Friday, September 28, 2007

"... as was foretold by my oven."

Strange things are afoot in the TC house. The washing machine doesn't know when to stop filling, so it floods the laundry room. The oven has been making crackling noises and emitting white smoke (and that's before I put the food in).

Here's what I think. I think if God spoke to men through donkeys and burning bushes, He can darn sure speak to us through appliances. And that's what I told Rock 'n' Roll Daddy.

I said that I think God is sending us messages to leave Egypt (i.e., our money-pit of a house), and the sooner the better, because it's gonna be destroyed by fire or flood or some other disasterous plague-ish thing. He asked me how much caffeine I'd had that morning. I reminded him that a lot of the appliances in our house are from the Roosevelt administration. He asked me what that had to do with anything, so I told him that it's common knowledge that God didn't like FDR on account of his starting that communist Social Security program and all. He asked was I ready to wander in the wilderness (i.e., our back pasture) for 40 years, cooking over a campstove. I said - and I only raised my voice a little at this point - that that sounded good to me, as long as he would be content with eating manna (i.e., Beanie Weanies from a can) every day. Then one of the dogs urped up something that looked like a catfish in a mitten, so that was the end of that discussion. Personally, I think the catfish was another sign from God, but right then wasn't a good time to say that to Laban (i.e., Rock 'n' Roll Daddy).

All I know is this: if our copier starts randomly spitting out pictures of frogs or locusts, buddyroe, I am getting the heck out of Dodge.

Monday, September 24, 2007

"Hello, this is your hamstring calling."

Oh. My. Word. This is ME. Well, it's good to know I'm not the only twitchy person out there.

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Pirates and yogurt and Stanley - oh my!

First, some notes on this year's Talk Like a Pirate Day festivities.

1. Rock 'n' Roll Daddy (formerly known as My Husband) got into the pirate spirit immediately by coming to the table and announcing, "Get me my food, wench!" Then I got into the pirate spirit by threatening to feed him maggoty bread and water. Then we almost got into the Jerry Springer spirit, but we were distracted by the dog puking up a toad carcass into the open dishwasher.

2. I was in the grocery store late in the day, and as I approached the dairy aisle, I was suddenly overcome with pirateness. I don't know what triggered it; maybe it was the realization that I was going to be a victim of thievery when I reached the checkout lane ($5.39 for a gallon of MILK?!). Or maybe it was just that I needed yogurt, and the word "acidophilous" sounds like a 16th century name to me. "Pirates seized the ship of Lord Acidophilous Pennywiggle of Digestishire, England." Whatever. I headed for the yogurt and let out a rather boisterous "ARRRRR!"

Then I noticed the young man stocking the shelves 4 feet away.

While I was trying to make my choices among 134 varieties of yogurt - and none of them rum flavored! - this young man kept looking at me out of the corner of his eye. Finally he said to me, in a "I'm concerned about you elderly folks" tone, "Do you need some help?" Of course, I knew that he didn't mean did I need help finding yogurt. No, he was asking me, in the most politically correct way, "Would you like assistance to the aisle where we stock the straightjackets?" Puh. As if I wouldn't know that the straightjackets are right next to the BandAids and corn removers. I glared at him from under my eye patch and moved on.

At least this year I had a friend to celebrate with. My good buddy, Stanley, really got into the party mood.


Stanley also had a big night at the ballet on Friday. I took him (and my daughter, Princess Bunhead, and her friend, Osprey) to see the North Texas Ballet Theater production of Coppelia. This is a photo of Stanley on the outdoor balcony, near one of the giant granite angels that adorn Bass Performance Hall.
Bunhead designed his suit.

Oh, and here's Bunhead, in Vanna White mode, which is pretty much any time a camera is pointed in her direction.



My children have an exciting week planned for Stanley. I don't know the specifics, but my son, Mr. Danger, has dressed Stanley in camo. This should be interesting. Stay tuned.

Monday, September 17, 2007

Why didn't I think of that?

Some dude named Robert Smith has written The Nicole Richie Cookbook. Richie is the Hollywood starlet who weighs all of about 80 pounds - and 20 of that is probably hair extensions, false eyelashes, and silicone, uh, additions. By law, the woman should be riding in a booster seat.

Here's the thing. Mr. Smith is getting $11.95 a copy for a recipe book that is full of ... blank pages.

Man, I could write one like that and call it TC's Secrets to Successful Housecleaning.

Sunday, September 16, 2007

Adventures with Stanley: Week 1

This whole Flat Stanley Project is not turning out at all like I expected. My kids are just being horribly resistant to enfolding Stanley into our family. This is a photo of our first meal with the new arrival.

Now isn't that just a picture of excitement and overwhelming happiness?

Today I wanted to take a photo of Stanley on the Zamboni machine after Sasquatch's hockey practice, but he (Sasquatch, not Stanley) adamantly opposed the idea and threatened to ride beside me in the front seat on the way home. If you know anything about hockey, you know that this is the equivalent to being sentenced to Painful Suffocating Death By Noxious Odor. Asphyxiation definitely would have put a crimp in my plans for the rest of the day, so I decided to forgo the Zamboni photo.

The Husband is not helping the situation. Apparently, he thinks that Stanley is the reincarnation of Mr. Bill. I have to admit, there is a physical resemblance.

But my word, the kinds of ideas he's coming up with for Stanley make me think it's time to take away his NRA card.

When all was said and done, the most exciting thing that happened to Stanley this week was that he learned to be my personal barista. I think he looks pretty happy about it.

Friday, September 14, 2007

Now if they could just replace those cheap plastic seats with recliners.

I never cease to be amazed by new technological advances. It’s probably because I grew up in an era when the phrase “high-tech” hadn’t even been coined yet. On top of that, the closest one came to being “high-tech” was if you owned a cassette recorder onto which you could record ghostly “wooooo” sounds. Then you could hide the recorder under your bed, switch it on to play late at night, and tell your little sister, who was nearly scared out of her Chatty Cathy nightgown, that Casper was in the room. Not that I would know anything about that.

So nowadays, I’m awed by everything from Goose-Me-Elmo to those new iPhone$, and everything in between. The most recent object of wonder for me has been slightly less techie, but no less impressive – scented bowling balls.

Now, I’m thinking this is an idea which is way overdue. I mean, when I think of the scent of a bowling alley, all that comes to mind is Eau de Ball Return: “A heady concoction with base notes of stale cigarettes, accentuated lightly with shoe deodorizer and top notes of cheap cologne and AquaNet.”

As it turns out, Storm Bowling is one of the leading manufacturers of scented bowling balls, so I headed over to their web site to see what they have to offer. I don’t know which is more impressive – the vast array of available scents, including lime, blueberry,  and plum, or the names of the various models.  With monikers like, “El Nino Wrath,” “Fire Storm,” and “Flash Flood,” you have to wonder if the people in the naming department spent most of their lives on the west coast. Then you realize they must be from Los Angeles, possibly even from a penitentiary in LA, when you see more names like, “Shock Trauma” and “Razor Wire.” Either that, or they’re just the kind of guys you don’t want bowling in the lane next to you and your kids. Or in the county next to you, for that matter.

Anyway. Storm’s web site has this cool feature called The Match Maker, which is designed to assess your personal bowling skills and then determine the best Storm ball for your particular style. I decided to try it out, even though my particular style could best be described as “chuck the ball down the lane and hope it hits something.”

The first question on the assessment is
What is your average score?
o Less than 150
o 150-200
o 200 or over

This was when I realized that The Match Maker is for serious bowlers. You know, the people with their own bowling shoes that are NOT red and black, and do not have the size announced to God and his dog on the heel. I thought the question should at least have a qualifier, “Is that with or without bumpers?”

I didn’t even know how to answer some of the other questions, which dealt with things like axis rotation (“My orthopedic surgeon says to avoid it”) and lane conditions (“too long”). And completely missing were questions like, “Have you ever bounced the ball over into a neighboring lane?” or “Have you ever released the ball on your backswing, thereby endangering the lives of the spectators behind you?” Not that I would know anything about that.

Eventually, The Match Maker was able to tell me that the perfect ball for me was the Sure-Fire, which comes in the delectable scent of pina-colada.

I was a bit disappointed that I wasn’t recommended the Screamin’ Banshee, because that seems to fit my personality better, but, hey, you gotta trust the professionals.

Then, if I really wanted to order a Sure-Fire, I had to identify myself as a Stroker, Tweener, or Cranker. I have no idea what those terms mean, but they don’t sound like something a nice Christian woman should be. I’d hate to know that my future descendents would read on my headstone, “Here lies TC. She was a real cranker.”

If you decide to go over to Storm Bowling’s website, don’t bother to look for a chocolate-scented model. There isn’t one. I guess those Storm guys are smarter than their XXL bowling shirts make them look. They know that if any of us women bowlers get our hands on a chocolate-scented bowling ball, we’ll just sit there licking it and forgo the game altogether.

Not that I would know anything about that.

Wednesday, September 12, 2007

If he wasn't flat before, he will be by the time he leaves our house.

I was over at TrainingHearts' blog today and found out that she's got a Virtual Flat Stanley project going on, so I immediately signed us up.

Well, as ol' Stanley came rolling out of the printer, my children wanted to know what was going on. From their reactions, you'd have thought I had just suggested that we start a six-week diet of Yahtzee score pads and thumb tacks.

  • "You have GOT to be kidding."
  • "MOM!" (Prounounced in the more dramatic, 2-syllable fashion)
  • "No way am I taking that little creep to ballet class."
  • "He has big ears."

"Oh, come on!" said I. "Think of all the fun adventures we can take Stanley on. And, we get to take pictures and you can put them on your blogs." I thought their eyes were going to roll right out of their too-cool teenage heads.

Then the little heathens began to suggest some activities for Stanley. Perhaps he would like to experience a paper shredder? He can light the grill for hamburgers! Maybe he'd like to play with the dogs. Origami?!

Poor, poor Stanley. I fear he's in for a rough time at our house. Photos will be forthcoming. Unless my son straps him to a firecracker first.

Monday, September 10, 2007

Didja miss me?

I've been away from the blogosphere for a few days. My brain and my body had a minor skirmish over my need for sleep, and my body won.

Anyway, I'm rested and returned, but I can't write much at the moment. It seems that no one else in my house understands the importance of washing dishes. This morning I had to eat my oatmeal with a pickle fork.

Didja miss me?

I've been away from the blogosphere for a few days. My brain and my body had a minor skirmish over my need for sleep, and my body won.

Anyway, I'm rested and returned, but I can't write much at the moment. It seems that no one else in my house understands the importance of washing dishes. This morning I had to eat my oatmeal with a pickle fork.

Wednesday, September 5, 2007

VCR alert!

Because she's too modest to tell you about it herself, I'm going to blab the news for her. A fellow blogger and former homeschooling mom, Cindy Downes (EmptyNestMom), is scheduled to be featured on Good Morning America on September 7. How cool is that?!

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Just to get your morning started with a smile, here are a few Christian quips.

Many folks want to serve God, but only as advisors.

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Opportunity may knock once, but temptation bangs on your front door forever.

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Quit griping about your church; if it was perfect, you couldn't belong.

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God Himself does not propose to judge a man until he is dead. So why should you?

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Some minds are like concrete; thoroughly mixed up and permanently set.

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I don't know why some people change churches; what difference does it make which one you stay home from?

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We were called to be witnesses, not lawyers or judges.

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God loves everyone, but probably prefers "fruits of the spirit" over "religious nuts!"

Tuesday, September 4, 2007

So true.

Q: How many women with MENOPAUSE does it take to change a light bulb?

A: One! ONLY ONE!!!! And do you know WHY?    
   
Because no one else in this house knows HOW to change a light bulb! They don't even know that the bulb is BURNED OUT!! They would sit in the dark for THREE DAYS before they figured it out. And, once they figured it out, they wouldn't be able to find the #&%!* light bulbs despite the fact that they've been in the SAME CABINET for the past 17 YEARS! But if they did, by some miracle of God, actually find them, 2 DAYS LATER, the chair they dragged over to stand on to change the STUPID light bulb would STILL BE IN THE SAME SPOT!! AND UNDERNEATH IT WOULD BE THE WRAPPER THE FREAKING LIGHT BULBS CAME IN!!! BECAUSE NO ONE EVER CARRIES OUT THE GARBAGE!!! IT'S A WONDER WE HAVEN'T ALL SUFFOCATED FROM THE PILES OF GARBAGE THAT ARE A FOOT DEEP THROUGHOUT THE ENTIRE HOUSE!! IT WOULD TAKE AN ARMY TO CLEAN THIS PLACE! AND DON'T EVEN GET ME STARTED ON WHO CHANGES THE TOILET PAPER ROLL !!

I'm sorry. What was the question?  

Sunday, September 2, 2007

Testing... testing... one, two, three... Is this thing on?

On the List of Things No One Tells You When You Sign Your Child Up For Hockey: You will henceforth spend every major national holiday getting up at 4:30 a.m. to go sit on butt-numbing bleachers in an ice rink for a 3-day tournament, while your friends are water skiing at the lake. (Thank you, Canada.)

Anyway. I have two things to say.

Big Announcement Number One: The inagural winner of the Grace and Peace Award is a mother of many, whose children are a testimony to the gracious home in which they've been raised. Her blog is a soothing place that is warm and inviting and accepting. Please go congratulate Jewels, from Eyes of Wonder. As the person who nominated her said, "She emanates grace and peace from every pore." What a witness to the love of God!

Reminder: Please continue to send in your nominations for next month's award. I will keep the names of previously nominated bloggers for future consideration.

Big Announcement Number Two: Work is underway on my new blog, and I'd love it if you would stop in to look at it and give me your feedback. Go here, and then comment me (either here or there). It still needs much work, but I hope to have it mostly up and running by the end of September. I'm very excited about the upcoming move and hope to have a few Grand Opening promotions and maybe even some prizes. Stay tuned.

And now I must go do some laundry. Four-thirty tomorrow morning will be bad enough, without having to be confronted by hockey jerseys that smell like they've been worn by someone who heats up his Beanie Weenies under an overpass on the Garden State Parkway.