What Bugs You?

These are my top ten pet peeves... What bugs you?

1. Air Guitar. Don’t do it. You look like a dork.
2. Hypocrites in any shape, form or fashion.
3. Rude people. I don’t care if you are the King of the World or the gal serving me my fries in the drive-thru. Treat people the way you want to be treated.
4. Women who are obviously bottle blondes who still blame their stupidity on being blonde, as in: “Oh, no! I’m having a blonde moment!” No you aren’t. You are just doing something dumb. Period.
5. The smell of syrup. It is for this reason alone that I do not eat pancakes.
6. Open cabinets/drawers. Say it with me: “Open. Close. Open. Close.” Thank you.
7. Phone people. Especially you blue-toothers.
8. Rude smokers. (I smoke, by the way). If you are within a couple of feet of the receptacle provided, put your ashes and butts IN it, not just somewhere in the vicinity. You make the rest of us look worse.
9. Spearmint gum. (Stinks!)
10. Adults who want to talk to me about my child through my child, as in, “You need to tell your mommy to sign your permission slip.” Uh, no, he does not need to tell his mommy, his mommy is standing right here. YOU tell his mommy, then his mommy will happily sign the permission slip. Have a nice day.

P.S. I reserve the right to amend the above without notice.

Happy New Year

2008 began for me as I’m sure it did for a lot of people: with a terrible case of cotton mouth and a crick in my neck. In my case, though, it wasn’t from all the wild partying I had done the night before, but from the cold I felt coming on the day before. When I finally managed to get out of bed, I shuffled into the kitchen and sat at the table heavy-eyed and tired and basically feeling sorry for myself.

My son, however, was as chipper as ever. He was playing with the dog and one of the toys he’d gotten for Christmas while I pouted. He laughed out loud at what he was watching on television. I thought a shower and a bowl of soup would help me a little, and they did.Soon, though, my son was asking what we were going to do that day. I told him I wasn’t feeling well, so we probably would not go anywhere. He wanted to know if he could play with “that plaster stuff.” (Plaster of Paris). I said no. He wanted to know if he could paint. I said yes. He painted for a little while, and then wanted to know if he could go outside. I reluctantly said yes, but as long as he bundled up. He stayed out back with the dog for only a few minutes and was soon back in wanting to know what he could do for fun. Frankly, I just was not in the mood but felt like I needed to give him some kind of option, but what? My purse was sitting on the floor by the couch, and he dumped it out when his gum fell in it. Great… Then he eyed my makeup case and asked me if he could make me look “scary.” I figured I couldn’t get much scarier than I already was, so I said sure. I laid on the couch while the master went to work. Every once in a while I’d open my eyes and see him smiling, deviously.

Finally, he announced that he was done. I opened my compact and peered in to find this:

Happy New Year, everybody!

Artsy Fartsy

My son is a good kid. He’s smart, sensitive and funny. Rarely is he in trouble. I’m lucky...

Deep down, though, he’s all boy. Anything to do with cars thrills him. We have a playroom full of teeny tiny cars and big huge ones. Digging in the dirt outside is another one of his pastimes. Add some water and he’s in hog heaven. Anything to do with boogers, burping or other bathroom functions is downright hilarious to him…

This morning as he woke up, there came a noise from him that sounded something like a cross between a duck quacking and a bugle being played quite poorly. He snickered. I snickered.

“That,” he said (with dramatic pause), “was a work of art!”

The Other Woman

She’s done it again, The Other Woman…

Last night when my son and I arrived home, I was getting things out of the car and he was already on the front porch before I had the chance to notice it: A package, addressed to him.

“Hey, Mom, look! It’s for me! Can I open it?”
I saw the return address and cringed.
“Sure, Baby.”

What I really wanted to do was hunk it into the garbage can, but only after I’d backed over it with my SUV and maybe stomped on it a little with my heels.The sender of the package was my son’s other grandmother. I call her that because she is a stranger to him, a person who last saw him when he was two years old, on the day after his father’s death. I’ve talked about this here before, about my bewilderment with the people who have abandoned us. (See October 5th, 2002) Rather, I should say, abandoned him…

Not long after the October 5th post, my son received another piece of mail from his other grandmother, this time in the form of a letter, or so I thought. I was more suspicious of it than hopeful that it was some attempt to reach out to him, so I opened it. What I found inside infuriated me: It was a copy of a court document regarding the heirs of the estate of his other grandfather. THIS was her way of telling me that my husband’s father had died?!!! I thought how cruel it was to have addressed to my son. I thought how cold it was that someone, anyone could not have even clipped out an obituary to enclose, so I did the search myself and found out that he had passed some three weeks earlier. Surely, then, this communication would be our last from her… Never assume, right?

In the kitchen my son opened the plain brown box, inside was a wrapped Christmas present for him, from “Gramma.”

“Mom, who’s Gramma?”
“Your other grandmother.”
“I have another grandmother?”
“Yes, your dad’s mother.”
“Oh.”
He shook the box a little.
“I wonder what it is? Can I put this under the tree?”
“Sure.”

I left it at that. What else could I do?

Kid Rock

A few months back, a friend and I took a road trip. We were headed up near Muscle Shoals, but managed to get there by way of Tennessee. So our trip up was about twice as long as the trip back, but we were busy talking and listening to music so it was a lot of fun. It was on that trip that my friend introduced me to the musical stylings of Mr. Kid Rock… I used to think that he was too edgy for me, more of a screamer than a singer, but really he has a great voice and does some excellent guitar work to boot.

So not too long ago, I bought the new CD “Rock N Roll Jesus.” (Yes, the edited version!) It’s a great mixture of rock, rap, and even country music. One of the more engaging songs (to me, anyway) is “Half Your Age.” It’s one of those what-was-I-thinking-when-I-was-with-you songs with a country twang and lots of humor. I was listening to it in the car on the way home last night and my son and I sang along:
“I found someone new
Who treats me better
She don’t bitch about things we ain’t got
When I sing this tune
It don’t upset her
She’s half your age
And twice as hot”

Towards the end of the song my son reached over to turn the volume down to let me know that if the first girl was 40 then that would make the second girl 20, because 20 is half of 40.

Kid Rock = math skills… Cool!

Christmas Trees for Dummies

This weekend my son and I set out to get a Christmas tree. Everything was going great --or so I thought—since we were able to pick out and pay for a tree, stop at the drug store and cruise through the drive-thru all within an hour. “This will be a breeze,” I thought… Then the real fun started:

I won’t bore you with all the gory details, but would like to spare as much suffering as possible to the rest of you out there. Please, learn from my mistakes:

Mistake #1: Eight foot Frasier Fir + high-heeled boots + hardwood floors = bruises.
Mistake #2: Steak knives are NOT meant for cutting tree branches, Christmas or otherwise.
Mistake #3: Cursing at tree and stand will not make tree stand up straight.
Mistake #4: After male relative or friend shows up with proper cutting tools and you are excited to finally be able to screw the screws into the tree stand, make sure you have ALL the legs attached first.
Mistake #5: Unless pine needles and sap are part of the dress code, don’t wear anything during tree-setting-up process that you plan to wear anywhere else.

I hope this helps!

P.S. The tree looks beautiful, if I do say so myself.

Goodbye, Dear Friend

Buddy...

The perfect name for our friend, who left us yesterday... It was one of the toughest decisions I've ever had to make, especially with the knowledge that my son would be devastated. He was. When I picked him up from school yesterday, he wanted to know what was wrong. I said there were a couple of things I had to talk to him about. The first was completely insignificant, and he knew it. He asked me if Buddy was OK. I had to tell the truth: No. We were going home to tell Buddy goodbye, and my dad would take him to the vet. He cried while I drove. I cried while I drove. We held hands--tightly.

When we got home, my son and I sat on the living room floor together with Buddy. We petted, talked, cried, took pictures. My son would be fine one minute, sobbing the next. My parents arrived soon after, and my mom said it hurt her just to look at the dog... In the past week, the tumor on his leg had gotten so big that I could not fit my hand around it. He could not walk on it. He had not eaten. He wouldn't even go outside. This was the right thing to do, wasn't it? I asked my dad that question as he and I helped him into the back of their car. Yes, he said, it was.

We said our goodbyes there in my driveway. By then my sister and my niece were there, but I barely remember what they said or when they left. My son and I kissed our friend goodbye and sobbed. He so uncontrollably that I had to carry him into the house. I am so thankful to my parents for sparing my son and me the hour's drive to the vet, because I know how it was hard for them, too. Buddy had been their dog before us. He was a true family member.

We love you and we will miss you, Buddy. May you rest in peace.