Filed under: Uncategorized
it’s cold, damp, cloudy and bleh today. I intended to go to Willow pond with Lily, but the cable guy came, left, another one came, he left, now I’m waiting for the first one. Nothing serious (as if TV of any sort could be important- phooey), but requiring much time and interference.
That’s the thing, I guess it’s a part of my upbringing. TV just isn’t very important to me, certainly not enough to justify interfering with my plans and all. Don’t get me wrong, I like a good show as much as the next guy, and have been known to ignore my family in favor of the latest episode of Dr. Who. So, I don’t really comprehend the need for High Definition, or y’know…a 40 inch monitor or the latest cable box with it’s umbilicus of a cord.
I have, however, learned to Just Accept It. That’s right. I have accepted that Sweet Daddio wants High Definition on a monitor the size of our bathrub. It makes him happy to see High Definition Car Crashes, and he’ll get the Super Bowl with the same crystalline clarity. He deserves it, he has worked very hard for his creature comforts and I will not begrudge them.
That doesn’t mean I understand it. “It’s a Guy Thing.” he reassures me. “It’s a Guy Thing.” I tell myself.
If I can have a hot pink pilates mat, he can have high def.
If I can buy a cd of Victorian images including cigar labels and Audubon birds, he can have the most complicated remote control on the planet, capable of controlling the Space Shuttle , DVD player, cable box, and TV.
A little over a week ago I asked him to be thinking of what kind of foods he’d like to have for The Super Bowl, because for all my character flaws, I want him to eat what he wants on SuperBowlSunday. “Brats,” he said, “with saurkraut and mustard. Maybe some kinda dip and chips.” I am not famous for my Guy Food. Indeed, if I fixed what I thought he needed it would be fruit and carrot sticks, but then I’d have the “Wife of a Guy” license revoked and I’d have to get recertified and let me tell you- THAT’S a pain in the ass. Have to go all the way to Atlanta for that. So, brats it is, probably boiled in beer and grilled outside, and some kinda dip…not bean, not salsa, not nacho. He thought maybe spinach artichoke, he likes that, and I can pretend a vegetable is involved and feel good about it.
I’m thinking I’ll removed every bit of girly anything from the living room, clear the coffee table of it’s artfully arranged magazines, and put a cooler somewhere , filled with ice and beer. Maybe he could invite Coworker, Wife and Kids over.
In the mean time, I am going to make some chocolate chip cookies, to make the house smell nice.
Filed under: Disease and infirmity
#3 has strep, plus the flu, bless his heart. I am feeding him high-quality homemade eggdrop soup, hot tea, lotsa citrus fruits, more soup. He’ll probably be out of school the rest of the week. I have gone through the house with a can of lysol, and sprayed everything hands touch- doorknobs, bathroom fixtures, light switches, phones, remotes, you name it. Room by room, now the house stinks of White Linen Disinfectant. I don’t want to get what he has, and will do everything I can to avoid it. Fortunately he’s feeling puny enough to stay in his room. The TV and X-Box are in there, so he just comes out once in a while for some tea. I’m sorry he’s sick but he can sure keep his germs to himself.
When I was a kid, I got strep everytime I had a runny nose. I remember how awful it was, as if someone shoved a handful of barbed wire down my throat. I remember drooling, because it hurt so much to swallow, and the bourbon and lemon concoction I’d have to drink. I remember gargling salt water, and endless bowls of salty chicken broth, and hot lemonade. I am grateful that my children haven’t dealt with sore throats much. #2 had one alot as a small child, but once the cause was determined (allergies) and dealt with (remove the carpet and all upholstered furniture), he’s had no trouble since. Now, he simply never gets sick, ever. #3 rarely gets sick, and this is the first time I can remember that he really did feel lousy for more than a day or so.
Filed under: Uncategorized
I may wind up at the Dr. office again today, not with #2′s broken finger (there is that, but this is in addition to that) but with #3′s throat and fever. He’s been running one since Monday, and his throat looks like The Soul Train, technicolor and I swear it pulses. He also still feels like crud, which is atypical for him. While he is a Drama Queen when it comes to any perceived disability, for it to last 3 days is unusual. My modus operandi for disease is to give it 5 days, let the body do what the body will do, and avoid antibiotics if possible, but I am getting a squirrely feeling about this, and I’m thinking, once the orthopedist visit is out of the way with #2, I’ll try to get him in for Beverly to take a look at.
Bevery is the Nurse Practitioner at Statesboro Family Practice, and I like her. She is calm, relaxed, and emminently competent. She can size up a situation in no time, and isn’t afraid to call in a doctor if she has any question about a situation. She is my practicioner of choice. She’s the one who was able to see #2 on 15 minutes notice yesterday. That’s another thinkg I like about her, she is almost always available.
So, welcome to Rootie’s Private Sanatorium for the Feeble and Infirm. Here’s hoping #4 will stay healthy.
Filed under: kids
2-1/2 hours ago, #2 comes charging in from school, shouting “MOM LOOKIT MY FINGER!” and I did. It was swollen, bent funny, and an uncomfortable shade of blue-purple. “Gracious!” I commented, “I’m calling the doctor.” And so I did. 2 hours and 3 x-rays later, we have a referral to an orthopedist, a funky splint, and a roll of bright blue tape. And an x-ray, showing a bit of bone peeling off from a larger bit of bone. Bless his heart, he should stick to video games, it’s safer. He did get a note excusing him from PE until further notice. We could not, however, get a pass on Economics, because it’s his left hand that’s affected, and he’s a righty. Give him a gold star for effort, tho.
Now I am grateful for having assembled dinner earlier, and am enjoying the relative peace with an icy cold martini and a small handful of olives. Yum.
Filed under: Uncategorized
For the first time ever, I don’t have anything to say. Well, for me, that is.
Let’s see…#3 is home sick with a sore throat and swollen ‘nodes. I am giving him hot and sour soup, lemon zinger tea, and all the citrus he can stand. The Mandarin House, in Auburn, has the best cold-remedy hot and sour soup I’ve ever tasted. They skimp not on neither the hot nor the sour, and a bowlful leaves you sweating and happy. Unfortunately they are 4-1/2 hours away from Statesboro, so I either have to make my own (HA!) or get some from Southern Palace, which is good, but not on the same level at Mandarin House. hopefully #3 will be over this in a day or two. I don’t like having someone home during the day, keeps me from being able to walk around naked. (Ha! fooldja!)
In other news, as of late my hands have been a bit swollen so I haven’t been wearing my wedding band. It’s like going without a bra, just feels *off* for no recognizable reason. Then, my hands de-bloat and the ring rattles around like it’s a size too big. Silly thing.
The kittens are 4 weeks old now. One of them is a brash little squirt, attacking weinerdogs and Phleud with vigor, gumming their tails and generally irritating them all. The others kind of wander around, poking their heads in holes and not making too much mischief. But Bocephus, he’s like a little cajun, red and cocky and suffering a bad case of LMS (Little Man Syndrome) and picking a fight with all comers. He’s the one mom wants, because he’ll be able to hold his own against her weinerdogs. I have no fear of who’s going to rule that roost.
I got supper put together a bit ago, and it occurred to me that it’s made entirely of canned stuff. That made me laugh, partly because typically I am such a fresh-food snob, with all my smashed garlic and grilled chicken breasts and mess. But this, this white chicken chili, because I decided to use canned chicken instead of cooking one, because I had some dehydrated onions to use instead of chopping a fresh one, everything came from a can. It took my a solid 5 minutes to put a big potful together and get it on to simmer. Dried garlic, dried herbs, all from bottles, canned navy beans, canned tomatoes, chilis, corn…And I don’t regret it because I am not at my best right now. I’m not even going to make the garlic rolls to go with it. If it’s early enough, I’ll ask SD to pick up a loaf of french bread and I’ll make garlic toast.
Filed under: Uncategorized
HAve you ever driven down the road, and wondered what would happen if every other driver decided to ignore all rules of civility, and drive wherever the hell they want? It happens to me often, when I realize how much trust we put in other people to behave themselves as expected. We assume drivers will stay on their side of the road, and people will keep their hands to themselves when we pass them on the sidewalk.
What if all accepted rules of etiquette were ignored?
What if, one Spring Wednesday morning at 11 am, and all the Women Who Can are at the DAR (Daughters of the American Revolution) meeting, wearing their sashes and sipping their bourbon and branc…er…iced tea. What if that day all the accepted rules of etiquette are just thrown away. Intelligent, educated women of Distinction sit around and suck their teeth, pass gas, and eat their broiled chicken breast with salad fork! Heinous!
What if, at the local School of Dance, the Irish Dance class start kicking each other in the shins with their hard-toe tap shoes?
What if the bank tellers start shouting out the account balances of their customers? “HEY! Lookit this! This sez DuPree Smith-T don’t got but $4 in his account! HAW!” Or “OO! Someone put $25,000 in Mr. Zatrauer’s account, I tol’ you he wuz a dope dealer!”
When I was growing up, I was given a copy of Emily Post’s Guide to Etiquette. I taught me important things, like which fork to use and how to blow your nose in public, and other things that have yet to matter to me, like when it’s appropriate to put a black band on a funeral announcement. Reading that book was an education, and I guess it got Mom out of teaching me all those things, like talking about finances in all but the most vague terms, or talking about health matters. I learned the art of conversation is nothing more than getting the other guy to talk about themselves. Of course, this assumes that they didn’t read the book, otherwise you’d all be just asking each about each other and nothing ever getting said.
Social etiquette, for all it’s apparent silliness, is critical for society to hold itself together. You have to be able to know what to expect from other people in order to know how to relate to them.
Recently, I read a blog (not to be referenced, you’ll just have to take my word for it) where the person declared that she shunned social etiquette. It took me several minutes of intense visualization to recover from that statement, because I had this image of someone walking naked down the street, scratching and farting and picking her nose. Then I asked myself why it was a bad thing to behave thusly, because nakedness, scratching and honking, none of that really affects others, beyond the shock factor of it. Then I wondered, what if she wasn’t talking about those behaviors, but about The Next Level, that is,how one relates to others. Does this person eschew the niceties of “hello, how are you” and barrel right into “Those pants make you look fat”? Does she slap people who annoy her?
Have you ever wanted to do that, standing there next to someone who’s just annoying the ever-living SHIT out of you, and you have to put your hands in your pockets to keep from smacking their mouth? I’ve had to do that.
This person, this eschewer of manners, do her friends believe etiquette is something to be shunned as well? Can you imagine a gathering of such people? (I almost wrote “harpies” because that’s the image). I remember reading a myth with harpies in it, long time ago, like High School, I think. The harpies weren’t lovely birds with women’s heads, they were foul crude beasts, greasy with the fat of their prey, caked in excrement, screeching imprecations, thoughtless and utterly unlovely. This is the image I get when someone says they shun etiquette. Maybe it’s hyperbole a bit, but think about it. Etiquette tells us to use the bathroom with the door closed. It tells us to contain our gasses and limit our odors, it insists that we do not encroach on the premises of the people around us. It is the natural extension of personal boundaries. When someone says they shun those boundaries, they are declaring void the psychological wall that seperates themselves from everyone else, and that…is invasive. THAT is why etiquette must be.
So, I spent an egregious amount of time this morning cleaning the boys’ bathroom. Here’s how it works in the Toot household. I have my bathroom, which I share a teeny bit of counterspace with Sweet Daddio, and he gets to use the toilet whenever he wants. There is a 1/2 bath downstairs just off the dining room, perfect for company, which I have actually decorated a tasteful dark red with victorian-ish fixtures and cream lace curtains. It also has antique cigar labels framed on the walls. I like it. Then there’s the boys’ bathroom, upstairs next to #2′s room. It is…well…aesthetically challenged. Possessing linoleum floor of the 1967 era, with metallic gold flecks and little aqua colored squares, all one sheet , it will be easy to remove when the time comes. The sink and bathtub are castiron covered with this really odd avocado-fungus color porcelain. It’s a strange hue, not avocado green and not aqua blue, but something in between like the fungus that grows on bread. I have chosen to roll with this bio-chemical theme and use a beaker for the toothbrush holder. The counter is fake-marble formica and the walls are whatever it is that’s under wallpaper, because I’ve removed about 80% of the wallpaper, ;being of the opinion that bare sheetrock with mudpatches is an improvement over the tan-with-orange-flowers-and-fungus-colored-leaves that was the wallpaper. I hit a rocky patch when I got to the bit behing the shelves we installed over the toilet, and lost momentum.
The question is this: What to paint the walls that will go with the cream colored tile surround and penicillin hued sink and tub? Tan? Paint the walls cream and find pictures of things fungal-related? Do I want to encourage the concept of fungus in a bathroom uses exclusively by adolescent males? I’d like to print out pictures of vintage personal hygiene products, like Barbasol or Burma-Shave. They would be black and white. What if I painted the (currently) cream colored cabinets very dark brown or black, shelled out $100 for a new sink and countertop, and tried to cover the tub with a shower curtain? It never works out that way. Somehow, in remvoing the old countertop and sink, the cabinet wil be destroyed and a whole new vanity, to the tune of an additional $300 will be required. Then the storage cabinets will have to come out and be replaced with something matching the new cabinet. Plus floors. Then, my $100 bathroom makeover turns into $1000 and I’m too cranky to cook but we don’t have money to eat out because we spent it all. Nothing is ever as simple as it ought to be.
I would like to make the bathroom something better. Not that I think the boys will grow a sense on pride in ownership, and start keeping it clean on their own. I’m optimistic, but I’m not stupid.
Funny thing, speaking of boys keeping bathrooms clean. #1 said to me a while back that he was glad I taught him how to clean a bathroom, because he’d finally felt the need to clean his own. Music to my ears, and it’s all I needed to hear. He still doesn’t think it needs to be cleaned as often as I do, but that’s ok. It’s his bathroom now, in his apartment, with his stuff.
Maybe I can find pictures of old outhouses, or port-a-johns with amusing signs on them. Suggestions?
Filed under: aaawwwww
I’ve updated Weinerdog Bliss! I’ll try to do it more often.
Filed under: Uncategorized
Is there any sort of stress or strife that a stiff martini with 3 olives can’t smooth over? No? I didn’t think so.
Filed under: Uncategorized
Sweet Daddio will be on his way home soon, I hope. I want him to take me to dinner somewhere. Colorado for some of their excellent Tex-Mex and a tasty margarita, maybe.
Thing is, I have all the stuff for making tacos, as planned. The Presbyterian side of me says stay home and cook supper, the stuff is all bought and paid for. My inner Presbyterian has a name: Agnes Calvinox. She’s a pushy broad, and knows all the guilt hot buttons. I am almost positive I will talk myself right out of suggesting we go on a date, and just make the damn tacos already.
Agnes talks me out of all sorts of things. She convinces me I should spend vacation time with family I don’t get to see often, instead of going someplace interesting like Utah or Chicago. She talks me out of chicken salad from The Daily Grind for lunch, and convinces me I need practical, white cotton bloomers instead of lady-dainty knickers with hearts on them. Because they’re frvolous, and there’s no room in the life of someone such as myself for frivolity, not with all the serious shit going down everywhere.
I suppressed Agnes several days ago, suppressed her most egregiously. In fact, I bought something I’d NEVER BOUGHT BEFORE! Because I’m a SHAMELESS HUSSY! Yes! I bought knee socks embroidered all over with pink, red and lavender hearts! AND I DON’T REGRET IT~ And I love my happy, silly socks, because they represent that most un-Presbyterian of thought: FREE WILL. Humph. Not just free, either, but gleefully, frivolously, madcappily FREE.
There I was, walking through Walmart with a buggy full of useful items for other people, and these socks, bright and dancing on the end-cap, shouted and giggled at me. So, I stopped and gave them a disdainful once-over. Agnes snorted and said “silly, useless things” Then, I realized they were $2 a pair…well. So I got some, wandered around in a temporary confused fog because there was this disconcerting paradigm shift when I took them off the hook. I nearly put them back, twice, and then Mary got ahold of me (you know Mary, she’s the one who blew off KP duty to listen to Jesus, while Agne…I mean, Martha, slaved away over the bruschetta in the kitchen)and said “just buy the stupid socks, you’re feet will be happy and God wants you to have happy feet today.” So there I am, happy feet, and since the socks have been washed I can’t take them back Oh Well, Agnes, I might as well wear them!
Ok…I’m going to go start making the tacos now, because Agnes is a brute.