crescent City would ask me what city I lived in just to mock me. Everyone knows it's New Orlins. Or N'awlins. Or Norlins. I could never do it.

Later we moved to Richlands, NC. But don't say it like you just did. Say it Rich Lands. Richlands makes it sound like your in a hurry. It's Rich Lands. I still say that. I think it sounds nicer.

Not too much going on in Havelock, NC. Fairly easy to pronounce - although a lot like to say Havenot. Visit there sometime. You'll understand why.

Then we receive orders to Norfolk. My whole life I would say Norfolk. Oh no. Norfick or Norfuk. That's why we live in Chesapeake.

We're getting ready to move again - this time to Northern Virginia and a little town called Quantico. I'm anticipating a lot of fun with this one! Lot's of mangled letters and vowels.

I miss Zanesville.

2009-05-23T11:58:00.001-04:00

I swear I will return. Life got ahold of me and wouldn't let go....It happens!

Yogi Bear Hates Me

2009-03-18T12:15:00.006-04:00

Why in the world does everyone get excited about picnics? The weather clears and everyone starts talking about picnic lunches, picnicking in the park, taking a picnic on a hike...why does this sound like so much fun to everyone but me?

I guess you can think of some good things about picnics. Picnics do sound romantic as you imagine your honey's head on you lap as you feed him grapes. Of course, you're dressed in a romantic soft skirt and lace and hat and he's handsome. Sure, that sound fun. Or you can think of your adorable family all sitting on a checkered blanket eating watermelon - and how cute that is with seeds in their mouths and Junior missing his front teeth. Or even hosting a gals lunch of crackers and cheese with a bottle of wine discussing Proust. Tittering over "Remembrances of Things Past" while eating pate.

Then reality sits in. Someone has to make the picnic - and in my house - that would be me. We don't have any picnic foods in this house. We have stuff for a barbecue. We have supplies for a gourmet dinner. We have a lot of cereal. But a romantic picnic for two a la champagne and grapes? Ain't happening. And the romantic skirt? Do I even own a skirt - let alone a hat?

A family picnic? Oh, I guess I could throw together some sandwiches and throw in a bag of chips. But we don't have portable drinks - as soon as they are bought they disappear - so I gave up that fight long ago. And the requisite watermelon? I guess when I pick up the drinks - I can grab one of those too. The fun factor of the family picnic just went way down. Who's carrying all this crap when we get to the picnic site? And don't forget the knife to cut the watermelon - because I didn't have time to cut it before we left because everyone was ready but me. And soon enough I'll have watermelon seeds being spit at me. Again. No.

I don't like sitting on the ground. I don't like hauling things to the middle of nowhere. I don't like setting up or cleaning up. I'd much rather stop at Burger King or Subway and get it to go - instant picnic. I'm not in charge of anything - and when we're done - we throw it away.

As for the gals get together. Sure. I like my wine. I like Proust. I like pate. How about that same combination in a French Bistro with a cute bartender? Now that's a picnic!

Benny and the Jets

2009-03-07T21:56:00.003-05:00

I'm driving the girls to an away soccer game when about about 45 minutes into the trip I realize that not only has no one told me to stop singing Benny and the Jets- but not a single girl is talking. There are 4 girls in the car. Certainly two of the girls should be communicating. I'm sure they aren't sleeping. At the next light I turn around - and you know full well what they were doing. Each of them had some type of earphone in enjoying their own source of music and they were all involved with their own personal text messaging.

WHAT A WASTE OF TIME! Some of my best memories of growing up involve road trips to "away" meets and field trips. It doesn't matter how the meet went, the game was played or what activity was at the other end - the travel to and from was ALWAYS the best part.

One of my earliest recollections involved a trip to the Henry Ford Museum. Our troop leader and a few parents car pooled our Girl Scout troop from central Ohio to Michigan. I don't know how long it took us to get there - it seemed like 30 minutes to me. There were 6 of us in the back of a station wagon. At one point we put the seats down (this was still legal) and we all road in the wagon. I distinctly remember every time we passed a sign that read "NO U Turn" we all said "No, you turn" like it was the most clever line ever uttered. I can see and hear my friend Sarah singing "Rock the Boat." I think of her every time I hear that song. (Well I'd like to know where you got the notion....Yes, I'd like to know where you got the no oo tion.)

Sounds silly - but what a great time! We learned about 4th grade crushes. Mean 5th grade teachers. Who had a new pet. Serious 10 year old bonding time.

Trips continued - some better than others - but always fun. At one swim meet I got paired with two girls I didn't know very well. I think the coach realized I could make a conversation with a cantaloupe if I had to. By the end of the meet and subsequent ride home we kept yelling "Yum Yum Roast Beef." I don't know why - but I think if I saw either of them on the street today and yelled "yum yum" I'd surly hear a "Roast Beef" response.

High school trips were just as fun if not better. Rocking to Queen in the backseat of my friend Mary's parent's car. How cool is that? I'll tell you. Way cool. Sitting between two cute boys in the back of my Dad's LaBaron. Changing the words of the song "Feelings" to "Felix. Nothing more than Felix." Going to Canada in a van with a nun. Holding up signs to passing motorists. Holding up underwear to passing motorists. Just laughing and carrying on.

I feel sorry for the youth of today. I'm sure they bond in their own way - but 20 years from now will they remember the two hour trip or anything that happened on the way to or from the game? Probably not. So I guess that means I'm free to sing at the top of my lungs "Bbbbbbenny and the jets."

It's Official - I'm Addicted

2009-02-20T07:59:00.003-05:00

Is there a 12-step program for those of us addicted to Facebook? I'm bent and broke and I need support.

My addiction started innocently enough. A friend from several years ago sent a note via Facebook stating they were relocating. I had to go to Facebook to access the message. I then had to open an account on Facebook to read the message. I needed to know where this family was headed (in the military community - we're always on the move and you never know when you'll be neighbors again) so of course I joined Facebook and read the message. I took her new information and didn't give Facebook another thought. End of story.

Or so I thought.

Several months later, I received a message stating my crazy friend on the West Coast sent me a book suggestion on Facebook. Strange - but I like to read so I again went to Facebook. Oh, cool, she has a list of books she's read. That intrigued me. I wanted to do that, too. Oh, what's that's - "find friends?" Sure, let's give it a go. With the input of my email address - suddenly a list of about 40 friends and acquaintances appeared with Facebook accounts. The owners of the emails addresses were varied - everyone from people I talk to every day to a little league softball coach from seven years ago. I carefully selected who I wanted to send a friend request to - there is sort of a desperation involved - "Be my friend!" What if they say no? Oh, what the heck - I clicked about 20 potential new Facebook friends.

As I started adding friends - I started perusing their friends. Hmmm. I know some of these people. I then started sending them friend requests.

I started to get new requests from other people. The Spartan would come from work and ask who I made friends with that day. Sometimes they were his friends - but now they were my friends because I had the Facebook account, not him!

Then I discovered pages and groups. One click could bring my entire high school Facebook crowd. JOIN! College alumni. JOIN. The best pizza ever? JOIN! The Things I Would Do to Dylan McKay. No brainer. JOIN!

Now I've got Facebook friends from every part of my life. Grade school. Synchronized Swimming. High School. College. Prison. Every duty station. Every place of employment. I've got relatives that are friends that I'm sure we've never shared a conversation as adults. A couple of kids I used to baby sit -(not so much kids anymore - and not so much younger than me it turns out!)

My criteria for friendship is not hard - but it is solid. I ask myself "Would I cross a street to say hi to them?" If so, then, baby, you're in. Not everyone passes this test. Remember - in my test I would have to cross a street to make contact- so an email requesting friendship is the same thing as minimal effort.

Sadly, your request can be turned down. I've had a former boss delete a friend request. I know this because a month after I sent her a request I noticed the line "add as friend" was back. If you have requested their friendship it reads "friend requested" in italics.
(I told you I was addicted.) Why would she not add me to her friend list other than she's a cold hearted sadistic witch of a woman who is unhappy in her own life and jealous of my stupendous success? I'm just guessing.

I also had a 40 + year old boy, yes, boy, deny my friendship. I noticed him on several of my friends' pages so I requested his friendship. We went on one date. 26 years ago. To a movie. He has totally blocked me from accessing him on Facebook. I can only surmise he didn't especially like "Revenge of the Nerds" or he is in love with me and can't face his feelings. Or both.

I am in total need of help. They say admitting your addiction is the first step. I wonder if here is a Facebook page for this problem.

Silence is Golden???

2009-02-19T07:09:00.005-05:00

It has been eerily quiet in our house the last couple of days. I made a simple request. Can everyone go one week without saying the words "I want" or "I need." To hear the hooligans talk, one is left to assume they live in a hut, have no access to any electronic equipment, are forced to go naked and eat only grubs. I do feel badly for them. In actuality, we don't have a home sauna, HBO, $150 Coach shoes and we don't eat out every night. Poor things.

A typical conversation from Son #1 will start simply enough and somehow merge into "I want a new phone. Brandon got a new cellphone that is so cool. It has numbers and letters, can make a peanut butter sandwich, my bed, replenish the Kool-Ade supply, cut the grass, make good grades, solve world hunger, make soccer goals and has been elected to the Papal Council." I sort of zone out after I hear "I want."

The Bubster, son number 2, isn't quite as direct as his brother. His conversation will start out seemingly innocent enough. "I think I got an A on my French test. Jeff did pretty well, too. His mom told him if he made the honor roll all year they might send him to a fantasy football camp. I want to go." Yeah. Who do I make the check to? I'll give him credit, though...he builds up to his wish - he doesn't blow it at the beginning of the conversation.

Now Queenie...hmm. She's hard to predict. She's quite social and spends a lot of her time talking anyway. (I swear I don't know where that comes from.) She usually intersperses conversation with dew drops of I wants and needs so subtle you didn't know you were besieged with requests until long after the conversation is over. She can start a conversation by mentioning a grilling practice and end with she's going to bed - yet somehow manage to convey she needs cleats, a new bed, a book bag, a three hole punch, to go to a movie Friday and a Mini Cooper when she's 16 without blinking an eye.

Back to the request. Could they go a week without saying "I want" or "I need." I soon found out I didn't raise any dummies. They propositioned back "Can you go a week without saying 'I want you to' or 'You need to' (Notice the variation. Apparently I am bossy.) We all agreed to give a try.

I haven't said a word in two days.

The List

2009-02-14T14:21:00.003-05:00

When my husband makes his daily "to do" list - he draws a little square in front of each activity and checks it off when he has completed the chore. But we never have to look at the list to know what he has to do or where to find him.

We have a joke in our house - if your looking for Dad - look no further than the yard - he's probably out picking up sticks. Or sweeping the street. Raking leaves. Picking up debris. If it's a nice day - washing the windows. He's an easy man to figure out and these are the things he likes to do.

If it is dark, cold or rainy you might find him filing away bills, credit receipts, tax papers or rabies vaccinations. Or crunching some type of number into a statistic. Or analyzing this month's water bill to last year's water bill for the same month.

After dinner you can find him making coffee for the next morning. Everything from filling the water and coffee chamber to setting out a spoon and sugar. If there is a pan that needs scraped and cleaned - he's the man for the job.

Scheduled car maintenance is a holy day of obligation. If the car maintenance sticker says February 26 - you better believe the car is in for service on that day. Tags for the car about to expire? Not on his watch. Never.

At the kids' sporting events - he's the go to guy with the clip board making notes on all the stats that he will compile in booklet form for the parents at an end of season event.

He cleans the litter box and shares his morning milk with the dog, although he claims to dislike both immensely. The pets go crazy when he gets home each trying to outlove him.

I make fun of him relentlessly for all these activities. Spontaneity is not his strongest attribute.

But he takes care of all of us. And that is just the first entry on my list of why I love him.

Mornings Aren't for the Weak

2009-02-13T07:27:00.003-05:00

A snippet of a morning in our house...

Light knock on the door before I open it. "It's 7:15. Time to get up." Child #1 shows no sign of life.

2nd Bedroom "Bubby. Time to get up." Child number 2 rolls towards me, eyes still closed. "I AM UP."

3RD Bedroom. I don't even get to say anything as my daughter cuts me off "Oh hi, Mom. Can I go to Annie's after school and go and get some new shoes tomorrow. Marci said she doesn't like Nick any more but I thought we could have pizza for dinner on Sunday since my birthday is Wednesday. I might go running in the morning but I need to talk to Mr Summers about my history paper. Do we have any Pop Tarts?"

10 minutes later...
No courtesy knock for child number one. "Son, get up!" I hear faint grumblings and what sounds like a book falling off a bed.

No courtesy knock for #2, either. Just a call. "Bubby. It's 7:30." Again, same defiant response. "I AM UP." Although I can't see him, I know his blanket is up to his chin and his eyes are closed.

No need for 2nd call to #3. She's my Posturpedic Queen. She's happily eating her PopTarts, reading the paper, petting the dog. "Have you ever had a pedicure? I think I'd like one but I have to get some cleats soon. Janie dropped her Ipod down the sewer drain but she's getting another one. Can we go somewhere on Spring Break?"

7:35. I'm pulling out the big guns. I send our toy fox terrier to do the dirty work. She runs up the stairs to #1 and commences to lick his face out of his sleep coma. I hear "Get down, Corky." She leaves his room and immediately runs to the another room to wake up #2. I can faintly hear Bubby responding to her barks and whines and slowly hear him get out of bed. Success!

Meanwhile I hear Posturpedic Queen singing, texting, playing with the dog, yelling at her brother to leave her stuff alone.

7:40. Bubby is at the table, eyes closed, but he is eating breakfast. No word from #1. I make my second climb to his room. He looks at me and give me a thumbs up. I don't know what this means, but I take it as progress. Queenie has appeared in her third set of clothing for the morning.

7:45. Bubby has left a trail of crumbs as he stumbles back upstairs. We may or may not need to check on him. This is the iffy part. He may go back to bed. Wait, I hear him say something to his sister. I won't repeat what he said but communication usually means he's up for good. This is a good sign. Queenie is looking for an accessory to match her earrings. I think I hear a groan from the first bedroom.

7:50 Queenie is in the foyer waiting for the bus waving and yelling at everyone that walks by. Bubby appears with toothpaste around his mouth, somewhat dressed and exhausted from his morning ritual sits on the steps, places his head against the wall and closes his eyes. In a distance I hear a bathroom door slam shut.

7:55 Queenie informs me she is leaving, she wants Cinnamon Toast Crunch from the store, she needs some new socks and that Henry in math sure is cute but he sags his pants and that just wont do. I nudge Bubby and tell him to get his shoes on, wash his face and his lunch is in the fridge. With his eyes clothes he says "I AM." #1 son is foraging in the kitchen yelling because SOMEONE ate all the Pop Tarts.

8:00 I see Queenie get on the bus but hear an entire chorus of "HI Queenie!" as her friends welcome her to the bus. #2 has his shoes on his feet, has used his arm to wipe his face and is leaning against the door struggling to stand. I remind him to get his lunch. #1 appears dressed, clean, book bag and lunch in hand and in a remarkably polite manner asks "Can I drive?"

8:02 Boys both leave, I reward Corky for her hard work in the endeavor with a treat.

8:03 #2 comes sauntering back as he has forgotten his lunch. "If you'd get me up on time I'd have time to remember my lunch."

Momma needs a treat.

Oh Yes They Freaking Do

2009-02-12T07:52:00.008-05:00

I don't ever mind waking up in the middle of the night. I do it about three times a week. On these nights I usually fall asleep with no effort and then within thirty minutes I find myself wide awake. I then quietly meander my way downstairs to my own private party.

Sometimes I play on the computer - you can find messages and emails from me all hours of the night. Every once in a while I'll pick up a project that I started during the day. Much of the time I'll read for several hours. But I hardly ever turn on the TV. No reason, exactly. I think I just like the quiet.

But last night after finishing a book by Amy Sedaris, I found myself turning on the TV. My TV fate sealed when Bridget Jones's Diary was on Oxygen. Yippie!

I love this movie and watch it every time I see that it is on TV - which is about every other week. The Bridget Jones movie has the distinction of being one of the few movies I like over the book. That almost NEVER happens.

I could actually skip the whole movie except for my two favorite scenes. I adore the scene where Bridget is leaving a dinner party and Mark Darcy walks her to the door. After a lot of fumbling and what have you - Mark admits he like Bridget "just as she is." Perfect Pompous Jerk actually is a nice guy. Who knew?

The second scene is almost at the end of the movie after Bridget chases Mark in her underwear to find him buying her a new diary. (Really, if you've never seen this movie - put it in your NetFlix queue NOW!) They kiss. Bridget looks at Mark questioningly and says "Nice boys don't kiss like that." And the response "Oh, yes, they freaking do." Eeeeh! I want me some Mark Darcy.

I think I like this movie so much because I was a budding Bridget in my younger day. No self esteem, no fashion sense, overweight, made terrible choices in men, and boy did I like to drink. I had a good time, oh yes I did, but deep down I probably thought I'd end up eaten by cats alone in my apartment.

Somehow, I managed to catch the eye of a handsome straight laced Marine officer candidate. I don't know what he saw in me (see above list of attributes), but believe me when I say I thank God daily for whatever it was. Through the course of our relationship, I came to realize that he did like me "just as I was."

So, for you nay sayers - when you say good looking, honest, hard working men don't marry schlumpy, unfashionable beer drinkers - all I can say is "Oh, yes, they freaking do!"

My mornings used to be relaxing

2009-02-11T07:39:00.003-05:00

I love my morning ritual. I wake up a good hour before my kids need to get up (yet a full hour after my husband rises) and have that entire time to myself. I get my coffee fix, walk the dog then rush to my computer to see who has thought of me via email during my slumber. I can't quite explain the rush I get from seeing a number under the mailbox indicating that is how many messages I have received. Almost akin to receiving that pile of mail on your birthday - but every day!

But my school district has made me want to avoid the computer in the morning like a lukewarm cup of coffee. They send Edline reports every single morning. Edline, Blackboard, Parents In Touch, etc. They are all the same thing. They are your kids' current grades, assignments, homework, test grades, projects, missing work, cafeteria dues, parking lot rules, library fines...pretty much everything you would ever want to know about your child and school.

In theory, this is great. You can see every bit of information about your child's school progress in one glance. Awesome. But who wants to see this in black and white first thing in the morning? Invariably, I will see someone didn't turn in homework, got a 77 on a test and owes $66 in lab fees. And this is just one kid! Multiply this times three - and you can see our mornings don't get off to a good start.

The husband says don't read them first thing in the morning. In his black and white world - this works. But they are still there in my inbox and the number 3 will stare back at me biding me to open the mail until I give in and read the reports.

Of course, we can back to my school days. I didn't tell my parents anything - nor did the school. I didn't want them to know anything and they probably didn't want to know, either! But, it made me responsible for everything. A failing grade was mine alone - my parents bore no responsibility for it. I had to deal with the consequences of not turning in homework, projects, assignments and permission slips. If I brought home a sub par report card - I knew my ass was going to be at home for the next nine Friday and Saturday nights. Perhaps not studying - but certainly not raising hell with my friends.

What's the compromise? Hell if I know. Let me know if you do! Until then a big number 3 will glare at me all day.

Touch...Touch...Touch...Steal?

2009-02-10T07:36:00.001-05:00

Kleenex has a new commericial - a variation of everything you touch during the day. It's rather interesting and I especially like touch "I Q-U-I-T" touch "delete." So, Worker Chick goes through her day touching everything and then she grabs a random tissue. Likes the feel of it - next thing - Worker Chick has a new box of tissues.

I'm not saying Kleenex is promoting work desk theft - but that is exatly what they are doing. How many times has someone rifled through you desk for a pen, stapler or paper clip? Or you go to the break room and your Diet Coke that you've been dreaming about is missing. Or the umbrella you have stashed in the closet for rainy days is suddenly being used by "Klepto Chick" in accounting? (You can tell because you've secretly marked it with a red thread.)

Come on, Kleenex. When I have a cold I want my own box of tissues. I don't want Stinky from the Mail Room taking my box on his rounds.

Tissue theft is just one of the reasons I refuse to get a job.

Childhood Theories

2009-02-09T21:44:00.000-05:00

When I was growing up - I would often dream that my family was moving. I never knew exactly where we were moving to in my dream, and I never actually saw a house - but the theme was always the same - and I was never happy about it.

I lived in my childhood home from the time I was 4 until I went away to college. I never once heard my parents discuss moving, leaving the neighborhood, or in fact, anything to do with relocation. But still I would dream this every month or so. Probably until I went away to school.

Here it is - some 25 years after I've graduated from high school - and I have lived in 20 different homes. I married a Marine and we move about every two years.

I think in the big cosmos of things - somewhere deep in my soul - I knew I would always be moving and relocating. I've given my children the exact opposite childhood I had. I attended parochial schools for 12 years - mostly with the same group of kids. You knew moms, dads, siblings, cousins, cars and even what pets they had. My eldest son will graduate from his 3rd high school.

Do my children dream at night that they have had the same bedroom their entire life? Do they find respite in their sleep knowing the backyard in Louisiana is their dream sanctuary? Are their daydreams filled with the endless years of the same furniture layout?

I want to compare notes with my kids in 25 years.

Resolutions in February

2009-02-09T16:40:00.001-05:00

I really don't make New Year resolutions. It has always seemed a little silly - if you want to do something - do it now. Don't wait six months, 30 days or 1 week to start something. (I feel the same way about the idea of driving to a track to run. Run to the track for God's sake! Not that I run or even know where a track is.) But, I digress. When I make up my mind to do something - I want that something to start right now. That's not to say everything I start is successful - or that I even start everything I desire to do - it just means once I make up my mind to try something - I do it now and without a lot of fanfare. I do it now - sometimes with varying degrees of success.

Thus my decision to blog. Because people really want to know what's going on with me. I'm sure of it.

Then I had another idea as I was watching How Clean is Your House - an obsession of mine - I decided that I need to wear heals more often. I noticed Kim Woodburne, the mistress of clean on the show, wears heals to clean - so why shouldn't I wear them, as well? I went out and bought a pair of 2" heals that will look adorable with jeans. I haven't worn them yet - but who wears shoes when your sitting on your butt typing on your blog?