Archive for July, 2008

I hearby decree, this thirty-first day of July, in the Year of our Lord 2008, that any and all profits from my home-based business this next calendar year will be earmarked for the sole purpose of Summer Camps 2009. Any monies found on the floor, between the couch cushions, or in the backseat of a friend’s car, will be appropriated for the sole purpose of Summer Camps 2009. Any monies found in the washer, on the street, or from the sale of my kidneys/platelets/eggs, will also be set aside for the sole purpose of Summer Camps 2009.

So say we all.

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Two weeks. Just two more weeks. I can make two more weeks without leaving them in a ditch. Especially since next week is MY WEEK. Both boys have church camp from 9-3 every.single.day. Then three days with me, then I’m off to Minnesota for four days, then school starts. I can do this. I’m not going to leave them in a ditch, though I may consider a trade with a door-to-door salesman.

It doesn’t help that it’s ungodly hot. Today we are going to smash a 107 year-old record of number of July days above 90. It’s supposed to be in the upper 90s, lower 100s for the foreseeable future. You know when the weather will break and it’ll suddenly cool off and rain? Monday. ‘Cause that’s when work starts on our white trash patio. It’ll come out of nowhere, ’cause Murphy and his little Law will check his calendar and realize he hasn’t screwed with me enough and hey! let’s go mess up the patio improvements.

It may be quiet here the next few days. My in-laws are coming this afternoon for a visit. They don’t know about this little writing experiment, and I’d like to keep it that way. I’m positive I’ve never said anything negative about them (though I may have written a few things about how the year we lived in Iowa was the longest.year.of.my.life.), but it would be like flouncing around naked.

Whew, thanks to Mama Zen, I have a post for today. Yesterday’s Viva Las Vegas tribute wore me out. Or was that the heat? So she is curious. A Wednesday isn’t complete without the 6 Quirky, Boring, And Unremarkable Things About Me Meme!! Or something like that…

1. I canNOT have anything on my thumb nails. The thought of mixing meatloaf and getting mix on my thumbnails makes my throat spasm. I can barely tolerate nailpolish. This made me throw up a little in my mouth.
2. I know exactly one police officer in my little town and he is the nicest guy. Even when he pulled me over I liked him…and liked him more when he let me off. Found out today that he’s the school resource officer for A’s new school.
3. I make lists of lists. Please help me.
4. I must watch Family Guy every night. I can quote it better than Tom. Yes, I realize I’m probably going to hell for this.
5. I have to have clean countertops and tables. The sink can be a leaning tower of dishes, but the countertop must be clean. I might have a pile of crap below my desk to take care of, but the desktop is clear.
6. I learned how to “card” open a door in high school. Could always get into the band room.

Ok, taggy time. Let’s see…hmmm…Tiffany at Child’s Play, Karen at Pediascribe (’cause she’s just not busy enough packing to move cross-country!) and Jennie at The Soapdish.

Dear Person Who Developed Recycled Paper Toilet Paper Thinking It Was A Good Idea,

You’re a moron.

My nether regions hate you.

I hope your paper chafes you badly during a wicked bout of Montezuma’s Revenge.

That is all.

Love and kisses,

Jen

…unless you’re a blogger, and then you have to walk that fine line between great stories and keeping your mouth shut. So a few thoughts on our Awesome Adventure this weekend.

• My, it’s a bit warm here.
• We stayed at Bill’s Gamblin’ Hall and Saloon, a small hotel on the strip, between Bally’s and the Flamingo. It was cheap, centrally located, and we could see the fountains at the Bellagio from our hotel room.
• Do not miss the 99 cent margaritas at Bill’s. Holy heck, we drank too many of those. The margarita bar is in the back of the casino, next to the sports book. Go. Yum.
• Whew, it warms up quickly here, doesn’t it?
• Learn from me, my children, and do not purchase three new pairs of shoes for a trip where you will walk a lot, where it’ll be a wee bit warm, and when you won’t have time to break them in. Day one my new sandals bruised the tops of my feet. Evening of day one I wore a new pair of dress sandals to dinner. Day two I broke down and hobbled back to the Crocs kiosk at one of the malls and got this pair of shoes. Evening of day two I wore a different pair of dress sandals to the Elvis wedding and reception. Day three I couldn’t get my feet into any previous shoes without severe pain. Either bruised tops of feet (thank you casual sandals) or big gross blisters on my heels (thank you so much, new Crocs) or small painful blisters on the sides of my feet (thank you dress sandals). Courtesy of an overpriced package of bandaids, I was able to maneuver my poor stumps into the (drum roll, please!) brusing sandals! I’m almost recovered now.
• Hey! A cloud! Oh my GOD! A cloud! Granted, it’s waaaay over there and it’s wispier than the bad combovers I’ve been seeing here, but it’s a cloud! Huzzah!
• The buffets at Paris and Spice Market are really good. The buffet at the Rio was crappy.
• Eating gluten-free/casein-free at buffets is actually possible. Only one (the Rio) affected me later.
• Sweet Jesus, it’s hot.
• If you get a chance to see the dinner show “Tony and Tina’s Wedding,” go. It was really fun, funny, enteraining, you name it. Tom is not a huge fan of dinner shows, and even he loved it. Go with a large group if you can. More fun that way. This was our wedding reception after the Elvis wedding. Yes, we crashed their wedding. : )
• One of my favorite memories of the trip has to be titled, “Sex Ed isn’t dead, it’s just living in Vegas.” Cutting through the Flamingo one night to go back to our hotel, we passed 3 or 4 15 year old boys standing in the doorway of the Flamingo (not old enough to go in). In one hand they clutched Arizona Iced Teas, in the other they clutched the escort cards handed out every twenty feet (smut cards…their very own porn stash)…watching the pole dancers just inside the doorway. The looks on their faces…priceless. Trying so hard to be nonchalant and cool, but just underneath the looks of terror. Loved it.
• You know the economy is in the crapper when women are passing out the smut cards.
• Sonofabitch! How the #%^%#*^ do people live here? Why would they want to? My God, please, a breeze. A cool breeze. It cannot be this hot and we be expected to live. {Sob} Please, please, make it stop.
• A highlight of the trip was the woman on the flight back who, uh, shouldn’t have been allowed to board the plane. Tom and I were really glad we were in the first row. She was in row 6…and everyone from that row back enjoyed her vomitous display and fragrance…all over the seat in front of her, the side of the plane, the window. Most everyone got off the plane looking a few shades of green.
• M&M world is a hoot.
• Vegas is NOT the place to have a migraine. Trust me. It was not pleasant, but thankfully, it was incredibly brief. I credit the M&Ms I was chowing down.
• If you ever, ever, get a chance to eat at one of Emeril’s restaurants, by all means, eat ramen for the rest of the year and go! We had dinner at Emeril’s New Orleans Fish House and it was easily the best meal I’ve had all year. In the last couple of years. I told them I couldn’t do dairy (more concerned about that than the gluten right now) and they were incredibly gracious and helpful. And because I couldn’t have any of the desserts {sniff…}, I had a delicious glass of port. And then stumbled out of the restaurant. Port is my new bff.
• OH.MY.GOD. Make the sun stop shining. I shouldn’t be sweating through my clothes. I’m dying, I’m convinced of this. My internal organs are baking like some freaky entree. My new Crocs…they’re melting to the effing sidewalk. I apologize for the Croc-y footprints I’m leaving in my wake, I’m sure they’re sticky and messy. Anyone have an egg? I’d like to try an experiment…

• The Elvis wedding. I am the least likely person on the planet to do something as wacky as have an Elvis wedding (or vow renewal) and I had a blast.

  Elvis was great, campy and funny. He also entertained the men, as our limo was 20 minutes late getting there. At least my dear, darling hubby-to-be (again) got the chance to make snarky comments about forgetting the unity candle…like we did 12 years ago. Smart-ass.

We got to rock out with Elvis, our families got to watch the streaming video online, and it was just overall hysterical fun. The boys loved the sunglasses we brought back for them; they’re the sunglasses that ate Denver! Run for your lives! Yes, mine look like they’re trying to escape my face; I had them over my glasses so I could still see. I’m nuttin’ if not hip. Hippy, yes…hip, no.

• Ahh….sunset. Darkness. Should get cooler, no? NO? What the hell is with this town!? Wahhhh…..
• I came out even at the casinos. Easy to do when you don’t gamble. At all.
• All in all, one hell of a trip. One I’ll likely only make once. We will also never take the boys there. We had a tough time finding souvenirs for them that weren’t inappropriate (thank you, airport gift shop!), so actually taking them there likely won’t happen. But going with a large group (there were ten of us) was the best way to go. Especially with the crew we went with. Ten nutsos and we had a blast.
• Ahhh…home. Where it’s only in the high 90s. Cold snap! Ahhhh…..

I am not hungover.

I am not pierced/tattooed/someone’s bitch. Well, maybe Tom’s.

I am, however, very very tired. And buried in laundry. And breathlessly overwhelmed by the laundry/mail/dishes/email/miscellaneous crap that has piled up in our absence.

Back soon with a recap. And yes, we did actually go through with the whole Vegas/Elvis wedding.

I’m off! Off to where what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas, where Tom and I will renew vows with Elvis (I’m still amazed we’re doing this), where we will be child-free for three peaceful days. The boys are in good hands (my parents’) and there will be much eating, drinking, and laughter. The friends we are going with are some of our dearest friends, and there will be memories made. Oh yes, there will be memories made.

Now. To pack…

Did you know that emails procreate? I didn’t either until this week. I started the week with under 10 messages and as of right this very moment the count is 117, 99% of which deserve replies. I really should call the press, we may have found a new life form. Be afraid, be very afraid. This new life form isn’t afraid to kick ass and take names.

So if I haven’t replied to an email in the last week…my inbox has taken me hostage and tied me up on the porch. It’s pleasant out there, at least in the shade. At least my inbox was polite enough to provide me with a cold, stiff drink. I have high hopes that I’ll be able to wiggle free of my ropes and lethargy to reply by the end of the weekend. Or Monday. Tuesday at the latest. If you don’t hear from me by Wednesday…well, by then I’m in Vegas and I’ll be all, “Huh? Email? Is that a new drink?” as I collapse in the shade by the pool.

Have a great weekend and if you’re in Colorado, stay in the shade. It’s gonna be brutal this weekend.

I guess one suffered a broken jaw, another had a broken ankle, and the third was knocked out. They never saw the guy coming. I feel so bad for those hurt, especially since their instruments were probably pretty beat up too. And those sousaphones ain’t cheap. Ouch.

Time for another exciting Hey Jen, what’s up with…??? The last one broke internet ground (big cracks in the foundation, and it’s not covered under the warranty, so you’re outta luck) , so it’s back for round two. Not nearly as entertaining as Holly’s Monday Potluck (which I think should be a weekly carnival-complete with cute little button-that I could participate in, because I’m lazy as all get out on Mondays and it’s all about me, dont’ja know), but whatevah.

Hey Jen, what’s up with your new blog bling? Yeah, ain’t it purty?

I got it from Tootsie. No, didn’t steal it, she gave it to me. And if I ever meet her, I’ll still think of her as Tootsie. ‘Cause somehow I just can’t imagine her as an Amy or a Stephanie or a Sha’Niqua.

And I’m passing it along to Jamie, Christina, Dawn, Tiffany, and Angie. I should really add more, but I’m noticing how quiet it is upstairs and I’m not nearly done with this post. Good God, boys, just don’t set the house on fire.

Hey Jen, what’s up with the new school construction? Well, they might just get that puppy done before school starts on August 18th notthatI’mcountingdownoranything. It appears the school itself is finished, most of the landscaping is done (except for the patch directly behind the house. It’s a mess of weeds and mud. Not happy about it.), and they’re almost done with the playgrounds. Yes, playgrounds plural. The big one with the sand is right behind us and the swings are across the blacktop. The preschool/kindergarten playground is also almost done, but it’ll be fenced in and I don’t want the boys playing there. As soon as the whole shebang is done, I’m calling the fence dudes to come in and work me up a gate. ‘Cause I am so not lifting my kids up and over the fence every.single.time they think the grass is greener. Wait, the grass is greener on my side. It’s actually grass. And not a mess of weeds and mud. Not that I’m bitter about it.

Hey Jen, what’s up with your garden? Holy heck, the garden. Well…

Here’s Roger, the Rhubarb Plant Hell-Bent on World Domination. He got a new rock border this spring and is not happy to be fenced in like that. So Tom went out and yanked out roughly 12 cups of Roger for a friend who wanted to make some rhubarb pies. We’re mean like that. But Roger may have some competition this summer:

That would be a Brussels Sprout plant. I’m starting to fear it. The jalapeno in the same box will not grow, it’s so afraid. C’mon, jalapeno, grow a pair! You can out-spice those sprouts any day!

Usually Roger forms an uneasy alliance with the Roma tomatoes, but probably not this year:

I think the Romas are showing solidarity with all the Romas that aren’t in grocery stores. If the Romas are removed from the stores…“Hell no, we won’t grow!”

But I think this year Roger will stage a coup with the tomatillos:

Every one of those blossoms will become a tomatillo. Have recipes to share? I think I’d better learn to can.

Hey Jen, what’s up with your hair? Damned good question. I’d love to know what’s up with my hair. I’m usually a short hair person, but every few years I get a wild hair (heh) to grow it all out. I have visions of long, luscious locks that drape over my shoulders and are a lovely accessory. In reality, my hair gets all stringy and clingy. I had lovely long-ish hair for my wedding…and my hairdresser came to our hotel the very next day and cut it all off. So my wedding pictures have long hair and honeymoon pictures have very short hair. I may be doing this soon. I just feel grimy. My ideal haircut?

Yes, that’s Rachel Maddow. Now, if you’ve seen her on Olberman lately, you’ve seen my ideal haircut, the one I’ve had for most of my adult life. Why am I not jumping on it? Well, it’s embarrassing actually. You know how everything stops growing once you hit your adult size? Yeah, everything but cartilage. Um…are my ears really that big???

Hey Jen, what’s up with the boys’ swimming lessons? They’re going remarkably well. In fact, A passed level one today. This is HUGE. He’s the kid who would freak out about water in his ears, the water jets, that hydrogen and oxygen would have the audacity to combine…and he’s about to start learning floating and gliding. J is still working on water bobs and it’s a fairly significant miracle he went back into the water today. Yesterday after lessons we stayed for a little while to play. I was not in my swimsuit (a big mistake I will not be repeating). The boys floated on their noodles…and J’s got away from him. He kept trying to grab it and ended up in the deep end. And went under. By the time that happened, I was already to him. Fully dressed. Where was the lifeguard? Beats the hell outta me. I looked when we got out; one lifeguard. The pool had just opened and the other lifeguard hadn’t made it to the deep end yet. Not happy. Oh, and today they pulled a dead floating mouse out of the hot tub A had just gotten out of. Ick. If he starts squeaking and demanding more cheese, I’m going to get really pissed.

Hey Jen, what’s up with your husband’s traveling? He’s home now, but I’m about done with it. He doesn’t travel much, but when he does it’s in continuous spurts. He had a business trip to Disney Land a few weeks ago. Not Anaheim, the actual parks. Grrr….

Hey Jen, what’s up with the story I’m hearing about you going to Vegas? Um, yeah. Tom and I are going to Vegas next week with a bunch of friends. The kicker? We’re renewing our vows with Elvis. Three of the couples going are doing it. Who knew the 12th, 15th, and 29th anniversaries were the Elvis anniversaries?

Hey Jen, what’s up with your white trash patio? My patio is still a white-trash patio, thanks for asking. I brought this up in the first “Hey Jen, what’s up with…???” two months ago. But at least now we have the patio guy coming out on Monday to start the process. White-trash no more!

Hey Jen, what’s up with the gluten-free/casein-free diet? Yeah, ya know…this is getting durned long, so this will have to be its own post. But it’s going well.

Hey Jen, what’s up with the boys’ karate? Big day for A today, he was recognized by the instructor for good focus. This.Is.Big. Bigger than big. A’s big difficulty is, and always has been, focus. So for the instructor to recognize him for good focus is huge. He’s so proud. He will be continuing. This guy is great and the whole atmosphere is wonderful.

Hey Jen, what’s up with that snazzy new V-Motion you’re sportin’? Yeah, I won that from Denver Mile High Mamas. If you’re a Denver/Colorado mom blogger, get thee to this site. It was one heck of an awesome prize package: the V-Motion, a Kung-Fu Panda smartridge, a gift card to AMC to go see Kung Fu Panda, and candy/popcorn. Rock.ON.

Hey Jen, what’s up with learning how to use your camera(s)? Well, I discovered that somehow the bigger camera had its date setting changed to 2005. Drove me insane until I figured it out and fixed it. Other than that, uh, no. Haven’t done a thing. I coulda Twittered that…

Hey Jen, what’s up with the length of this post? The End.

J is four today.

He is the gentlest soul, such a sweetheart. Loving, even as the others in the house rant and rave. He is quick with a hug and kiss. Quicker with a smile and a laugh.

In the last couple of weeks, he has made a huge leap in his speech. Suddenly he’s saying Gs and Ks and correcting himself. He’s a lot easier to understand all of a sudden. There are still some issues there, but the jump he has made is enormous.

J started violin lessons a few weeks ago. NO, we did not push him into this. Trust me, if I was going to push a kid into music (which I wouldn’t do), I sure wouldn’t push violin. I did a mental brain dump five minutes after my strings methods class…fifteen years ago. But J has been talking about playing violin and calling himself a violin player for over 6 months, so we started a few weeks ago. Yes, we. For I am taking lessons as well. In Suzuki teaching, the parent usually learns as well. It’s nothing if not comical. But J enjoys it. He still has a four year old’s attention span, but he loves getting out his violin and rosining up the bow and playing “Mississippi Hop Frog.” And the perfection of his bow hand scares me.

He loves to paint and color. We’ve been doing a lot of painting lately; he got paints and a huge collection of brushes from a friend for his birthday. Messy, but fun.

His very best friend in the whole wide world, bar none, is his brother, A. He adores his brother, loves on him, forgives him more than I would in his shoes, and generally loves his brother so much. The two of them are a force to behold. Beware, the brothers are out there! He is Mutt Williams to A’s Indiana Jones.

Everything is “farty fart fart,” which I suppose is hilarious when you’re four years old.

He knows how to cuss in context. This is not something I’m terribly proud of. No, wait, I take that back. I’m proud he knows the context, just not the words. For the longest time I was the only one who realized just what he was saying because of the speech delay. Now we gotta watch it. Not so sure his speech therapist would be thrilled to hear that as his improvement.

J has his strange foibles as well. The kid will not wear blue jeans, only sweatpants. Now that it’s summer, he’ll only wear sweatpant-like shorts. He turns practically blue when he goes swimming. He has no butt. I call him BWAC (back with a crack). He’ll laugh til he cries at the mere suggestion of being tickled…yet will beg for it. I must sing the “Love You” song before bedtime or quiet time, or he’ll come searching for me. He loves to crawl into bed with me and snuggle; he’s such a snuggle bunny, something I treasure more than words.

He.Can.Spell. He.Can.Read. He.Can.Add. God help me. No wonder the boys can stay ahead of me, they’re both smarter than their mama. He can also speak a little Spanish, which is almost entirely unintelligible, thanks to the speech delay.

Happy Birthday, J. You have enriched my life more than I can say. You never fail to bring a smile to my face, even as you’re pulling on my arm while I type. You only want me to play with you (but seriously kid, I’m so over playing trains). I love you so much and can’t wait to see what kind of man you’ll grow into being.