Christmas Eve

One thing I will never know, is how my mother does this, not only every year…but every DAY. Every DAY of her life she has had three homemade meals on the table, the mess cleaned up immediately afterwards, the house was ALWAYS clean, never was there one day where things were a mess (well, other than my bedroom). We could always have our friends over without embarrassment. She remembered everything for us, things were always done when they were supposed to be and never, ever forgotten. Cookies would be delivered to school on the day it was my turn, picture money turned in, papers signed. My bed was made every single day, but NOT by me. To this day, I do not understand why you would make a bed when you are just going to get back in it. All of these things were done humbly and without one sigh.

My two oldest girls are home for Christmas, so today I made lunch AND supper. Here’s the deal though, the manicotti was frozen stuff from Costco. Of course, I added salad and bread, (which required a lot of chopping). And the other meal was pulled chicken sandwiches and cheesy potatoes. (Again, both frozen from Costco) But as my kids told me, “You would never know the chicken was frozen mom, because you put it in this pretty bowl.” Guess I should have switched out containers for the potatoes too. The thing is…WHAT A MESS IT ALL MAKES. I swear, I had to clean that kitchen five or six times from messes today!! That takes FOREVER…get all the gross dirties together, wash, put things away, put dishes away again, wipe the counters…well, AFTER you get rid of mail piles, pens, catalogs, and who knows what else. In between all of that cleaning, I was making Christmas Wreath treats, peanut clusters, lime buttermint salad for tomorrow, the kids made bon bons and sugar cookies. I chopped all sorts of veggies for the tray tomorrow and made “real” dough for rolls…I made my Great-Grandma Swanson’s Swedish Sweet Rolls. (THAT doesn’t happen very often) What a freakin’ nightmare. I groaned and whined and complained all the way leading up to, and during that process. My mother would NEVER whine or complain!!!! Not over her dead body!!! Where did I come from?

Mind you, during all of this kitchen fiasco, the living room had to be cleaned and stay clean, laundry had to be going because seven people were in this house, one who is home from college with loads and loads. My kids, unlike me and my sisters, were SUCH a big help!!! Sarah kept the laundry going, cleaned Signe’s room (Signe helped), and cleared off my horrendous kitchen counter of my “important” piles (one thing of which was my Christmas letter from 2008/2009 which hasn’t been mailed yet). Paige went back and forth to Slater’s house, as he is home from college too, she also made sugar cookies, kept the little ones in line and taught Tuesday how to knit a scarf. Sophia made bon bons and flitted around being 13 and pretty. Signe took Corduroy, the 90 pound pup, for walks out in the cold and snow. Tuesday sat and knitted a WHOLE scarf and kept us laughing with her blond moments. “Mom, you guys sure do have a lot of weird hats on that hall tree”.

“Do we?” I said.

“What?” says Tues.

“Do we?”

“What?

“DO WE?” I yell.

“Who’s Duey?” Tuesday wonders aloud.

Ugh.

We also fit some Wii Just Dance 2 in, a small bit of Guitar Hero, presents and more presents were wrapped. Not to mention not only was the living room cleaned, but the whole thing had to be rearranged because my children are all OCD about where they sit to open presents on Christmas morning. They recreate the living room like our home in Wisconsin so they can sit exactly where they “used to” in our “real house”.

Well, it’s ten minutes til midnight now. There are still loud children in the living room. Dave has now taken over wrapping duty, Santa still has to come, he will have to write letters, there is still sugar cookie mess all over the kitchen. And like I said. I’m beat. I quit. We are having company for Christmas tomorrow. Real people. That always stresses me out. How on Earth will this house be clean by dinner time with our aftermath Christmas morning?!

Well, time to put cookies and milk out...some carrots for Rudolph too.  And I haven't read a Christmas story to the girls yet this season!  So I need to do that.
Merry Christmas to all!  And to all a good night!

Addendum:  Coming out of hiding from my bedroom, I found the reason the girls were so noisy.  Their movie was over and they were cleaning up!  The sugar cookie mess was fixed, the kitchen table clear again, and the livingroom ready for Santa to arrive...plate of cookies included! Signe even counted and put out one carrot for each reindeer.  We couldn't find our normal "Santa's cookie plate" that we always use...but they found a substitute.  I even heard my oldest reminding the "baby" to brush her teeth before bed.  Sweet girls <3  I read them a story as their little eyes closed.  

It's 2am now.  We are just finishing up.  It never matters how much you prepare ahead of time.  Dave has done something new this year...he just finished "papering" the girls into all of their bedrooms.  He has taken wrapping paper and wrapped the entrances to their doors...so when they open them in the morning they will crash into and tear through their doors...haha hope I'm awake to see that!

Snorting Stan's Mother

There were always big bumps in the night.

As a Therapeutic Youth Care Worker when I worked overnights, I might be folding laundry when I’d hear a “thump” and the ceiling would shake. I’d tiptoe upstairs with my trusty flashlight, only to find four kids fast asleep. I could’ve sworn somebody must’ve fallen out of bed or threw the fire escape ladder out the window to “run.” Nope. Never.


Always sleeping children.


My first night on the job-- it was about midnight and the rest of the staff had just gotten back from our annual Gala. Two of the gals were sitting on the sofa in the living room. As I walked from the kitchen toward them, one of them jumped. I heard her say, “Oh, I thought it was the ghost”. It was just a reflection from the flashlight. Mind you, she didn’t say “a ghost”, she said “the ghost”. Big difference. “Is there something you guys aren’t telling the new overnighter??“ They just stared at each other.


My first week on the job there were numerous “doorbell rings” in the middle of the night. No one was ever there. Oh, how I hated that. It stood the hairs on the back of my neck straight up. I finally had the house manager disconnect the doorbell…and after eight months, I finally moved to days---someone else could have the thumps. They could also have the static-filled baby monitors that we used to listen to our teenagers trying to sneak a smoke or plot whatever else was on their minds. The only sounds we ever picked up on those things were babies crying. But we didn’t have babies. We were a shelter for children aged 10 -18 years old.


When a youth comes under our care, one of the first things we do is inventory all of their belongings. Some of these kids are just getting out of jail, some are awaiting foster care placement, or maybe a higher level of care somewhere. Many are taken from their homes because of neglect, abuse or both.


One of my very first experiences with inventory went like this: I was still working overnights when this big, hairy kid got dropped off. He was 16 years old, six foot two, long hair, scruffy sideburns, and big, baggy clothes. I got him settled in his room and started writing down everything he owned. I’m sitting on the couch with his file on my lap. I come to this little blue jar tucked inside two baggies. There are rubber bands holding the lid in place. I carefully take it out of the baggies, slide the rubber bands off and lift the little lid. Just as I feared…drugs! I was pretty new at this job and I didn’t know the protocol in this situation. I knew this was serious because my adrenaline was pumping.


Being naive and not knowing what drugs looked like, I decided to sniff it. I was pretty sure I could at least identify pot. There was no odor as I basically snorted the stuff, some of it blew down to my papers. As I licked my finger about to pick some up to taste, a fleeting thought crossed my mind: What if this is a relative? I did not taste it. Scraping up the scattered remains, I put the jar back together as best I could. I wrote on his inventory: “relative?? haha”. I have an odd sense of humor. I was seriously making a joke when I wrote that down.


I went to my boss the next morning and told her what had happened. I told her my fears of finding some crack-cocaine or something of the like. She told me to just go ask the young man.


I took the jar and was visibly shaking as I walked the hallway toward his room. I was not very confident with confrontation in those days. Intimidation is more the word. He opened his door just as I was about to knock. He towered over me. I said, “Stan?” He looked down at me. “Ya?” He mumbled.


“Could you tell me what’s in here?”


“My mom”.


“Oh”, I said in my best, this-is-the-most-normal-thing-I-have-ever-heard-in-the-world-and-I-snorted-your-mother, voice I could muster. “OK”.
 
Ever since the day I had to confront Stan, sadly, there have been a few more occasions where we encounter cremated parents.  On the positive side of things,  I do know now the difference between drugs, and loved ones. 
 

The Suitcase

I am getting ready this week to take my daughter on a couple of college-visit trips out of state.  My grandmother gave me a nice set of luggage for my high school graduation, (ya...that was a few years ago)  so I dug my Samsonite out of the storage room (where the litter box is) and ugh...did the suitcase ever stink!  That made me sad;  I'm pretty sentimental about this suitcase. 

I washed the outside of it with soap and water, put it on the porch in the sun, and let it air out.  That didn't work.  Next, I took some Scentsy room spray and squirted the inside of the suitcase, set it back outside and let it dry again.  Well, by the next day, I think it smelled OK, but it left grease on the lining so now I'm afraid my clothes will get spotted.  (Scentsy room spray is not made for cloth!  I knew this)

There were some Top Ramen noodles in the bottom of the suitcase, not sure why, so I got out the Kirby and sucked them up.  Problem is, the lining got sucked up too.  Not a good scene.  This made me cry. ( I told you I am sentimental about this suitcase) The main reason I am sentimental over it is because it is from Grandmama.  Not to mention,there are MANY old "pieces" of tags hanging from handle. This piece of luggage has seen a lot of places.  On its last few trips, I wasn't sure it was gonna make it through the baggage-man-beating...being thrown into the cargo of a plane, so it has duct tape wrapped around and around it.

My hubby saw me crying and put his arms around me and said the right things.  He knew.  But then he whispered, "Daddy's Girl".  I'm like, "What?"  And he said, "Well, you know, the duct tape and everything."  Guess he has a point.

I decided to call my dad at this point.  He wasn't home, so I talked to my mom.  Of course, she didn't "get it".  (Sorry, no offense mom, really) She said, "Oh, I'm sorry it smells like cat pee".  Well, that wasn't the point at all.  So next she says, "Get a laundry basket, that's how I travel."  Oh, the ever practical mother.  No thanks...I am NOT using a laundry basket to travel. 

Next I called my Aunt Kathy.  I KNEW she would "get it."  She did.  I cried, and she said all the right things.  "Grandma would be proud of you...IS proud of you...have a whole bunch of fun on your trip; Grandma would just laugh about this.  Put some fabric softener sheets in your suitcase (already did that...two great minds) Go to the mall and pick out a new red suitcase, red was Grandma's favorite color, and it'll be just like it was from her...now be sure to pack cute outfits and everything will be OK."  It was a quick phone call, to the point, and I was all better. 

I lined the inside with garbage bags (hubby's idea cuz he said the bounce would absorb the grease and still get on my clothing) and packed.  I decided my suitcase is not "broken" anymore.  After all, it still pretty much shuts.  And I kinda dig the duct tape, the cracks, the broken-handle-so-I-can't-wheel-it-anymore, all of the strings hanging off of it, and the smell. Off to Colorado!

Timers don't help

This morning my work partner and I were supposed to attend a training on ADHD for work.  We went.  Well, we went to the beginning.  It was SO boring!  The only thing we "learned" was that one way to diagnose ADHD is that you absolutely "CAN'T" pay attention if you have it; not that you "WON'T" pay attention.  

I absolutely could NOT pay attention, so we bugged out and had a nice lunch.

I came home, took a hike with hubby, took a nap (cuz the fresh mountain air wore me out), and then I decided I had better pick-up the living room.

I set my timer for 15 minutes to clean, and pushed "start".  By the time I reached the living room, I found myself lying on the couch with a piece of fudge in my hand watching Hannah Montana.  

Soon, it dawned on me that my timer was going.  I didn't recall how the fudge got in my sticky little paws or how I could forget I had set the timer-- all within a 10-20 second window.  

I reset the timer, started picking up, and the first thing I found was my strainer I had been looking for a half hour earlier as I was making spaghetti.  It was sitting on the bookshelf.   I knew I had it in my hand when I was cooking...but then it disappeared. 

It was at this point I decided we probably should have stuck with the whole ADHD class. 

Party in the freezer

Having a second refrigerator is not a good idea.   About 2 or 3 months ago, my youngest daughter came in from the garage to tell me the fridge is “not on.”  Well…I figured this was a man-problem.  I ignored it.

A few days ago I actually trekked downstairs to the kid living room.  I try not to do this often; this is their territory and I prefer not to see what it looks like.  I was sorry I did.  There were a bunch of old cups partially filled with who-knows-what.  Lemonade or juice…I don’t know.  What I DID know was that there were fruit flies buzzing around all of them, and yet even more   that were drowned in them.  I HATE fruit flies.  It was gross, but I grabbed the cups and brought them to the kitchen. 

Let’s move on to day two:  I wake up and start in the kitchen.  Gotta begin with a few cups of coffee, right?  Well…I noticed I was swatting my arm at bugs like I was in the jungle or something.  I thought “ wonderful…  fruit flies in the kitchen.”  No biggie; throw away the old banana, right?  Wrong.  There was no banana.  And there was no old peach or no rotten potato.  And there were MORE than a FEW fruit flies.  I was actually dodging them.  This is not a good scene.  My parents were here and I was yelling for anyone who would listen that I needed 10 bucks to go get some Raid.   My mother and my husband were completely against using Raid.  My husband is a chemist and he will not use any of that stuff in the house, and no round-up in the yard. (we can grow GREAT weeds)  Mom said to “vacuum them up, it’s ‘fun.’” 

Well since I couldn’t make my coffee, I went to step two…time to pee.  I went into my daughter’s bathroom and there were fruit flies IN THERE TOO!!!   This is clearly no joke anymore…we were being invaded.  This time I threw a tantrum about getting some Raid.  “Listen, I’ve lived in Florida and we LIVED on Raid, OK?  We’re not gonna die, I’m not going to spray it ON your cereal, or IN your milk but we HAVE to do something.”

Mom:  “Get your vacuum out, that’s what I did at the cabin.”

Fine.  I sucked a few up, and then luckily it was time to go to work. 

The next day, however, I was practically in tears.  They were everywhere. My college daughter came home from school to do laundry and couldn’t even go into our laundry room there were so many you-know-whats.   I VACUUMED FOR 5 OR 6 HOURS.  First in the kitchen.  Then the bathroom.  Then the other bathroom.  Then I had to haul the thing into the laundry room.  Next it was time to start over in the kitchen again, then the bathroom, then the other bathroom.  You get the idea.  No joke.  5 hours.  I had goosebumps the whole time.  It absolutely gave me chills.  (I must say, I did, however, for a little while feel like a Jedi with my big long hose) I had googled fruit flies to see how to get rid of them… bad idea.  It showed them close-up.  They have red eyes!  BIG red eyes.  The internet said to vacuum.  And to find the source.  So I sucked, and I cried, and I sucked, and I called Dave and yelled at him, then I sucked some more, then I called my mom and yelled at her.  She said, “Look for a potato.  There MUST be a potato, you HAVE to find the source.”

So I looked for a potato.  No potato.  I had cleaned and scrubbed every surface I could get my hands on.  Every appliance was sparkling and sterilized.  I had used bleach the first time around, hot soapy water next, and the third time everything got scrubbed I used Lysol.  I just couldn’t keep up and they were not going away.  I called Dave and yelled at him again.  “I have chills!  You don’t understand… I actually have goosebumps having to do this, it’s SO GROSS!!!  If I had a credit card I would get a Hotel.  I WANT SOME RAID.”  (I would have gone to get some even though he said no, but my gas light was blinking)

Well, after the sixth hour of sucking up flying bugs…I noticed that the laundry room had smaller bugs then the rest of the rooms.  Hmmm….  babies!  (Fruit flies can lay 500 eggs at a time, and their whole life cycle is only 10 days)  OK,  I was pretty sure I was on to something.  I called Dave.  

“Dave,  I think I know the source.”  The laundry room has a door that goes into the garage.  The garage is where we keep our second refrigerator.  (The second refrigerator that is “not on”.)  Next I called my mom.  She told me she had put some vegetables in that fridge after my oldest daughter’s college graduation party…three months ago.  Mom wanted me to go out and look.  Heck, no!  I called Dave back.  He needed to come home immediately and look in the garage.  He did.  Yep.  Found the source alright.  He wheeled the refrigerator to the end of the driveway, we went and bought 3 bottles of Raid.  I only looked once.  I saw frozen orange juice in what once was the freezer, and now is party-central for fruit flies.  These flies were now EVERYWHERE outside.  They were even on the outside of our house windows.  I let him spray the Raid.

Today I am only battling around 5 fruit flies at a time.  It helped almost immediately to find the source.  Now we just have to figure out how to get rid of the fridge by the mailbox.

For the record: I'm NOT old

I had my first physical at the doctor's office today in 10 years.  Oops.  Word to the wise:  Do not wait 10 years...they pull out a different sheet of questions to ask you.  I must have gotten the "blue" list, instead of the typical "yellow" questions.  No one asked me:  "Is there any chance you could be pregnant?"  I mean, isn't that the FIRST question they always ask?  No matter where you go for who knows what?!

Nope...Here's what I got.

"OK...you are 42, correct?" (oh gosh...is this right?  It sounds old...ya, that's right though)

 "Are you still having periods?" (um...YA. Like clockwork.)

"Are you taking hormones?"  (WHAT?!  Um. NO. Am I supposed to be?)

"Look lady, can't ya see the pink streaks in my hair?  I'm young and hip.  Quit asking these ridiculous questions and give me my PAP smear.  Let's get on with it.  And just in case you want to know, NO, I am NOT pregnant...and the only reason I'm NOT is because my husband is FIXED.  For the record."

The Milkbone Diet

Parenting techniques change from generation to generation.  That's also true for each subsequent child.

When my first baby dropped her pacifier on the floor, I would diligently put a pot of water on the stove.  When it came to a rolling boil I would submerge it for a minimum of 5 minutes~ after all, boiling water is the ONLY thing that will kill germs, right?

With baby #2, she would get her paci/toy rinsed off under some running water--all of the germs would be safely rinsed down the drain.

Baby #3, who was a true pacifier ADDICT, would get her suck-suck (as we call them in our family) wiped-off on my jeans.

Baby #4 would get the 5 second rule (or maybe 10).  If it falls to the floor for less than 10 seconds, it doesn't count, you're good to go.

Baby #5.  Well...let me tell you about baby #5.

Signe was born in August of 2000.  Not quite a year later we got our first puppy.  Naturally, Corduroy (yes, this German Shepard/Chinese Fighting Dog mix is named after the teddy bear with a missing button--though some call him "Cujo".) liked Milkbones.  He would lie on the carpet and chew his Milkbone and small pieces would fall from his mouth.  The problem was, Signe would sit by him and wait for the chunks to fall.  Anxiously, she would snatch up these chunks and eat...

Now, I'm not totally a reckless mother.  At her one year check up, I confessed of her diet to her pediatrician.  The doctor said "No biggie...there is nothing inedible in Milkbones".  So with her blessing, Signe ate Milkbones for 8 years.  Last year came a big disappointment.  We opened a brand new box of Milkbones and right away Signe let us know, "They changed the formula".  She has never had one since.

Squirting our kids with 409

You may be wondering why my sweet husband drove 20 miles to get me a cup of coffee.  I don't even know where to start with this one...stay with me here.

The Cabin.  Heron, Montana.  People may wonder why I complain about one of my favorite places on Earth:  beautiful cabin tucked in the middle of the woods, being with the whole family etc.  Let me try and explain:


Only VERY special people can function at The Cabin.  And I can only think of two.  Mom.  And Dad.  None of us would be able to "run" things here without them...or know where things are kept.

The Cabin has no electricity ~ ~ true, we are updated with a generator and solar power.  We also have flushing toilets now (but we still have to use the "out" when there are a bunch of us here because you definitely don't want to overload the septic system) We don't call it "outhouse" because the original version here at the ranch had no door.  So we just called it "The Out".  OK, so we sort of have electricity, but if you try and use the microwave, you get lectured about "the batteries".  I don't know what that means, but we are not allowed to use it.  Why they don't throw the microwave away, I'll never know.  None of us know how to run this complicated generator thing...dad is busy all day long checking numbers, keeping a graph of some sort that is hung on the wall, and telling us to turn off lights because the numbers are low.

My dear mother has a unique way of storing things.  She wanted my sister to feed the cats...Mari couldn't find the cat food.  "It's in the cat litter bucket".  Mom says.  "Of course".  says Mari.  So on the bottom of the pantry Mari opens the big bucket of litter and sure enough:  cat food!

My other sister wanted to add some cashews to her trail mix.  She reached her hand into the cashew jar, and out comes her hand with melted chocolate chips all over it.  Oh ya...the chocolate chips are kept in the cashew jar.  This is like living at Ernie and Bert's house.


As I was digging through the fridge this morning, I found a bunch of sandwiches labeled "baking soda".  No wonder the kids forgot their lunch on their 8 hour hike to the top of a mountain yesterday!


You may see one of us squirting our kids with 409 periodically.  Well, if you read closely, above the "409", "hand soap" is written in permanent marker.  We are used to that one.  It sits by the sink...so when you need to wash your hands you just squirt with 409.


I think the only thing in the house labeled correctly is Dad's "shampoo/cleaning fluid".  For as long as I can remember, my dad has made his own "shampoo".  On it is a label reading: "Jay's shampoo etc. (Grandpa's superdooper shampoo made from super secret ingredients)  Use at your own risk "  There is a skull and crossbones drawn underneath the label.


Not only is this place "label challenged", EVERYTHING is harder here.  For instance, just getting dressed.    "Heron Hair" is a biggie.  I don't care what kind of real shampoo and conditioner you bring to the cabin, you can't look good.  Hair is CRAZY.  It won't brush, it stands straight out, and you are not allowed to use a hair dryer.  If we complain my mother says "just put some vinegar in your hair afterwards, that's what I do".  OK.  That's just what I've always wanted MY hair to smell like.  How'd she know?!


This brings me back to the coffee.  Coffee is a HUGE problem-o at The Cabin.  First of all, dad only drinks instant.  So we fish around for some real coffee that one of us has left from a previous visit.  There is no coffee maker so you first have to boil water...after that it gets even more complicated.  We have some little gadget that makes one cup at a time  (which first we have to find and figure out how to put together). OK, so I get my coffee made and naturally there is no creamer, so I add sugar.  I am quite the sugar addict, I admit, and it takes quite a bit to make me happy.  I finally get my coffee just so (this is like a half hour process) and take a sip.  SPIT!  Out it goes.  It tastes just like the Gulf of Mexico!  Pure SALT.  Oops...my bad.  I didn't read the label closely.  Sugar was crossed out and in it's place "not sugar" is written. This is when I send Dave to the nearest gas station.


Why does mom do this?  It is one of the great mysteries of Heron.

Our Magical Forest

"It's a full moon, just like they promised!!" Signe said as we were hiking through the woods at 10pm.

There is a very special place on our land in Montana called THE FAIRY FOREST. It was discovered 10 or so years ago by a couple of my daughters. There are these fluffy green ferns that are only found there. These are the "fairy ferns". Soon, we found little nooks in the trees (must be where the fairies live) and things progressed from there.

The girls started writing notes to the fairies and leaving them in a box out in the forest. It wasn't long before the fairies were writing back. This has been going on for over 10 years...and it is extremely complicated now. Each grandchild has a "fairy". Here are some of their names: (the fairies, not the grandkids) Pumpernickle, Frangipani, Acorn, Isabelle, and Twalla. Each fairy has an extensive past, favorite color, place they were born etc. etc. As I said: complicated.

Once a year there is a fairy ball that is held in the fairy forest that the grand kids are invited to. It is held at dark...which is pretty late in Montana. Last evening was the night of the ball this year. As Mom, Dad, Mari, Sarah, Teenie, me, Dave, the other Dave, Eric, and 8 of the grand kids went traipsing along to the fairy forest ( Dad following in the gator because we need lights!!) that's when Signe said, "It's a full moon, just like they promised!"

We arrived at the ball and there were twinkly lights up in the trees shining down on the miniature houses on the ground. There were some little gifts left for the kids in the present/note spot. First, everyone just stood still and watched. Soon the fairies started appearing. They disguise themselves in front of humans. But each fairy told their kid what they would be wearing.

Signe's fairy is orange with black spots, but she would be wearing a yellow ball gown. We all stood silently under the moonlight watching and listening. It was a good 15 or 20 minutes when Signe started getting a little sad because her fairy didn't show. It was time to leave and as we turned around toward the Gator a yellow fairy flew right in front of the headlight. I told Signe I saw her, and she quickly turned around and knelt down by the headlight. We waited, and she reappeared. At first Signe was disappointed because the fairy was yellow...then she remembered Isabelle said she would be wearing a yellow ball gown. "Oh!! That's why she was late! She had to change into her gown!" Signe said.

Suddenly the little fairy settled right onto Signe's hand. She stayed there for over 10 minutes. Signe and she stared and stared at each other.

When we got back to the cabin Signe showed me a note she had written Isabelle. "Dear Isabelle, Can you sit on my hand at the fairy ball? And what's your favorite color? Love, Signe"

"Mommy, I didn't even give her the note and she knew what it said. This was the best night of my life. It's the best thing I can think of!"

Parents Having Sex

 It finally happened~ we are the "Old Gross Parents".

 My dad has been sick this summer and the whole fam damily is at the cabin~ 21 of us (the 4 daughters and all of our children/spouses) There isn't much sleeping space left and Dave and I have been assigned a couch to share. Luckily it is pretty long, and we can sleep toes to nose. Above that couch is a loft with two twin beds. My eldest daughter,Sarah, (22) and her significant other are sleeping up there. Essentially we are in the same room with them.

This morning, as said oldest baby was munching on her dry cheerios, she looked deep in thought. She was sitting in an easy chair across from me. Suddenly she spouted out "Did you and Dave have sex last night, Mom? And if you did I am NEVER speaking to you again. EVER."

"What?" I ask in disbelief.

"I heard noises." Sarah said, clearly upset.

"What?!" I ask again.

"I heard laughing", She said with a serious look on her face.

"Sarah, EWWWWWWWWWWW... WE'RE MARRIED!".

"OK, phew!!!! That's what I thought. I mean, I knew you didn't, but I kept thinking- what if you did?? I couldn't sleep mom...that's SO gross!!! You are SO old!!! I was NEVER going to speak to you again...I thought you thought we were sleeping. I couldn't sleep ALL NIGHT. I even had to go over and wake up Chris. I hit him in the head with a book and asked him if he thought you guys were having sex. He said "NO, go to sleep". It really scared me mom."

"OK, Sarah. Calm down. Sick! I have 5 children which means I've only done that 5 times. I've never had a miscarraige."

My sister walks in at this point and wants to know what's going on. I filled her in. She says, "Sweetie, your mom and Dave only have sex once a year. I know how often all of my sisters have sex. I highly doubt last night was the chosen night with you in the same room."

"THANK YOU, Mary! There. Do you feel better yet?"

Once Sarah got over thinking about the possibility of her old gross parents having sex...she went outside. Meantime, Dave comes in and I filled him in on the drama. hahahahaha Next thing we know...Sarah comes back into the livingroom. Dave looks at me and says lovingly: "Honey, thanks again for last night." I think she threw up a little bit in her mouth.

I have had it!

After loading 2 college bound athletes, who have the longest legs in the world, 1 90lb. dog, luggage for all plus sleeping bags and pillows into my "toaster", as the group home kids call my car... I AM SICK OF DRIVING. I've probably gone 1500 miles or more this week going back and forth and back and forth. And it's all for my dog who is faking sick.

He did it again. This time we just arrived at the cabin (again) and Corduroy played for about 10 minutes, then sat by my car. When I opened the door to unload (AGAIN) he hopped in and WOULD NOT get out. This time he stayed in the car for 19 hours!

After spending the night in the car (even tho he was at his favorite place in the world) I was pretty sure he would come out to go potty in the morning. Nope. He shook and quivered and SNAPPED at my nephew. He would not come out. I thought he was dying or something. Needless to say, I loaded back up and drove the 3 1/2 hours back home to our vet.

Nothing is wrong. He faked it. No temp, did blood work, he has a little wax build up in his ear. WTH??????

Now I have to go back to the cabin tomorrow AGAIN. Have to. Cuz ALL of us are there. My 3 little sisters, all of our children etc. etc. and I am instructed to be there for a family picture.

Plus~ I didn't even say goodbye to anyone this morning. There are 21 of us there. So I just left after saying bye to my daddy.

And not many of them like our cute dog. GUESS WHO'S COMIN' BACK?!

See ya tomorrow.

Ironing

I really do not even understand the CONCEPT of ironing. Daughter #3 and I are driving NINE hours to an Adam Lambert concert tomorrow. A have a white dress that, well first... I HAVE THESE GREAT BOOTS I ordered months ago for this event. Then came the problem of finding something to go with them. I spent hours surfing the net trying to find anything to go with the boots! The first dress I ordered was a COMPLETE DISASTER. I threw it away immediately upon arrival. The next dress was from Victoria's Secret. It looked great in the catalog. After many "ordering issues", it finally came. It was either a man's button up, or a bad nurse uniform. Too much money already spent-- I needed to make this work. After a hurried and harried trip to the mall after much travelling today...back and forth to see my sick daddy...(he is doing MUCH better now!!) we found the finishing touches. It is not so "nursey" now. ANYWAY, after trying it on so many times...and hauling it back and forth to the cabin to show my family the whole "look", I decided it needed to be ironed for Adam. Wow. What a stupid, stupid thing ironing is. My mother always wondered how I could get away with never ironing anything for my husband or children...Easy, I just throw it back into the dryer if it is wrinkled. When ironing there are many problems: 1. Which part do you start with? And when you do figure that out, then you have to move the clothing...hence, wrinkling what you had just ironed. 2. If you are ironing a dress, half of it hangs down to the floor, and then you get pet hair stuck to your outfit. So the garment is just getting dirtier in the process. 3. Let's say you get it sort of "ironed-out", (no pun intended) then comes the day to wear it. Well you aren't going to WALK to your event. More than likely you will be driving. So there you are sitting all over your freshly ironed outfit. It's probably hot because you always sweat when you are going somewhere important. You are wrinkled before you even get there. SO WHAT IS THE POINT--I ask you?!