why, i oughta....

(insert Yosimite Sam mumbo-jumbo in here)

MEN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I hate spoiled-by-their-mothers-so-they-can't-function-within-their-own-home assholes of men!!!

DH & I have been having this argument for as long as I have been making the food in our family. Yeah. That long. He just doesn't get it. How friggin hard is it to take the leftovers to work?!?!? That's why I spent a fortune in tupperware. I didn't buy it so it could sit in the fridge and grow funny fuzzy, odd-smelling life forms for the science fair. I didn't buy it because I was hormonal. I didn't buy it to make color-coordinated stacks in the cupboard. It has a function. It's called carrying your MF lunch!!

Now, let me be very clear. Many years ago, at the first sign of trouble, I asked for his input.

HE: I don't know what to take. There's so many choices and I'm tired and in a hurry when I'm packing my lunch. Aside from opening every container and looking inside, I don't know what is in there to eat.

ME: Darling, what could I do to make your poor, dark, lonely mornings of packing a difficult meal into a small, square bag easier? How can I help you without actually leaving my nice, warm dreamland at 5am each day?

HE: I don't know. Maybe make me a list of what's in there so I know what to chose from. Or tell me the night before where my lunch is for the next day. Nothing shrot of a neon sign really catches my attention before work.

Right. And we all trust him in a moving vehicle at speeds that exceed 65 mph before work.

So we have the designated "leftover shelf" in the fridge. Nothing is stacked on that shelf except food for him to take to work. I bought a small dry erase board and put it on the freezer door (at eye-level) and wrote what meals are left over in the fridge. I put the oldest items on top, and the freshly-left on the bottom. I bought colored markers so that he knows that manicotti = orange dish, chili = green soup mug, dinner rolls = clear plastic bag (written in black) and salmon = purple freezer container in the freezer. I group stuff together, like a baked potato in foil, with a small container of sour cream and a zipper bag of bacon and cheese atop the container with green beans and a bbq chicken breast. I write all those things together on the menu on one square - as one meal. I even check at lunch time to see what he's taken and erase it for him off of the dry-erase board because even that is too much for him to handle. I can't do anything more except drag my ass outta bed and pack the f*(&^er for him every day. I refuse to do that, b/c he'll get used to it and expect it.

With all that I do for him, why, why WHY then did he take sloppy joes today (enough for all three of my kids to have leftover sloppies at school, which they LOVE) when there was a full container of spaghetti, a complete salmon meal, and clam chowder to choose from? HE DOESN'T EVEN LIKE SLOPPY JOES!!!! I said, while putting away the joes the other night, "Yay, theres' enough leftovers for all three of the kids. They'll like that." I didn't write it on his special menu. Yet, the boys were in tears when they found out Daddy ate their favorite lunch. Again. This isn't the first time he's taken their joes.

I know there's nothing else I can do at this point, but I just feel better screaming in colors! He obviously doesn't hear what I say. It makes me mad enough to set his hair on fire sometimes. Do ya think he'd notice that?

When God Closes a Door...

I am so stupid sometimes I surprise even my own self.

Until the year 2003, I had never locked my keys in the car, never locked myself out of my own home, never found myself on the outside of a public building, after hours with my belongings, including purse and keys, locked inside. 2003 was a banner year for me and keys, because not only did I do all of those things, but I did them often and I did something else truly spectacularly memorable along with it. Like, not only did I lock my keys in the car, but two of my four children were inside, buckled into their carseats and unable to get out and open the door. Twice. Once was in the heat of summer and the police helped me get into the car before they fried. The second (and last) was in the pouring, freezing November rain. I was wearing my pajamas and slippers, dropping the other two of the four off at school. The janitor handed me a door wedge and a wire coat hanger and I got right to it. They did not laugh at me within earshot and I thanked them heartily for that before I left. I have gotten into the habit of purposefully holding my keys in front of my face before locking any door. It seemed to be working until today.

If you have been to a hotel within the last ten years or so, you'll know that they have a security slide lock that beats the pants off of any silly chain. It is heavy duty and it means business. If someone tries to open the door while the lock is engaged, everyone on the damn floor will hear the crash of the door decidedly NOT opening. In our last apartment, I became increasingly worried about the shady characters waltzing through my building on the way to drop off the rent. Or partial-rent. Or excuse for not paying the rent. You get the point. I demanded some kind of security lock to protect me and my brood from the inside. We had very little and if anyone wanted to steal from us while we ere gone, so be it; I just didn't want any stray bodies entering while I was there. So we were allowed to install the slide lock. It was very handy in deterring our curious toddlers from walking out of the apartment and getting lost in the laundry room. No joke. Moving into our new house, I replaced the silly chains with the industrial slide locks on both doors. Which brings us to today.

I noticed that my middle-schooler again failed to take her backpack with her to school this morning. The backpack with her house key inside. I was supposed to volunteer at the elementary school, which meant that I would not be home to let her in when her bus arrived at 3:05, so she would have to stand outside in the cold and wait for 35-40 minutes until I got home. Although that lesson might make other kids decide to take their backpacks to school, mine hasn't got it yet. So I decided to figure out a way to leave her key right there in the door, without leaving the key right there in the door (she doesn't take hints like "look under the rock" either). I tied a piece of twine to the slide lock, tied a clothespin to the other end of the twine, and hung a small gift bag from the clothespin with her key inside. This clothespin has been hanging on the slide lock since we moved in to this house; it isn't something I just dreamed up today. Here comes the spectacular part. While closing the door, I apparently pulled the twine j-u-s-t far enough to engage the lock, very, very effectively locking me out of my own house, with keys in hand. And guess what? The goddamn lock held. And guess what else? I distinctly remember walking around the house before bed last night, checking to make sure the windows were locked. Fucking great.

Anytime I have no idea where something is, or what I should do, I call Tad. Not that he always has the right answer, but it just seems like the thing to do.

( Does he have the answer this time? Click here and find out!)

curse & blessing

they are both a curse and a blessing, these little things of ours. they can make life difficult and they are extremely high maintenance. other people look at what we've done with them and make a snap judgement of "amatuer!" or a raised eyebrow and an inward comment like "i wish mine were like that." i don't usually do a whole lot with mine; high maintenance makes me weary. but tonight, i feel like going all out.

they have made me proud. i am truly thankful for them. they will be pampered tonight for their outstanding performance. once again an emergency room visit was averted during my sojourn with the chopping board. once again, my fingernails saved my fingertip from becoming part of the stir-fry.

weird science

i've never been big on science. i can conjugate verbs in several tenses in several languages. i can demonstrate spatial relationships in artistic pieces. i can write in iambic pentameter. (i can, i just don't like to...) i'm interested in natural sciences like meterology, geology and petting small furry things, but that's as far as it goes. participating in science fairs was not mandatory where i grew up, so i didn't do anything related to them. my poor dd has had to endure the pain of participating two years running and will continue for many years, since participation is required every year, 4th grade and up here. grrrrr. i don't particularly care for science fairs. they are lots of work for very little reward.

so here's a big laugh...i've never seen dry ice. i mean i'm sure i've seen it on tv in shows, cause it makes fog, right? we ordered from omaha steaks today and i asked dh what i was supposed to do with the dry ice. i was vaguely aware that it was bad. something about touching it and having your skin melt off.... he said to me, "throw it in the bathtub and run some water over it."

i don't know who was more excited, me or the kids. i was hovering, snapping pics with the digital camera while the kids watched it bubble away. we did a couple of experiments, like dumping shampoo on it and using hot water instead of cold. so i have foggy pics of the kids waving washcloths at each other, surrounded by fog in the bathroom. and pics of rubber duckies floating in the mist. and little soap-bubble-ice-cubes floating on the surface of the water. good clean fun was had by all. and i can honestly say i am looking forward to dd's science fair this year...as long as we do something with dry ice!

Catching Claus

Kevin and I went over to Grandmother's house on Christmas Eve. We did every year. We opened all the presents from the people who didn't live inside our house on Christmas Eve. That left the presents from mom and dad and each other for Christmas Morning. And of course, Santa's presents too.

We ate dinner with Grandmother and Grandfather. Then we watched Grandfather build the fire in the fireplace. It had such a cool, smooth white marble hearth. I liked to sit on the chill of it just to get goosebumps and have a reason to sit on it and get warm! When the fire was going "Snap! Pop-pop-snap!" that's when we knew Grandfather would settle in his high green rocking chair, put up his feet and say, "Well now, what do we have under this tree here?"

That was our cue to run to the tree and play Santa; passing out one gift at a time so no matter who was opening the present, they had the spotlight. That night I guess we stayed a little too long. We stepped out into the frosty chill, snow crunching underneath our warm boots. Daddy made a noise and said, "Oh my! We have to go!! Santa's on his way down this block already!" Mouths open, we turned and saw a single red light aglow on top of a house at the end of the street. Rudolph's nose!

How we rushed home and jumped into our pajamas! Daddy set out a bowl of oatmeal for the reindeer and Mommy set out cookies and the snowman mug of milk for Santa. Kevin and I lay there, we two; giggling and listening for bells. I heard Kevin get really quiet and I knew that he had fallen asleep. Then I heard it. The Sound. It was the sound of someone dunking a homemade sugar cookie into a glass of milk.

I leaped from my bed and crept quietly to the door. I peeked out the crack and saw---

Nothing.

I opened the door as far as I dared, almost closing it behind me and crawled down the hallway to the living room. I held my breath as I peered into the living room and I saw---

Nothing.

I turned my head around to see into the kitchen and that's when I knew I was done for. Two big black boots, sitting in front of Daddy's chair. But the feet were missing. I looked up a little further. The feet were propped up on Kevin's chair and sitting in Daddy's chair was the Man himself. Santa Claus was dunking my cookies into my snowman mug. And the bowl of oatmeal was nowhere to be seen.

"Good Morning, Katie. Have a cookie," he said. Just like that. As if we ate Christmas cookies at 3 am every day.

"How-how did you know my name?" I asked; then I felt really silly for asking. Of course he knew my name. He's SANTA.

We sat there, munching and dunking in silence. Really, I couldn't have spoken if I wanted to, I was that surprised. He finished off the last of the milk and sat back, wiggling his toes in his purple socks. Purple socks?

"Well, there's only one thing left to do here now, and that is entirely up to you. You can choose to forget this ever happened or you can choose to remember it for the rest of your life. Makes no nevermind to me. I'll tuck you in your bed and you'll wake up in the morning just as if you'd fallen asleep when Kevin did. Or not."

"NOT!" I yelled, jumping off my chair.

He held one finger to his lips in a silent shhhh! "Well, there's a catch to that one," said he. "If you choose to remember, you must agree to help me when you're big enough for me to count on. When you're a grownup."

"What do you need help with, Santa?" I asked in a small scared voice. The man who flew completely around the world, stopping at every child's house to deliver a gift of some sort; the man who could make reindeer fly; the man who had a whole army of elves at his elbow; was asking ME for help? How could I possibly help him?

"Well, as you know, I have a workshop full of elves that help make the toys and get them ready for delivery. They also help take care of the reindeer, teaching the new ones how to fly, feeding; things like that. During December, it's just too much for them anymore. So I am asking for grownups to help me wrap presents. The elves will drop the presents off during the reindeer exercise time and you could wrap them up and leave them where you found them. They'll be gone in the morning. Just a couple of nights a year is all I'm asking. Or I could just carry you off to bed now…"

"I'll do it," I answered, feeling very much like a grownup already. "Please don't make me forget that you were here."

"You always were a good girl at heart," he ho-hoed at me. "Let's snuggle you down into your bed now." He held my hand in his and we both tiptoed back to my room where he turned down my blankets. To my surprise, they were just as warm as they were when I crawled out of them. I climbed up and grabbed him around the neck to give him a big hug.

To this day, I still remember how his cheeks looked like he'd been standing in a windstorm, but they were as warm and soft as sugar cookies straight off the pan. He smelled a little bit like cinnamon and firewood. His eyes were the softest of blue; like my old favorite Noah's Ark blankie. And his beard was more grey than white. But at least I can remember him.

Now I still get a few little bags of presents every December. I wrap them up in pretty paper, tie on a tag and ribbon or bow and put them back where I found them before I go to bed. They are always gone in the morning.

taking a break. (wow. it's an essay.)

we were stationed in england, and not anywhere cool, either. do you know how small england is?? you can drive from the southern coast to the farthest northern coast in 10 hours, nonstop. unless you get behind a tractor on a fen road, but that is an entirely different kind of rant altogether. we were miserable, poor and lonely, not to mention americans in a country that is supposed to be our ally. due to the constant stream of protests over our presence, we were forbidden (by our chain of command) to do cool stuff like go to london or sightsee. yay. let's drive around and look at sheep. they don't seem to mind.

i was introduced to the fine art of scrapbooking there in the year 2000. i was suffering from ppdepression after my second child. it rained all the time. i walked my daughter to school in the foggy morning darkness at 8:30 am and picked her up in the gloaming at 3:00. no friggin sun. i was amazed when a large package arrived for no apparent reason from my mother-in-law one day. i think it was maybe a wednesday. inside were three scrapbooks. "it's a girl," "it's a boy," and somthing similar to "it's a wedding." in addition, there were stickers, die cuts, colorful sheets of paper, a mini photo trimmer, stencils, markers, scissors....i went on for days. it was like a volkswagon bug at the shriners circus. there was a note inside that said something akin to, "this is all the rage in the states and i was pretty sure you hadn't heard of it out there in the sticks. i know you're artsy-fartsy and my daughter sara loves this so i thought i'd send you this stuff. love mom. (barb)" she always does that. so i don't get her confused with my birth mom, who lives in another state, i guess. anyway, surprised at all the hoopla and bright colors, i set to work like a woman possessed. i had something to do!!!!!

needless to say, now i am an addict. i got super organized in december of 2003 and one of my new years resolutions every year is to keep chugging away until i get caught up. i file everything away in an accordian file for the entire year. in december, i go through it all and put things in chronological order. makes scrapping sooooo easy. i can do a 2-page 12x12 spread in 45 minutes when i have all the stickers, papers, memorabilia, and pics organized.

i am finishing up the book for the year 2001. it has a black leather cover, and for good reason. this has been a particularly difficult year for me, and not not just for the publicly reknowned reasons. 2001 was the year our third child was born (he wasn't bad news, just bad timing), mere weeks before we were scheduled to leave the white cliffs of dover. we went home to thaw out in the great american desert of arizona, only to find that there weren't any jobs available that paid enough to support a family of five. someone, against better judgement, enrolled in truck driving school to pick up some quick cash (yeah, those things always work out). we ended up on welfare for the first time in our lives and found that civilian life wasn't all that it was cracked up to be. kind of like enlisted life. the year continued with tears and grief in september, winding up with a horrid stomach virus while dh was on the road, trucking, that sent my littlest one to the ER and i had NO family support. yay for family. oh, and another positive pregnancy test on new years eve.

i have finished all but the 9/11 section. it has been difficult to finish that part, so i am taking it slowly. as in, i haven't touched the book since the 5-year anniversary. it was a rather large coincidence that i happened on september of 2001 during that particular week. i was freaked out and buried my scrapbook under a lot of bills and magazines until i was ready to face it again. i have been downloading photos of wreckage all morning and decided to take a breather. maybe i can do some more tomorrow. maybe next week. a lot of tears and grief have been spent on this black book of mine and hopefully soon i can close it up and not look at it for a while; but i will look at it again. because i have to. that's why i'm saving it all in the first place.