It's strange finding myself on the other side of parenting; the grandparenting side.
I'm not raising the little one this time around; she has two awesome parents for that.
Now I'm in the position of being the "older generation". And I'm telling you, I'm amazed my kids even made it to adulthood. For one thing, child car seats didn't have to be specially fitted into our cars; we just stuck them on the seat and strapped the seat belt around them. As a matter of fact, when I went home from the hospital with Newborn Baby Laura, I held her in my lap the whole way; we didn't even HAVE a car seat yet. Although it was on the list of Things We Needed For The Baby When We Could Afford It.
And food. I don't remember exactly when I started giving the kids solids but it seems to me it was pretty early on. Oatmeal, I believe, at 4 months or so. Eventually I would grind up whatever was grindable from what we were eating and spoon it into their mouths. As they learned how to grasp, I'd chop up foods we ate and put it on their highchair tray. And we'd all eat together.
When Laura was around 7 months, she choked on a piece of bacon that I hadn't cut up quite small enough, or maybe it was just the taste of fatty, processed pork that set her off. Grabbing her up out of her high chair, I gave her a little mini-baby-Heimlich maneuver.
No doubt that is the exact opposite of what one should do for choking babies in 2010 but in 1978 it worked and the piece of bacon flew spectacularly across the room.
Then we both cried.
For a long time after that, the only pig-oriented food Laura got was cut-up bologna or hotdogs.
What? It was OSCAR MEYER, SHUT UP!
So I thought nothing of sharing my fried egg sandwich with Lucy the other day when we were taking care of her. She's 9 months old now, going on 10, and she likes to nom on whatever the people around her are nomming on. This is a good thing, babies thrive on this, it's tribal, it's natural.
"EH!" she says when we are eating, reaching out her little hand. Of course I'm going to oblige her, right?
So Lucy and I nommed companionably on my fried egg sandwich together; I'd take a bite, then I'd give her a Lucy-sized bite. She especially loved the runny eggy part, so I gave her as much as she wanted. She loved it.
C'mon, what is simpler than an egg? It's a classic. Imminently NOM-ABLE! And whole wheat bread! A staple food for multiple generations of human beings! Right?
Egg sammich! It's totally made for babies!
Imagine how floored I was the other day when the five of us were at a pizza place for lunch and I tried to give Lucy a piece of my bread roll only to hear...
"Mom, what are you doing?" Laura's tone was definitely disapproving.
Uh-oh...
"Giving Lucy a piece of bread?" I froze, bread fragment in my hand all ready to go, Lucy's mouth open and waiting like a baby bird, ready for some yummy pizza-place roll-action.
"No, Mom, she can't have bread yet." Laura stared at me, incredulous that her mother could be so clueless about the Evils of Bread when it comes to babies.
Dropping the tidbit back onto my plate, I threw a beseeching look at Dawson. Because everyone who knows me can read everything I'm thinking all over my face and I knew that Laura was going to find out...
"Mom...?"
"What?" Keeping my voice bright and casual, struggling to keep the guilty tone out.
"Mom...did you already give her bread before this?"
"Well..." Trying not to wince.
"MOM!"
"Well...um....yes and no. Technically, it was toast."
Laura shook her head, amused and slightly annoyed, both. "She's not supposed to have wheat yet, in case she's allergic."
"It was just a little bit," I lied, "Just a smidgen of my fried egg sandwich."
"WHAT?! You gave her egg, too?? She's not supposed to have egg yet, either, Mom. Not until she's a year old."
"Oh...." Again I looked over at Daws, hoping he'd back me up, but he put up his hands and shook his head silently with a, "You're on your own, babe" husbandly shrug.
Great.
We all looked at Lucy who by now was pointing at her mouth frantically, pantomiming that she wanted more bread, Nana.
Okay, not really. But it might have helped if she had.
"But she really liked it, Laura," I said weakly.
Laura glared, then smiled and sighed.
Honestly, I never thought I'd feel so out of the loop. So I raised two kids, so what, what do I know? Apparently not much. We gave our kids eggs and bread and obviously bacon, or whatever we were eating and only now, all these years later, do I realize it's a miracle they lived through my pathetic parenting skills.
We all stopped at Stark's on our way home for some Happy Hour goodness. Since I hate pizza and had only had a roll and a small salad, I ordered a meatloaf slider. Only $1.50 but that's $1.50 packed full of pure happiness and WIN.
As we chatted and laughed together, I kept giving Lucy little bites of my meatloaf slider, relieved she wasn't allergic to bread after all and a potentially disastrous situation had been narrowly averted...
"MOM...?!"
"What?" God, it was the same tone she'd had at the pizza place.
"What are you feeding her?"
"....meatloaf slider?" I said in a small voice.
"SHE'S NOT SUPPOSED TO HAVE BEEF YET, MOM!"
Oh. Jeez...
We all looked at Lucy, happily chewing and smacking over the meatloaf.
"But Laura...she likes it."
Laura shook her head and sighed. Again.
Oy. Poor Nana just can't get a break.
Wednesday, January 20, 2010
Monday, November 30, 2009
Two Vignettes
LuBear
Saturday lunch at Rossos restaurant I was the first to notice Laura pushing Lucy through the restaurant doors in the monstrous stroller all parents seem to have today. A combo of stroller, car-seat, drink holder, purse holder, diaper-bag-holder and all-around mobile-baby-carrier, this thing is about as sturdy as a tank and almost as maneuverable. As Laura performed the universal "mommy-hand-and-foot-plant" against one door so she could shove Lucy's super-sonic-state-of-the-art-stroller inside, I gave them both a big smile and waved excitedly. Roseanne, my sister visiting from NYC and Daws turned around, smiling and waving too.
And Little LuBear waved back at us. Except...she didn't wave like an almost-8-month old baby waves, but regally. Solemnly. As if she was "Queen Elizabeth Baby". Or "Jackie O Baby". Accepting our homage as her rightful due. Laura pushed her pram closer to us (yeah, I said pram, it sounds more regal, like everything Brit; even "loo" sounds more regal than our American "toilet"), Lucy kept waving her little hand slowly back and forth. For all the world like a monarch sitting perched on a parade float surrounded by throngs of admirers; her slight, mysterious Mona Lisa smile firmly in place.
Once she was parked at our table and greetings were exchanged, I was sure LuBear was going to give a speech on how to cope with the current economy, or perhaps say a few words about the deplorable Tiger Woods situation but apparently her natural discretion and good manners won out and she ended up politely drinking her bottle instead; nodding and winking at us with glee as we pulled in turn at our wine glasses.
Okay, I made the last part up.
But I wouldn't put it past her.
*****************************
The Ubiquitous Cat Story
The other night while the Hubs and I were quietly watching TV, we both heard an odd, disturbing sound:
"OooOOooOO...OooOOooOOOOOoo...". Looking at each other in confusion, Daws paused the DVR and we heard it again, louder this time.
"Whoooo...OOOOO...OOoOOoOOOO...OooOOwhoooOOOoo..."
Ghostly moans. Right out of an old horror flick or when you were kids and turned all the lights out, trying to scare each other.
All the hairs stood up on the back of my neck and I broke into a cold sweat. Daws' eyes were popping and we slowly looked all around us, trying to figure out where the sound was coming from.
Suddenly we realized it was coming from our fireplace hearth, where our two three-year old black-n-white cats, The Boyz, The Bruthers, were curled up sleeping on their cat beds. It's their favorite place to be, especially when the fireplace, or "Hot Wall", as they like to refer to it, is burning.
At first I wondered if it was some kind of air flow coming down through the vents of the fireplace making the strange sounds but as I moved closer to check it out, it was clear that our little Jakie was making the noise:
Unlike the picture above, Jakie had fallen asleep with the front of his entire face mashed tightly up against the side of his bed. In his feline cat-dream, he was apparently "raowing" about something that had upset him. But because his nose and mouth were all squished up, his muffled cries came out as this gawd-awful, spooky weird "ooOOooOOoo" sound.
Reaching out, I gently stroked his head and he started up in sheer terror, obviously still in the throes of his dream/nightmare (perhaps the Hot Wall had turned off forever? Or his brother Woody was trying to mount him again in his periodic incestuous confusion? Who knows?) Glaring about wildly, trying to bridge the consciousness between Sleep-Jakie and Awake-Jakie, at first he tried to sprint away but I stopped him; still petting and talking to him, trying to calm him down. One front leg shot out against the tile surrounding the fireplace; vainly trying to get a grip on the smooth surface, clawing uselessly at nothing.
"Now, now, Jakie...it's all right...it's all right."
Jakie licked his lips and his eyes bulged but gradually he settled down enough so that I could allow him to sit up. As he did so, he looked up at me more than bit dazed and shook himself all over.
"Wow.." he seemed to be saying, "That was one crazy dream, Mommy!"
Tell me about it. It scared the hell out of us, too.
I just wish we knew the details. I think it would probably make a great movie.
"Attack of the Giant Mouse"
"Global Warming Causes 'Hot Wall' To Burn Out Forever"
"My Brother and His Issues; Dude, I'm Not Gay and Neither Are You, Besides We Were Both Fixed, WTF?"
Saturday lunch at Rossos restaurant I was the first to notice Laura pushing Lucy through the restaurant doors in the monstrous stroller all parents seem to have today. A combo of stroller, car-seat, drink holder, purse holder, diaper-bag-holder and all-around mobile-baby-carrier, this thing is about as sturdy as a tank and almost as maneuverable. As Laura performed the universal "mommy-hand-and-foot-plant" against one door so she could shove Lucy's super-sonic-state-of-the-art-stroller inside, I gave them both a big smile and waved excitedly. Roseanne, my sister visiting from NYC and Daws turned around, smiling and waving too.
And Little LuBear waved back at us. Except...she didn't wave like an almost-8-month old baby waves, but regally. Solemnly. As if she was "Queen Elizabeth Baby". Or "Jackie O Baby". Accepting our homage as her rightful due. Laura pushed her pram closer to us (yeah, I said pram, it sounds more regal, like everything Brit; even "loo" sounds more regal than our American "toilet"), Lucy kept waving her little hand slowly back and forth. For all the world like a monarch sitting perched on a parade float surrounded by throngs of admirers; her slight, mysterious Mona Lisa smile firmly in place.
Once she was parked at our table and greetings were exchanged, I was sure LuBear was going to give a speech on how to cope with the current economy, or perhaps say a few words about the deplorable Tiger Woods situation but apparently her natural discretion and good manners won out and she ended up politely drinking her bottle instead; nodding and winking at us with glee as we pulled in turn at our wine glasses.
Okay, I made the last part up.
But I wouldn't put it past her.
*****************************
The Ubiquitous Cat Story
The other night while the Hubs and I were quietly watching TV, we both heard an odd, disturbing sound:
"OooOOooOO...OooOOooOOOOOoo...". Looking at each other in confusion, Daws paused the DVR and we heard it again, louder this time.
"Whoooo...OOOOO...OOoOOoOOOO...OooOOwhoooOOOoo..."
Ghostly moans. Right out of an old horror flick or when you were kids and turned all the lights out, trying to scare each other.
All the hairs stood up on the back of my neck and I broke into a cold sweat. Daws' eyes were popping and we slowly looked all around us, trying to figure out where the sound was coming from.
Suddenly we realized it was coming from our fireplace hearth, where our two three-year old black-n-white cats, The Boyz, The Bruthers, were curled up sleeping on their cat beds. It's their favorite place to be, especially when the fireplace, or "Hot Wall", as they like to refer to it, is burning.
At first I wondered if it was some kind of air flow coming down through the vents of the fireplace making the strange sounds but as I moved closer to check it out, it was clear that our little Jakie was making the noise:
Unlike the picture above, Jakie had fallen asleep with the front of his entire face mashed tightly up against the side of his bed. In his feline cat-dream, he was apparently "raowing" about something that had upset him. But because his nose and mouth were all squished up, his muffled cries came out as this gawd-awful, spooky weird "ooOOooOOoo" sound.
Reaching out, I gently stroked his head and he started up in sheer terror, obviously still in the throes of his dream/nightmare (perhaps the Hot Wall had turned off forever? Or his brother Woody was trying to mount him again in his periodic incestuous confusion? Who knows?) Glaring about wildly, trying to bridge the consciousness between Sleep-Jakie and Awake-Jakie, at first he tried to sprint away but I stopped him; still petting and talking to him, trying to calm him down. One front leg shot out against the tile surrounding the fireplace; vainly trying to get a grip on the smooth surface, clawing uselessly at nothing.
"Now, now, Jakie...it's all right...it's all right."
Jakie licked his lips and his eyes bulged but gradually he settled down enough so that I could allow him to sit up. As he did so, he looked up at me more than bit dazed and shook himself all over.
"Wow.." he seemed to be saying, "That was one crazy dream, Mommy!"
Tell me about it. It scared the hell out of us, too.
I just wish we knew the details. I think it would probably make a great movie.
"Attack of the Giant Mouse"
"Global Warming Causes 'Hot Wall' To Burn Out Forever"
"My Brother and His Issues; Dude, I'm Not Gay and Neither Are You, Besides We Were Both Fixed, WTF?"
Monday, March 16, 2009
Just Another Day In Paradise
Every so often, my son Ryan calls me on his way out to a job to chit-chat over the phone. I don't flatter myself that he's calling so much because he finds his mom's company and wit so fabulously scintillating (although it's true, I'm pretty amazing) but it's more because he's driving and he's bored.
Problem is, Ryan mostly calls me up to complain about all the bad drivers on the road.
"So, what are you doing, Mom?"
"Not much, finishing up in the kitchen before I start my day in the office; you?"
"Oh, I'm driving up to-HEY! YOU! MORON! Try using a blinker, eh? Idiot..." Ryan continues to mutter over the failures and foibles of our fellow human beings' ineffectual driving skills and I wait while he recovers.
"Uh, what were you saying, Mom?"
"Oh we were talking about where you are going now."
"Up north. One of our customers are having a problem with...what the...oh for cryin' out...UH...DO YOU MIND?!! Oh my GOD!"
I continue rinsing out the coffee pot and wiping off the counters; long ago I stopped thinking Ryan was talking to me when he goes off on a rant. Besides, after being a road-rep for years, I can appreciate what he is saying.
"Yeah, that's right, buddy...it's called MERGE; learn it, do it, LIVE IT. GOD! Where do you people learn to drive? HONESTLY! Are you in that much of a hurry? IS IT THAT IMPORTANT YOU RUN EVERYONE OFF THE ROAD? Oh yeah, you're gonna win the freeway race. Idiot! Um, well...what were you saying, Mom?"
"You were telling me you're going up north on a job..."
"OH RIGHT! Okay, yeah, so I'm headed up north to work on this job because the customer..."
That's pretty much how it goes, with funny stories and some philosophical discussions wedged in between the bad driver rants because we share the same sense of humor and similar interests, until I have to start my work day or until Ryan gets to his worksite.
The other morning as Ryan was alternately chatting with me or raving at other drivers and I was finishing up the kitchen, I noticed our Woody Cat bursting in through the cat door and diving under our kitchen table.
And...and...and...he had something large and dark in his mouth.
Oh my god.
Ryan's words faded into the background as a roaring started up in my head, drowning out anything he was saying.
Maybe it's just a piece of bark, Annie, remember that time he brought in a piece of bark? And you were scared at first? Then we laughed and laughed, so funny, so very funny. Yeah, it's just bark, that's what it is. Or a little bird. A dead one. Yup, it's probably a tiny little harmless dead bird, nothing scary, nothing scary, nothing...scar-
As Woody dropped the thing in his mouth onto the rug under the kitchen table all became dreadfully, horrifyingly clear.
A rat. A big, brown, huge, dark, brown, large friggin' RAT! On my kitchen FLOOR! And the tail ALONE was the same size as the body so altogether it was at least good FOOT LONG in size! Maybe even a YARD LONG!
"RAAAAAAT" I screamed over my headset mic into poor Ryan's ear. "A RAT, oh my GOD, Woody brought a rat in the house, there's a RAT IN THE HOUSE!" As I kept screaming and leaping around uselessly, I could hear Ryan echoing my words. "A rat? Woody got a rat? Is it alive, Mom?"
I didn't want to know. As loud as I could, I screamed at Woody to take it outside. Don't laugh, sometimes this works. He'll come in with some kind of prey in his mouth and Daws and I will scream at him so loudly to take it out, he runs back out again and we lock the cat door after him.
"GET OUUUUUT! WOODY GET OUUUUUT! OUUUUUUT! TAKE IT OUUUUUT!" I screamed so loud that my voice was hoarse for hours afterwards. You know, I have no clue what our neighbors think must be going on when the cats bring in vermin because I've done a LOT of screaming off and on over the years but so far the cops haven't been called in.
Yet.
Woody stood there, seemingly confused for a moment, eyes shifting about.
Why is Mommy yelling at me?
Then, grabbing the rat again, he took off. YAY! He's taking it out!
Alas, he ran in the direction of the den. Going towards our bedroom.
"NOOOOOO!" I screamed at the top of my lungs. "NOOOOOOO WOODYYYYYYY!"
Ryan was trying to say something in my ear but I couldn't hear a word he said over all the uproar.
"Ryan, there's a rat in the house, gotta go." Ripping the headset off and dropping the phone on the counter, I bolted after Woody and cut him off at the pass, right before the hallway to the back of the house. I kept screaming at him to "take it out/take it out/take it out" but Woody still appeared perplexed.
Wat? R u talking to me?
For an animal that is renowned for unequaled hearing ability, he was singularly unimpressed with all the noise I was making.
See, this is where I needed a male person in the house. I do not take the garbage cans out to the curb, I don't change the tire when it goes flat, I don't take apart the coffee grinder to find out why it doesn't grind anymore, I don't answer the front door late at night and I DO NOT handle trophy vermin that may show up in the house.
The Males do all that.
Problem was...there were no Males around at the moment.
I was on my own.
By this time, I could see that at least it was dead. I knew this because it looked as if something or someone (and I'm not naming names here, but I believe it was a fat spoiled B&W cat who has a penchant for bringing disgusting things in the house) had spent a considerable amount of time gnawing off most of the rat's face.
Lovely.
Woody ran under the dining table in his haste to get away from the crazy human. No doubt thinking, "My GOD, will that hooman woman never stop screaming? What is her problem? IZ GIFT! IZ GIFT FOR HER!"
Again, I stomped and screamed and yelled and shook the heavy wooden chairs and to my relief, Woody took off again and this time in the right direction; towards the back door.
Thank god,, I thought. Then he stopped again under the kitchen table by the cat door and, dropping the rat, walked away nonchalantly. "What rat?" he seemed to be saying. "I see no rat; there's a rat? Wasn't me, I didn't do it, you can't prove anything."
Oh
My
God
Feebly, I tried to yell and knock the bar stools together as impetus, but Woody was officially disinterested in the rat. Not his problem. Not his issue. Unconcerned, he walked off a short distance and began to wash himself, starting behind one ear and carefully working his way around to his blood-thirsty, pain-in-the-ass face.
Great.
Briefly, it crossed my mind that I could call Daws to come home and dispose of it for me. Yeah, he could leave his office and drive all the way here, get rid of the rat while I hid and then he could drive allll the way back to work again, he could, he really could...
But I knew I couldn't ask him to do that.
So, gathering myself together and "penising-up", I marched down the hall to get Daws' gloves that he uses for such purposes. Then I opened up the back door to the garage where we keep the outside cans, propping it with a doorstop so I wouldn't have to fumble about with the rat in my (shudder, shudder, shudder) hands. Stomping back down the hall, I stopped in the kitchen, spun off the biggest wad of papertowels you've ever seen in your life and, taking a deep breath, faced the dead rat.
Carefully looking off to one side, I covered it with the mammoth papertowel wad and lifted it all up.
Ew. EW EW EW!
Its tail stuck out stiffly beyond the papertowels in rigor mortis as I hurriedly carried the corpse towards the garage.
EW EW EW EW!
I was only shaking a little as I raised the trash can lid and dumped the carcass in, towels and all, letting the lid fall back with a crash .
Now, Annie, that wasn't so bad, now was it?
Yes, it was, it was horrible, horrible...
Come now, you know it wasn't, c'mon...
SHUT UP COMMON SENSE, WHAT DO YOU KNOW ABOUT IT?
No need to get huffy, fine, then...
Walking back into the house, I put Daws' gloves away where he keeps them, then grabbed several wet-wipes to wipe up any areas I thought the rat had touched, threw those away, then washed my hands with warm water and soap forseveral hours a few minutes, then walked into my office.
Sitting down at my computer I noticed the grapevine via The Boy had been full at work as there were pop-up messages from various people.
Kela's chat: "I heard from Ryan you had a rat! Oh poor Annie!"
Daws' chat: "What's all this about a rat?"
Laura's chat: "Get over it, I'm extremely pregnant, you don't even know."
Yvette's chat: "zzzzzzZZZZzzz"
After I finished doing a status update on Facebook, everybody knew about my ordeal. Old friends from high school, forgotten friends from my 20's, my extended family, my non-extended family...everybody knew.
But they didn't know the full horror of the experience.
Until now.
Problem is, Ryan mostly calls me up to complain about all the bad drivers on the road.
"So, what are you doing, Mom?"
"Not much, finishing up in the kitchen before I start my day in the office; you?"
"Oh, I'm driving up to-HEY! YOU! MORON! Try using a blinker, eh? Idiot..." Ryan continues to mutter over the failures and foibles of our fellow human beings' ineffectual driving skills and I wait while he recovers.
"Uh, what were you saying, Mom?"
"Oh we were talking about where you are going now."
"Up north. One of our customers are having a problem with...what the...oh for cryin' out...UH...DO YOU MIND?!! Oh my GOD!"
I continue rinsing out the coffee pot and wiping off the counters; long ago I stopped thinking Ryan was talking to me when he goes off on a rant. Besides, after being a road-rep for years, I can appreciate what he is saying.
"Yeah, that's right, buddy...it's called MERGE; learn it, do it, LIVE IT. GOD! Where do you people learn to drive? HONESTLY! Are you in that much of a hurry? IS IT THAT IMPORTANT YOU RUN EVERYONE OFF THE ROAD? Oh yeah, you're gonna win the freeway race. Idiot! Um, well...what were you saying, Mom?"
"You were telling me you're going up north on a job..."
"OH RIGHT! Okay, yeah, so I'm headed up north to work on this job because the customer..."
That's pretty much how it goes, with funny stories and some philosophical discussions wedged in between the bad driver rants because we share the same sense of humor and similar interests, until I have to start my work day or until Ryan gets to his worksite.
The other morning as Ryan was alternately chatting with me or raving at other drivers and I was finishing up the kitchen, I noticed our Woody Cat bursting in through the cat door and diving under our kitchen table.
And...and...and...he had something large and dark in his mouth.
Oh my god.
Ryan's words faded into the background as a roaring started up in my head, drowning out anything he was saying.
Maybe it's just a piece of bark, Annie, remember that time he brought in a piece of bark? And you were scared at first? Then we laughed and laughed, so funny, so very funny. Yeah, it's just bark, that's what it is. Or a little bird. A dead one. Yup, it's probably a tiny little harmless dead bird, nothing scary, nothing scary, nothing...scar-
As Woody dropped the thing in his mouth onto the rug under the kitchen table all became dreadfully, horrifyingly clear.
A rat. A big, brown, huge, dark, brown, large friggin' RAT! On my kitchen FLOOR! And the tail ALONE was the same size as the body so altogether it was at least good FOOT LONG in size! Maybe even a YARD LONG!
"RAAAAAAT" I screamed over my headset mic into poor Ryan's ear. "A RAT, oh my GOD, Woody brought a rat in the house, there's a RAT IN THE HOUSE!" As I kept screaming and leaping around uselessly, I could hear Ryan echoing my words. "A rat? Woody got a rat? Is it alive, Mom?"
I didn't want to know. As loud as I could, I screamed at Woody to take it outside. Don't laugh, sometimes this works. He'll come in with some kind of prey in his mouth and Daws and I will scream at him so loudly to take it out, he runs back out again and we lock the cat door after him.
"GET OUUUUUT! WOODY GET OUUUUUT! OUUUUUUT! TAKE IT OUUUUUT!" I screamed so loud that my voice was hoarse for hours afterwards. You know, I have no clue what our neighbors think must be going on when the cats bring in vermin because I've done a LOT of screaming off and on over the years but so far the cops haven't been called in.
Yet.
Woody stood there, seemingly confused for a moment, eyes shifting about.
Why is Mommy yelling at me?
Then, grabbing the rat again, he took off. YAY! He's taking it out!
Alas, he ran in the direction of the den. Going towards our bedroom.
"NOOOOOO!" I screamed at the top of my lungs. "NOOOOOOO WOODYYYYYYY!"
Ryan was trying to say something in my ear but I couldn't hear a word he said over all the uproar.
"Ryan, there's a rat in the house, gotta go." Ripping the headset off and dropping the phone on the counter, I bolted after Woody and cut him off at the pass, right before the hallway to the back of the house. I kept screaming at him to "take it out/take it out/take it out" but Woody still appeared perplexed.
Wat? R u talking to me?
For an animal that is renowned for unequaled hearing ability, he was singularly unimpressed with all the noise I was making.
See, this is where I needed a male person in the house. I do not take the garbage cans out to the curb, I don't change the tire when it goes flat, I don't take apart the coffee grinder to find out why it doesn't grind anymore, I don't answer the front door late at night and I DO NOT handle trophy vermin that may show up in the house.
The Males do all that.
Problem was...there were no Males around at the moment.
I was on my own.
By this time, I could see that at least it was dead. I knew this because it looked as if something or someone (and I'm not naming names here, but I believe it was a fat spoiled B&W cat who has a penchant for bringing disgusting things in the house) had spent a considerable amount of time gnawing off most of the rat's face.
Lovely.
Woody ran under the dining table in his haste to get away from the crazy human. No doubt thinking, "My GOD, will that hooman woman never stop screaming? What is her problem? IZ GIFT! IZ GIFT FOR HER!"
Again, I stomped and screamed and yelled and shook the heavy wooden chairs and to my relief, Woody took off again and this time in the right direction; towards the back door.
Thank god,, I thought. Then he stopped again under the kitchen table by the cat door and, dropping the rat, walked away nonchalantly. "What rat?" he seemed to be saying. "I see no rat; there's a rat? Wasn't me, I didn't do it, you can't prove anything."
Oh
My
God
Feebly, I tried to yell and knock the bar stools together as impetus, but Woody was officially disinterested in the rat. Not his problem. Not his issue. Unconcerned, he walked off a short distance and began to wash himself, starting behind one ear and carefully working his way around to his blood-thirsty, pain-in-the-ass face.
Great.
Briefly, it crossed my mind that I could call Daws to come home and dispose of it for me. Yeah, he could leave his office and drive all the way here, get rid of the rat while I hid and then he could drive allll the way back to work again, he could, he really could...
But I knew I couldn't ask him to do that.
So, gathering myself together and "penising-up", I marched down the hall to get Daws' gloves that he uses for such purposes. Then I opened up the back door to the garage where we keep the outside cans, propping it with a doorstop so I wouldn't have to fumble about with the rat in my (shudder, shudder, shudder) hands. Stomping back down the hall, I stopped in the kitchen, spun off the biggest wad of papertowels you've ever seen in your life and, taking a deep breath, faced the dead rat.
Carefully looking off to one side, I covered it with the mammoth papertowel wad and lifted it all up.
Ew. EW EW EW!
Its tail stuck out stiffly beyond the papertowels in rigor mortis as I hurriedly carried the corpse towards the garage.
EW EW EW EW!
I was only shaking a little as I raised the trash can lid and dumped the carcass in, towels and all, letting the lid fall back with a crash .
Now, Annie, that wasn't so bad, now was it?
Yes, it was, it was horrible, horrible...
Come now, you know it wasn't, c'mon...
SHUT UP COMMON SENSE, WHAT DO YOU KNOW ABOUT IT?
No need to get huffy, fine, then...
Walking back into the house, I put Daws' gloves away where he keeps them, then grabbed several wet-wipes to wipe up any areas I thought the rat had touched, threw those away, then washed my hands with warm water and soap for
Sitting down at my computer I noticed the grapevine via The Boy had been full at work as there were pop-up messages from various people.
Kela's chat: "I heard from Ryan you had a rat! Oh poor Annie!"
Daws' chat: "What's all this about a rat?"
Laura's chat: "Get over it, I'm extremely pregnant, you don't even know."
Yvette's chat: "zzzzzzZZZZzzz"
After I finished doing a status update on Facebook, everybody knew about my ordeal. Old friends from high school, forgotten friends from my 20's, my extended family, my non-extended family...everybody knew.
But they didn't know the full horror of the experience.
Until now.
Wednesday, July 9, 2008
I Never Thought
When you left me
All those years ago
I never thought
I'd see you again
Never thought I'd see your clear blue eyes again
Or watch your lips curve into a smile
Never again would I see your face
That I'd once loved so well
When you left me
I thought, "that's it"
We're over
Gone forever
I was angry
I was sad
Most of all, I felt terribly hurt
And abandoned
But I was wrong
When I thought
I'd never see you again
I finally did
Just the other day:
Now I see you in my mirror.
Happy Birthday Mom
I still miss you
Every
Single
Day
All those years ago
I never thought
I'd see you again
Never thought I'd see your clear blue eyes again
Or watch your lips curve into a smile
Never again would I see your face
That I'd once loved so well
When you left me
I thought, "that's it"
We're over
Gone forever
I was angry
I was sad
Most of all, I felt terribly hurt
And abandoned
But I was wrong
When I thought
I'd never see you again
I finally did
Just the other day:
Now I see you in my mirror.
Happy Birthday Mom
I still miss you
Every
Single
Day
Friday, May 16, 2008
Having A Wonderful Time, Wish You Were Here
This is a re-post from a blog entry I did on my first blog back in 2003. Thought I'd post some of those old blog entries I did just for grins. Enjoy!
August 26th, 2003
Laura, my darling daughter, just got a new convertible a few weeks ago; a 2002 Chrysler Sebring. The day she bought it, she and I had a blast driving down to Petaluma, about a half-hour drive. And I thought...you know, that's fun! That is a fun car! Playing music really loud on the awesome stereo system and letting my hair blow everywhere, not a care in the world.
So when she invited me to come to Napa with her last Sunday, I eagerly accepted. The weather was lovely and besides, since Dawson was doing website work I had nothing better to do. Since my skin is alabaster-creamy-white (although some may call it
"climbed-out-from-under-a-rock-wormlike-pasty-white"), I brought along a sun hat, sun block and a scarf to wrap about my lovely shoulders (read: I have enough freckles in that area and I damn well don't want any more; they're starting to remind me suspiciously of age-spots). Fully prepared, we set off.
As soon as Laura pulled away from the curb, my light blond hair, which I'd lovingly spent an hour on, applying various expensive products, blow-drying and curling, etc...blew all over the place. I have the straightest hair in the world, it's baby-fine and it simply will NOT stay put. Ever. Even the slightest breeze ruffles it. Unless I put enough hairspray on it to give it that shellacked "helmet-head" look that so many newscasters enjoy.
Even if I'd used a truckload of hairspray, it wouldn't have helped this situation. But what did I care? Cat Stevens was playing loudly, the sun was out, we’re in a silver convertible, Wine Country Northern Cal is so damn beautiful that people flock from all over the world just to gaze at it, so what’s the problem?
No problem. Screw the hair. We were having a great time.
I'm humming and enjoying the ride, despite the hair blowing wildly from beneath my hat. Life is good. Then I slowly noticed my left eye tearing up. I had sunglasses on, of course, (de rigueur for my baby-blue eyes which can’t see a thing in bright light) yet…that eye was really starting to burn. I realized that some sun block must've gotten in it, so I tried to wipe gently at the eye area. But I still had sun block on my hands, so I only made it worse. But no problem, right? I'm still in a God-kissed area of the world, we're in a new convertible, good tunes are blasting, the sun is out, NO PROBLEM!
Sure, I had to squint at the scenery with my one good eye and could only really see in those rare moments when my hair wasn't flipping wildly all over my face, so it was all kind of a green and blue blur going by, but still...
We were having a great time!
We came over the grade above Napa Valley and it certainly takes your breath away. Sweeping vistas of purplish mountains far off in the background, with miles of neat vineyards in the foreground, all interspersed with oak trees and wildlife. Like a scene out of a Disney documentary.
Although it was a bit disturbing to notice it was approximately 20 degrees hotter here in Napa county than it had been in good ol' Sonoma county. Which must have made it about 100 degrees with no protection between lily-white me and that suddenly fiercely burning yellow ball in the sky. But that’s okay, because blasts of hot'wind on my face is a good thing, right? Because, DAMN, we're outside, we’re in a convertible, life is just ducky.
Besides, I had my hat, scarf, sun block, etc...I had it COVERED!
As we continued on, I squinted at the name of the small town we were going through and saw it was "Rutherford". "Ah-ha!" I said to Laura, "I've had Rutherford wine before; it's very good, let's stop there"...so Laura kept both her eyes and I kept my one good one glued to the winery signs, looking for Rutherford Vineyards. Then Laura, cruising along at 80-plus mph, saw the sign: "There is IS!" she shouted. Sure enough, there was a big sign on the left. But we were going too fast to make the turn.
Laura slammed on the brakes like a movie stuntman and made a hard-left into the driveway, bouncing over the railroad tracks and barely missing the telephone pole that stood on the RH side, causing me to watch my life briefly pass before my eyes.
But No Problem. We were having a GREAT time!
We pulled up and got out, me staggering a bit from our close call with death, Laura smiling and laughing and looking fabulous despite the 100 degree heat and wind from the ride. I, on the other hand, looked like I’d just walked out of a wind-tunnel, and my eye had swollen completely shut.
Then I realized with a sinking feeling as we walked into the winery that I didn't have my business cards with me. You see, I get a discount by being in the industry. This was bad, because now I'd have to do my "song-and-dance" routine by explaining who I was so we could avoid paying the tasting fees.
So, with one eye squinting and my hair sticking out all over my head, I introduced myself as being sales director of a neighboring winery, etc., blah blah, and "here we are to try your wonderful wines!"
None of which went over nearly as well as it usually does. No doubt due to the fact I kept turning my head to one side like a parrot while addressing him so I could see, and trying in vain to smooth my hair by running my fingers fetchingly through it. Which always seems to work so well for women in the movies with mussed hair, but always turns out to be a complete disaster for me.
After a barrage of questions, while I clawed at my hair and fixed him with my good eye, he seemed satisfied that I wasn't trying to pull one over on him by pretending I was something I wasn't, (and with my appearance, who could blame him?) so he poured us some Sauvignon Blanc. Which was heavenly.
In fact, I could have stayed in the cool dim winery with the lovely oak barrels and the dark wooden walls with the nice tinted windows where you could barely tell there was any hot sun at all, not to mention basking in the most wonderful invention of mankind, airconditioning, and just sip Sauvignon Blanc in there all day long.
But, alas...my daughter had other ideas, namely food and a restaurant, so I bought two bottles of their crisp, chilled Sauvignon Blanc for Dawson and myself later and we left.
I girded myself for battle once again, donning the hat, the sun block, the scarf, the sunglasses, etc., and off we went. My eye, which had started to recover in the oasis of the winery, started swelling up again. But no problem.
We were having a great time. Damn it.
Finally, we got to Calistoga and pulled in front of a Mexican restaurant we’d eaten at before. The windows opened up over the sidewalk by our table, so we sat and watched the world go by while munching on nachos, fish tacos, and a very fine bottle of chilled white wine. It IS Calistoga, after all, soo, yes...even the Mexican restaurants have a superb wine list. I was actually enjoying myself as long as I avoided looking at my reflection in the window with my crappy hair and Quasimodo-like face.
Once again, I slowly started to recover out of the relentless sun and felt much better. But my daughter had other plans; she needed to go, let's go! Want to check out this other restaurant in Mark West Springs! See the baby giraffe at Safari West!
CONVERTIBLE GOODNESS!
So back into the now-dreaded convertible we went. Glumly, I pulled on my war-gear and the torture began. I was starting to appreciate what it must be like to be in the desert blasting along in a military jeep.
Still...who am I to complain? And as far as Laura was concerned, we were having a great time.
But even hardened war campaigners must eventually get tired. And I’d run out of steam. The next hotel she dragged me to, the Hilton, the bar stood beckoning. Quiet, dark and cool. So soothing...no wind, no sun, and the Giants were playing. Look, it’s TV! I'd forgotten what it looked like...so nice and colorful and oh, joy, my eye was getting back to normal. But no, Laura wanted to sit on the deck and look at...traffic. Sigh...
I begged her to take me home and she took pity. Off we went. But then, oh NO! She wanted to stop at Paradise Ridge winery where her friend’s wedding is going to be held next year. Since Laura is a bridesmaid, she just had to check this place out! Right Mom?
Right, I whimpered.
Again, it was nice and cool and dark in the tasting room and they had the best view we’d seen all day. So as we were standing there, trying their whites and reds, a gust of wind/air conditioning blew over a wine glass that was on the gift shelf across the way from us. Glass exploded all over the stone floor.
Ever helpful, I went to pick up some of the smaller pieces I could see near us, not wanting myself or my lovely daughter to step on them. Then this insane woman came bustling out and ordered me to stop doing it. "Stop that!" she demanded. "I’m the CATERER!"
Which made no sense to me. Now, if she’d said, "I’m the JANITOR" I could understand her territorial loftiness...but since when had caterers become broken-glass experts? Which, after raising two kids and their gazillion friends at our house, I certifiably was.
I drew myself up and looked sternly at her with my one eye. "But I'm the MOM" I retorted.
Which didn’t fly.
I mean, would you trust a woman with one eye and Phyllis Diller hair to pick up broken glass? Probably not...
I allowed myself to get shooed away from picking up the glass. If that woman only knew how many pieces of glass I’ve picked up, vacuumed, swept, she wouldn’t have dismissed my services so lightly.
So finally, finally...armed with another bottle from Paradise Ridge, this time a Pinot for Dawson, who likes reds, we headed home. We pulled up into my blessed home driveway and I rolled weakly out of the car. Laura popped her trunk and skipped over to it, handing me only one of my Sauvignon Blanc bottles. "I'm taking the other one for tonight with my boyfriend!" she informed me brightly, as she drove away. "I’ll pay you for it later, okay mom? LOVE YOU MOM! Hey, I had a GREAT time!"
I feebly tried to protest her astonishing theft of my wine but my heart just wasn’t in it. I was dead tired and felt strangely woozy, that had nothing to do with the wine. I felt like I’d run a marathon and had come in a dismal last. Too much sun...too much "fun".
Dawson greeted me as I staggered into the house, asking if I'd enjoyed myself. I was too tired to answer so he took a clue and put on "Sex And The City" to cheer me up. The next thing I know, I was pulling my face up from the couch where I’d fallen asleep. "Wha' happened?" I asked blearily. "You fell asleep really hard," he said. "In fact, you’ve been asleep for TWO HOURS, babe!"
Had I? I blinked at the clock...all of 8:30...must be time for bed.
So off I toddled to bed. "It's only 8:30!" Dawson protested.
I didn't care. I slept like the dead and didn't wake up until morning.
But really...we had a GREAT time!
Originally posted by Annie August 23, 2003
August 26th, 2003
Laura, my darling daughter, just got a new convertible a few weeks ago; a 2002 Chrysler Sebring. The day she bought it, she and I had a blast driving down to Petaluma, about a half-hour drive. And I thought...you know, that's fun! That is a fun car! Playing music really loud on the awesome stereo system and letting my hair blow everywhere, not a care in the world.
So when she invited me to come to Napa with her last Sunday, I eagerly accepted. The weather was lovely and besides, since Dawson was doing website work I had nothing better to do. Since my skin is alabaster-creamy-white (although some may call it
"climbed-out-from-under-a-rock-wormlike-pasty-white"), I brought along a sun hat, sun block and a scarf to wrap about my lovely shoulders (read: I have enough freckles in that area and I damn well don't want any more; they're starting to remind me suspiciously of age-spots). Fully prepared, we set off.
As soon as Laura pulled away from the curb, my light blond hair, which I'd lovingly spent an hour on, applying various expensive products, blow-drying and curling, etc...blew all over the place. I have the straightest hair in the world, it's baby-fine and it simply will NOT stay put. Ever. Even the slightest breeze ruffles it. Unless I put enough hairspray on it to give it that shellacked "helmet-head" look that so many newscasters enjoy.
Even if I'd used a truckload of hairspray, it wouldn't have helped this situation. But what did I care? Cat Stevens was playing loudly, the sun was out, we’re in a silver convertible, Wine Country Northern Cal is so damn beautiful that people flock from all over the world just to gaze at it, so what’s the problem?
No problem. Screw the hair. We were having a great time.
I'm humming and enjoying the ride, despite the hair blowing wildly from beneath my hat. Life is good. Then I slowly noticed my left eye tearing up. I had sunglasses on, of course, (de rigueur for my baby-blue eyes which can’t see a thing in bright light) yet…that eye was really starting to burn. I realized that some sun block must've gotten in it, so I tried to wipe gently at the eye area. But I still had sun block on my hands, so I only made it worse. But no problem, right? I'm still in a God-kissed area of the world, we're in a new convertible, good tunes are blasting, the sun is out, NO PROBLEM!
Sure, I had to squint at the scenery with my one good eye and could only really see in those rare moments when my hair wasn't flipping wildly all over my face, so it was all kind of a green and blue blur going by, but still...
We were having a great time!
We came over the grade above Napa Valley and it certainly takes your breath away. Sweeping vistas of purplish mountains far off in the background, with miles of neat vineyards in the foreground, all interspersed with oak trees and wildlife. Like a scene out of a Disney documentary.
Although it was a bit disturbing to notice it was approximately 20 degrees hotter here in Napa county than it had been in good ol' Sonoma county. Which must have made it about 100 degrees with no protection between lily-white me and that suddenly fiercely burning yellow ball in the sky. But that’s okay, because blasts of hot'wind on my face is a good thing, right? Because, DAMN, we're outside, we’re in a convertible, life is just ducky.
Besides, I had my hat, scarf, sun block, etc...I had it COVERED!
As we continued on, I squinted at the name of the small town we were going through and saw it was "Rutherford". "Ah-ha!" I said to Laura, "I've had Rutherford wine before; it's very good, let's stop there"...so Laura kept both her eyes and I kept my one good one glued to the winery signs, looking for Rutherford Vineyards. Then Laura, cruising along at 80-plus mph, saw the sign: "There is IS!" she shouted. Sure enough, there was a big sign on the left. But we were going too fast to make the turn.
Laura slammed on the brakes like a movie stuntman and made a hard-left into the driveway, bouncing over the railroad tracks and barely missing the telephone pole that stood on the RH side, causing me to watch my life briefly pass before my eyes.
But No Problem. We were having a GREAT time!
We pulled up and got out, me staggering a bit from our close call with death, Laura smiling and laughing and looking fabulous despite the 100 degree heat and wind from the ride. I, on the other hand, looked like I’d just walked out of a wind-tunnel, and my eye had swollen completely shut.
Then I realized with a sinking feeling as we walked into the winery that I didn't have my business cards with me. You see, I get a discount by being in the industry. This was bad, because now I'd have to do my "song-and-dance" routine by explaining who I was so we could avoid paying the tasting fees.
So, with one eye squinting and my hair sticking out all over my head, I introduced myself as being sales director of a neighboring winery, etc., blah blah, and "here we are to try your wonderful wines!"
None of which went over nearly as well as it usually does. No doubt due to the fact I kept turning my head to one side like a parrot while addressing him so I could see, and trying in vain to smooth my hair by running my fingers fetchingly through it. Which always seems to work so well for women in the movies with mussed hair, but always turns out to be a complete disaster for me.
After a barrage of questions, while I clawed at my hair and fixed him with my good eye, he seemed satisfied that I wasn't trying to pull one over on him by pretending I was something I wasn't, (and with my appearance, who could blame him?) so he poured us some Sauvignon Blanc. Which was heavenly.
In fact, I could have stayed in the cool dim winery with the lovely oak barrels and the dark wooden walls with the nice tinted windows where you could barely tell there was any hot sun at all, not to mention basking in the most wonderful invention of mankind, airconditioning, and just sip Sauvignon Blanc in there all day long.
But, alas...my daughter had other ideas, namely food and a restaurant, so I bought two bottles of their crisp, chilled Sauvignon Blanc for Dawson and myself later and we left.
I girded myself for battle once again, donning the hat, the sun block, the scarf, the sunglasses, etc., and off we went. My eye, which had started to recover in the oasis of the winery, started swelling up again. But no problem.
We were having a great time. Damn it.
Finally, we got to Calistoga and pulled in front of a Mexican restaurant we’d eaten at before. The windows opened up over the sidewalk by our table, so we sat and watched the world go by while munching on nachos, fish tacos, and a very fine bottle of chilled white wine. It IS Calistoga, after all, soo, yes...even the Mexican restaurants have a superb wine list. I was actually enjoying myself as long as I avoided looking at my reflection in the window with my crappy hair and Quasimodo-like face.
Once again, I slowly started to recover out of the relentless sun and felt much better. But my daughter had other plans; she needed to go, let's go! Want to check out this other restaurant in Mark West Springs! See the baby giraffe at Safari West!
CONVERTIBLE GOODNESS!
So back into the now-dreaded convertible we went. Glumly, I pulled on my war-gear and the torture began. I was starting to appreciate what it must be like to be in the desert blasting along in a military jeep.
Still...who am I to complain? And as far as Laura was concerned, we were having a great time.
But even hardened war campaigners must eventually get tired. And I’d run out of steam. The next hotel she dragged me to, the Hilton, the bar stood beckoning. Quiet, dark and cool. So soothing...no wind, no sun, and the Giants were playing. Look, it’s TV! I'd forgotten what it looked like...so nice and colorful and oh, joy, my eye was getting back to normal. But no, Laura wanted to sit on the deck and look at...traffic. Sigh...
I begged her to take me home and she took pity. Off we went. But then, oh NO! She wanted to stop at Paradise Ridge winery where her friend’s wedding is going to be held next year. Since Laura is a bridesmaid, she just had to check this place out! Right Mom?
Right, I whimpered.
Again, it was nice and cool and dark in the tasting room and they had the best view we’d seen all day. So as we were standing there, trying their whites and reds, a gust of wind/air conditioning blew over a wine glass that was on the gift shelf across the way from us. Glass exploded all over the stone floor.
Ever helpful, I went to pick up some of the smaller pieces I could see near us, not wanting myself or my lovely daughter to step on them. Then this insane woman came bustling out and ordered me to stop doing it. "Stop that!" she demanded. "I’m the CATERER!"
Which made no sense to me. Now, if she’d said, "I’m the JANITOR" I could understand her territorial loftiness...but since when had caterers become broken-glass experts? Which, after raising two kids and their gazillion friends at our house, I certifiably was.
I drew myself up and looked sternly at her with my one eye. "But I'm the MOM" I retorted.
Which didn’t fly.
I mean, would you trust a woman with one eye and Phyllis Diller hair to pick up broken glass? Probably not...
I allowed myself to get shooed away from picking up the glass. If that woman only knew how many pieces of glass I’ve picked up, vacuumed, swept, she wouldn’t have dismissed my services so lightly.
So finally, finally...armed with another bottle from Paradise Ridge, this time a Pinot for Dawson, who likes reds, we headed home. We pulled up into my blessed home driveway and I rolled weakly out of the car. Laura popped her trunk and skipped over to it, handing me only one of my Sauvignon Blanc bottles. "I'm taking the other one for tonight with my boyfriend!" she informed me brightly, as she drove away. "I’ll pay you for it later, okay mom? LOVE YOU MOM! Hey, I had a GREAT time!"
I feebly tried to protest her astonishing theft of my wine but my heart just wasn’t in it. I was dead tired and felt strangely woozy, that had nothing to do with the wine. I felt like I’d run a marathon and had come in a dismal last. Too much sun...too much "fun".
Dawson greeted me as I staggered into the house, asking if I'd enjoyed myself. I was too tired to answer so he took a clue and put on "Sex And The City" to cheer me up. The next thing I know, I was pulling my face up from the couch where I’d fallen asleep. "Wha' happened?" I asked blearily. "You fell asleep really hard," he said. "In fact, you’ve been asleep for TWO HOURS, babe!"
Had I? I blinked at the clock...all of 8:30...must be time for bed.
So off I toddled to bed. "It's only 8:30!" Dawson protested.
I didn't care. I slept like the dead and didn't wake up until morning.
But really...we had a GREAT time!
Originally posted by Annie August 23, 2003
Friday, May 9, 2008
Laura's Shower and the Great MOB Dress Hunt Still Goes On
No time for a "real" post but I thought I'd link to the pictures and videos from the shower. Oh and lazy Woody-Cat too!
Still no dress for the wedding and yes, I am starting to really worry. I have a backup but it's not really what I, or Laura, would like. Still...a dress is coming today; if that doesn't work, I'll have to hit the stores again and if I still can't find something, I guess I'll be forced to hit the bridal stores. Which I don't want to do because they are SUCH a rip-off.
So wish me luck.
Here is an example of a cat sleeping a lot:
Lazy Woody
And here are some movies of the shower:
Video of House/Guests Before Laura Arrived
More Video of Party Before Laura Arrived
Laura Arrives and there is a Media Frenzy
Aaand here is a approx. 5 minute video of the entire "panty" game:
Panty Game
Aaaaand some still shots from the party:
Still Shots from the Shower
Laura blogged about her shower too; check out my links to the right for Laura's blog.
Oh and Happy Mother's Day to all you mothers out there! This is my favorite Mother's Day clip, enjoy:
Mother's Day Funny
Still no dress for the wedding and yes, I am starting to really worry. I have a backup but it's not really what I, or Laura, would like. Still...a dress is coming today; if that doesn't work, I'll have to hit the stores again and if I still can't find something, I guess I'll be forced to hit the bridal stores. Which I don't want to do because they are SUCH a rip-off.
So wish me luck.
Here is an example of a cat sleeping a lot:
Lazy Woody
And here are some movies of the shower:
Video of House/Guests Before Laura Arrived
More Video of Party Before Laura Arrived
Laura Arrives and there is a Media Frenzy
Aaand here is a approx. 5 minute video of the entire "panty" game:
Panty Game
Aaaaand some still shots from the party:
Still Shots from the Shower
Laura blogged about her shower too; check out my links to the right for Laura's blog.
Oh and Happy Mother's Day to all you mothers out there! This is my favorite Mother's Day clip, enjoy:
Mother's Day Funny
Wednesday, April 30, 2008
ARgh
So I racked my stupid knee against my stupid desk yesterday afternoon and today the knee is !@#%#!@#! up. I remember hitting it and saying "ow!" loudly but it's not like it bothered me after that. I went on with my day, no problem. Forgot I'd even done it at all.
Until I woke up this morning and tried to, you know, walk on the damn thing.
ARgh! I have to lose five million pounds in four weeks! This ain't helpin' matters! NO! It's not!
In other news, the UPS man in his cute little brown suit has been fetching Mother of the Bride dresses to my door regularly but I've yet to find anything remotely suitable. How in the world do what looks like perfectly respectable looking "Mother of the Bride" dresses in the online ads translate into "Skanky Ho For Sale" dresses when I put them on?
The dress that was the front runner arrived yesterday but when I put it on and looked in the mirror, I couldn't help but burst out laughing. When I went down the hall to show Daws, his eyes bugged out.
"How much?" he quipped.
And he didn't mean the dress.
*sighs*
And going out to the stores has not proven fruitful either. I think today's dress designers are all on crack; that's how messed up dress designs and patterns are today, I swear! I keep bumping into other Mothers of the Bride/Groom; we recognize one another immediately by our hollow eyes and sickly expressions.
One woman held up a revolting looking dress and hastily dropped it again, as if she'd touched a snake.
Horrible out there. Just...awful.
We're all thinking, "I spent four thousand dollars in gas to drive the 20 minutes out here and for this crap?"
Oh well. More dresses on the way. Keep your fingers crossed.
The UPS guy has a workout coming.
Until I woke up this morning and tried to, you know, walk on the damn thing.
ARgh! I have to lose five million pounds in four weeks! This ain't helpin' matters! NO! It's not!
In other news, the UPS man in his cute little brown suit has been fetching Mother of the Bride dresses to my door regularly but I've yet to find anything remotely suitable. How in the world do what looks like perfectly respectable looking "Mother of the Bride" dresses in the online ads translate into "Skanky Ho For Sale" dresses when I put them on?
The dress that was the front runner arrived yesterday but when I put it on and looked in the mirror, I couldn't help but burst out laughing. When I went down the hall to show Daws, his eyes bugged out.
"How much?" he quipped.
And he didn't mean the dress.
*sighs*
And going out to the stores has not proven fruitful either. I think today's dress designers are all on crack; that's how messed up dress designs and patterns are today, I swear! I keep bumping into other Mothers of the Bride/Groom; we recognize one another immediately by our hollow eyes and sickly expressions.
One woman held up a revolting looking dress and hastily dropped it again, as if she'd touched a snake.
Horrible out there. Just...awful.
We're all thinking, "I spent four thousand dollars in gas to drive the 20 minutes out here and for this crap?"
Oh well. More dresses on the way. Keep your fingers crossed.
The UPS guy has a workout coming.
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