Christmas 1995

Thirteen years ago, almost to the day, I caught on fire. The following blog entry fills in the details.

December 1995 was not a banner month for me. I had already gone skiing (for the first time ever) that month in New Mexico, and things had not gone well. After an unfortunate mishap with a lift on the bunny slope, I was in an air cast and on crutches.

Despite my injuries, I rallied to attend the annual M family extravaganza in you know where, TX. My task: peel and cube potatoes for mashed potatoes. I hobbled around the kitchen collecting my acoutrement (read: crap I needed) to begin the potato peeling fiasco. I asked for a knife, and my mom said "Just grab one out of the knife block by the stove". I reached for the knife...

I'm going to stop here for a little back story. My mom had ALWAYS had an electric stove. This was her first year in a new house with a gas stove, and there was definitely a learning curve involved.

Also, just to give you a visual, I was wearing baggy pants and a VERY baggy sweater. The sweater was a gift to Winifred (I'm not afraid to use your real name, punk!) that he never received since he DUMPED me three days before Christmas. But I digress...

So, I reached across the gas stove for the knife, and heard a small "poof" sound. At about the same instant, I realized that I was on fire. Flames spanned from my wrist to my shoulder, and were burning about six inches out from my sleeve. I was frozen in awe and horror. I flapped my arm, and the massively huge sweater folded over on itself and snuffed out the flames. In the midst of this, my mother dredged up her "Stop, Drop and Roll" training from her elementary school years, and started screaming "Get down! Get down!" as she attempted to wrestle me (and my crutches) to the floor. I fought furiously, yelling back "I'm out! I'm out!" as I desperately tried to remain upright.

My efforts were fruitless. A mother's will is stronger than any child's, even an adult child, and I was going to get down whether I liked it or not. I was successfully knocked to the floor, crutches flying as my already injured ankle was twisted again. I was laughing and crying at the same time.

To answer the obvious question: how the heck did you catch on fire...I offer this explanation. My mom thought she needed to turn the burner on to "warm it up". I'm still unclear as to how you "warm up" an open flame, but there must be logic in that somewhere, right? Since she had the burner on low, I was unable to see the blue flame in the dim light of the kitchen, and did not notice as my sleeve brushed against it.

Also, my sweater was not damaged in the above incident. I thought this was a Christmas miracle, until my friend C pointed out that since I used liquid fabric softener to wash the sweater, the residue from that is probably what caught on fire so easily. Lessons learned!

Things you never thought you'd say

Today, my post is dedicated to all the moms out there. Here are the top ten things that I never thought I would say:

1. "Is there blood? If not, then you're fine!"

2. "Can you close the bathroom door so your brother doesn't end up in the toilet again?"

3. "Just spit it in my hand if you don't like the way it tastes."

4. "How many times do I have to tell you to stop picking your nose in public?"

5. "The dog licked that! Please don't keep eating it!"

6. "You cannot tell your brother to 'Bite my butt!'. I don't care WHAT movie you heard it in!"

7. "Can you at least say 'excuse me' when you toot?"

8. "You actually need to use soap when you wash you hair."

9. "When was the last time you cleaned your ears?"

10. "PLEASE don't touch your butt when there's poop on it!"

Ah...memories

Picture it...Anywhere, TX...September of 1990 something.

M had been unceremoniously booted from our high school band due to an unfortunate smoke bomb incident in the stands during a football game. D had also lost band privileges during the aforementioned incident. Consequently, D & M were going to the game via M's rocking cool Nissan Pulsar, with yours truly riding shotgun.

M,D, and I enjoyed a perfectly fun game, hanging with all of our high school peeps and discussing inane things as only teenagers can do. After the game, M sweetly gave me a piggyback ride to the car. I laughed so hard I almost peed down his back! We made it to the car, and set off for home.

As we were driving along the highway, we caught up with the big yellow dog (read: bus) that was carrying the high school band. D thought it would be an excellent idea to poke half of his body out of the sunroof and yell at his buddies on the bus. The police officer behind us did not think this was such an excellent idea!

Lights flashed. M uttered the immortal words "Oh ####, a cop". He pulled over, and the officer came to his window and proceeded to question us (using very foul language) as to what in the name of all that is holy we were thinking. Then he came around to my side of the car, opened the door, and said "Get out". 'Holy ####, I'm going to jail' I thought as I got out of the car. He walked me to the cop car, opened the back door, and said "Get in!". I got in, and started hyperventilating.

He came around the car, got in, and threw his flashlight through the bars of the police car. The bars stopped it from going all the way through, but he achieved his purpose-I peed a little on his fancy vinyl back seat. He said "What the #### were you thinking?" I said "Officer, I have no idea what you are talking about!" He said "You know #### well what I'm talking about! You were hanging out of the sunroof!" "Um, that wasn't me." I whispered. "Then WHO was it?" he yelled back. And just like that, I rolled over on my buddy D. "The guy in the back seat, Officer." "Hold on!" he snarled as he hopped out of the car.

He approached M's car, and ordered him out as I watched, eyes WIDE with horror. He instructed D to get out of the back seat, then proceeded to grab him and throw him against the car, frisking him in ways D could only wish a woman would have touched him. Then he grabbed him by the arm, dragged him to the police car, and threw him in. He then rounded the car, and let me out, ordering me to go sit with M. I ran like a scared rabbit, afraid for D's life, but happy to have escaped the mad man's evil clutches.

He screamed at D for a good fifteen minutes, ran our licenses and determined we were not criminals,ordered D & M not to be caught dead in the same car again, and sent us on our way.

I still pee a little when I see a police car.

OK....seriously?

Sit back, fasten your seatbelts, and prepare for a classic rant.

my subject: Four way stops
my issue: Stupid people



For the LOVE of ALL that is holy, folks, LEARN how a four way stop works. If two people arrive at the intersections at the same time....YIELD TO THE RIGHT! Do not stomp the gas to see if you can beat the other person, and then glare and honk furiously at them if they beat you off the mark. If they were to your right, THEY had the right of way!

**A special note to all of the directionally challenged: Use your thumb and forefinger to make an "L". The one that actually looks like an "L" (as opposed to a backwards "L") is your left.**

And while we're on the subject of stop signs, the general idea of one is that you actually STOP. Blowing through a stop sign because the intersection is clear is not a bright idea, and in a perfect world, will also get you a ticket! Is your destination really so important that you need to run a stop sign? I think not.

That is all.

I'm drowning!

We are murdering trees at an alarming rate, and today I feel like an entire forest has died in my office. There are papers of some kind on EVERY horizontal surface. I dread moving one piece of paper for fear of shifting a dozen others, and causing a catastrophic paper mountain collapse!

Here are a few examples of the types of paper I am being suffocated by:

Receipts~I have receipts for EVERYTHING....just in arm's reach I see one for Sonic, and another for the grocery store. K's dream is that I would reconcile each of these receipts to my credit card statement. The intent is there-thus the plethora of receipts. I just never actually get around to the reconciliation part. The problem with this non-system is that big ticket item receipts sometimes get lost in the shuffle.

Schoolwork/artwork~ I am overrun with children's work from school. Between J & G, I have a stack two inches thick, and it's only November! I truly do throw a lot of it away, but there are still so many things I just can't part with! Can you imagine how bad it's going to get when O starts contributing?

Notes~ I write notes to myself everywhere. I scribble down random phone numbers, write down websites I want to visit, leave reminders for things that need to get done...you get the picture. I write on any available piece of paper, which means I can't throw anything away until I have looked at everything!

Bills~I am actually pretty good at organizing these, but there are a stack of unpaid bills tucked under the computer monitor. I clear them out once a week. (OK, once every two months...but I pay them once a week!)

I'm not sure what the solution is. Oprah told me it was The Container Store. She may be right, but I think there are deeper issues here...

You're SMOTHERING them!!

I can hardly believe that I made it an entire week into this blog without discussing the most AGGRAVATING part of my day as a SAHM-the child drop-off zone at our local elementary school.

Let me start by stating what might not be obvious to all of you~we have NO bus service in our neighborhood. Why, you ask? Because we can SEE the elementary school from our house, and walk there in less than 10 minutes. This is a brave new world to city folk like us, but we are slowly adjusting.

I will also add that we attempted the whole "walking to school as a family" thing, and that lasted about two days. Imagine if you will cramming a wiggly toddler into a stroller, and simultaneously trying to convince a preschooler that he CAN walk all the way to the school, and no, I am not going to carry him. The background noise to this is a gradeschooler screaming "Hurry UP! We are going to be LATE for school!" I think the reason that we use the drop-off should be clear.

So, fast forward to this morning (ok, this happens EVERY morning). We are in line with the 50 bazillion other moms and dads, dropping their precious bundles off at school. I'm the third vehicle back. The first vehicle is a minivan. The van door opens, and out pops a little tot, probably a kindergartner. (It's two months into school at this point:remember this!) The precocious tot toddles towards the school in a zig zag pattern, staring off into space. The van door closes, and I put my vehicle in drive, preparing to get the heck out of Dodge. The lead minivan rolls forward, then abruptly stops. I slam on my brakes, wondering what the HECK....but I unfortunately already know. They want to WATCH their little twit walk ALL the way into the building!

Seriously? We are TWO months into school! If this kid has not figured out how to get into the building at this point, there is a REAL problem! Besides, how is watching them going to get them in the building? Is this mom practicing telekinesis? If making sure your child gets in the building is this much of a priority to you, park, get your lazy, sweatpants-clad, croc-wearing booty OUT of car, and walk your child into the school!!!

Queen of my Double-Wide Trailer

I would like to start today's blog with the following disclaimer:

I am a country music fan. I listen to it at least 60% of the time. I love almost ALL country songs, and I embrace the genre as part of my Texas heritage.

And with that, here is a list of phrases that you would only hear in a country song:

* el camino
* sloe gin fizz
* gunpowder and lead
* belly full of beer and a possum in a sack
* I'd like to check you for ticks
* water tower
* We'll put a boot in your a$$
* mama's in the graveyard, papa's in the pen
* pardon me, you left your tears on the jukebox
* Longneck bottle, let go of my hand
* I've even seen dancing girls and hookers
* Thank God for good directions and turnip greens
* I shouldn't be wearing white and you can't afford no ring
* Shake the sugar tree
* There wasn't no hanky-panky, not a woman in sight
* And I'll keep on tap - for all your friends, their favorite kinds of beer
* And I know all the words to every ol' Bocephus song
* I was drunk the day my mom got out of prison

I'm sure all of you country music fans out there could come up with hundreds of others. As for the rest of you, the jury's still out as to whether you are normal! I mean, really, read those lyrics again! How could you NOT listen to this music?

Pavo vs. Guajalote

I thought I would take this opportunity to talk about something that I am obsessed with: Google. No, this is not a brazenly obvious plug for Google, who is inextricably linked to this blog. I'm simply waxing poetic about my latest and greatest love, the Google search engine.

G came home with a picture of a turkey yesterday. He colored it in his preschool Spanish class. Underneath the brown & orange turkey was the phrase "El pavo". I actually noticed this in the preschool hall, and said to myself (out loud, of course) "I thought 'guajalote' was the Spanish word for turkey...hmmmm".

I filed this away for future Google reference, and went about my day. Later, I was on the phone with C, when I suddenly remembered the turkey dilemma. Surprisingly, C had an opinion on the matter. (She doesn't speak Spanish) She said that it was definitely guajalote, because they were having some kind of Guajalote Festival in her small town. We turned to Google for the definitive answer.

In a few seconds, I was on the search engine, typing in "turkey in Spanish". 'El Pavo' popped up immediately. Hummpphh, I thought, we were wrong! I am NEVER wrong! I dug deeper, and discovered a website written all in Spanish. I'm a bit rusty, but my impression is that the website was discussing the origin of the word 'guajalote'. I new I had hit pay dirt, but since the "pay dirt" was in Spanish, I couldn't be sure.

Then, slowly and magically, my eyes scrolled up. I noticed a small link that said "translate". I clicked it faster than any of you can say guajalote, and there was my proof in English! Guajalote is indeed the Mexican word for turkey! El Pavo is the Spanish word for turkey as well, so I suppose it ended in a draw. Nevertheless, I feel vindicated.

Fundraiser Schmundraiser!

I swear, every day someone has their hand out asking me for money! Do you want to buy an ad in the PTA directory telling your kid how awesome he is? Give me five dollars. This "Ugly Mug" fundraiser is the PTA's ONLY fundraiser for items to improve the school...like a cover for the playground so your kid doesn't get skin cancer and die. It's only twelve dollars per bag of coffee. Don't you want to help the kids? (I don't even DRINK coffee!)

And then, the creme de la creme arrives: a fundraiser from G's PRESCHOOL! Um...hello?? Can you not at least have the decency to wait until he's actually in school, and not attending a program that I pay for? I can't stand scented candles (unless they're Yankee Candles!), don't like bath salts, and certainly don't need tubs full of cookie dough, pizzas, or corndogs! And then you have the audacity to suggest that I hawk these items to my friends and family?

My friends all have kids in the same school and are not interested in buying the same items from me that they are already trying to sell! My family is scattered all over the state, and surely would not care to contract salmonella from improperly thawed and re-frozen cookie dough!

Here's my take on it: Send me a form at the beginning of the year, and let me make a one time cash donation to the school. I'd be willing to donate upwards of $100 if it meant that I did NOT have to look at a fundraiser form during the school year!

Public school children are being brainwashed!

I just finished a seven course breakfast for my seven year old. There was a souffle, a southwestern omelet, a stack of buttermilk pancakes, crispy bacon, toast with butter AND jelly, a small quiche, and an english muffin, toasted to perfection. Why, you ask? The ITBS, of course! (OK, it was really a scrambled egg, two strips of bacon, and toast with strawberry preserves...topped off by a granola bar and some orange peach mango juice)

**As a side note, I am an acronym afficionado. You will see them used well and often in my blog**

ITBS= Iowa Test of Basic Skills. This is one of those "you're kid's not smart if he can't pass this"-"let's pigeon-hole all of the kiddos by inane test scores"-"maybe we should start teaching to the test"-"our class's scores potentially determine our raises" type of test. Why the seven course breakfast buffet? Well, Mommy, the teacher says we all need to get a good, hot breakfast on the morning of the test. Apparently on an average day of learning, a poptart and a juicebox will do. However, on ITBS day, (emphasis on the BS) the kids need a hot meal to magically make them smarter so that they will do well on the test.

In effect, all this brainwashing does is stress out a seven year old. Last night he looked at me with big, worried eyes and and said " What if I don't do good on the test, Mommy?". I almost gave him a hand gesture that spoke volumes about my feelings on the test, but I refrained. Instead, I dredged up what I hope was a good response: "J, this test is just to figure out what you know and what you don't know. If you don't do as well on part of it, then your teacher will work with you to learn more." I'm sure this is a blatant misprepresentation of what will really occur, but it was the best I could come up with under pressure.

Anyone who says raising kids is easy should be soundly smacked.

Bloggo Numero Uno

Hola carinos mios, y bienvenidos a mi blog!

Hey Y'all! Welcome to my blog!

There is no point to this blog...just random brain downloads from a SAHM. (stay at home mom...for the acronym challenged) So let's start with my day.

My day started at 2:33 am. O, my precocious youngest child, decided that this was the perfect time to run through his list of vocabulary words at the top of his lungs. Puppy Gingy started the list, followed quickly by Mommy, Daddy, and fruit bar. I shushed him via the two-way baby monitor to no avail. He kept up these antics for about an hour, then finally succumbed to slumber!

My day continued on pretty predictably, until about 11:42 am. I was cleaning the kitchen and simultaneously carrying a conversation with my contractor, and went to set a bag on the counter. I missed, and the bag hit the floor. No big deal, you think. Not so fast, my loves. The bag held a pint of black paint. I emphasize the past tense of the word "held", because, as soon as the can made contact with the floor, the paint went EVERYWHERE. My contractor had the NERVE to then ask if I had a mop, because the paint was going to stain the grout. DUH, dingaling! Anyway, my Hints from Heloise tip for the day is that Goo Gone does a pretty good job of getting paint off grout, and it smells good to boot!