05/12/2004
The Super Mom tried to get Trainboy to ride his bike. His knees kept hitting the handlebars. What can they do but call for Super Dad, disguised as mild-mannered humble dad.
So I got out a wrench and lowered the seat. Didn’t really work. Got out the allen wrenches and raised the handle-bar head. Didn’t really work either. I just can’t believe he’s outgrown that bike already.
Super Wife and I discussed it, it appears we will take a trip to a local purveyor of fine Chinese goods and see what’s available.
http://publicserf.blogspot.com
Whine at me: publicserf@yahoo.com
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Wednesday, May 12, 2004
Tuesday, May 11, 2004
05/11/04
The Super Wife had to go to the hospital for some additional CEU’s (continuing educational units.) So I walked to Ms. Pikachu’s school to get her myself. On the way home it started to rain. Just before we got home it turned into a downpour. Life could be worse. Life could also be drier.
When we got home I went inside. It seemed the natural thing to do. Ms. Pikachu did not follow. I walked back out on the porch and there she was, under a downspout that sends the water from some of the roof and porch into the driveway. It doesn’t lead all the way to the ground, it just pours it like a waterfall from the roof of the porch onto driveway cement. She was drenched and loving it. I asked her, “Are you happy?” She started singing, “I feel good, duh, nuh nuh nuh nuh nuh nuh, like I knew that I would…” It was funny, yet strange, to have my 12 year-old daughter answer a question with a James Brown riff. She sang about a verse.
Amused, I went inside because the Super Wife had walked to the hospital and I thought that if she wanted a ride home I’d better be by the phone. I could not just drive over there and wait for her; the place has a dozen doors with a parking garage. If somebody offered her a ride I’d miss her. Depending on the door she used I’d miss her. So I waited by the phone like a good Jewish mother. She got home on her bike. Rather beautiful for being all wet, her, not the bike.
I went to the back door to unlock it and put out some more birdseed. She put her bike away herself because she’s self-sufficient that way. While we were talking Ms. Pikachu came around laughing. She said that she had gone back under the downspout and started singing ‘I Feel Good’ again. Some people walking by gave her the weirdest looks. She loved it. It’s probably not going to get any better.
This evening the Super Wife was bushed. It was decided we’d eat at the little Italian place. On the way we dropped off two garbage bags full of toys at the Salvation Army. Two garbage bags full, and you can hardly see the difference. Somewhere along the way Ms. Pikachu got her hands on a little chicken no wider than a quarter. Size doesn’t matter when a manic attack is coming.
As we sat at our table she went nuts with the chicken. “Help me people, I can’t work this chicken alone.” She knocked the chicken over several times. “Aw, the chicken is narcoleptic.” The chicken is finally knocked upside down. Gravely, “Chicken is dead. When their feet point at the sky you know they’re dead.” She turns chicken upright. “Oh, chicken isn’t dead after all! Chicken, did you see a bright light?” Train Boy replied, "I think it saw a train." He was laughing and couldn’t control his root beer.
The kid gets more mileage out of a couple feathers than anyone I know. She’s just nuts, but it makes for an entertaining evening.
http://publicserf.blogspot.com
Whine at me: publicserf@yahoo.com
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The Super Wife had to go to the hospital for some additional CEU’s (continuing educational units.) So I walked to Ms. Pikachu’s school to get her myself. On the way home it started to rain. Just before we got home it turned into a downpour. Life could be worse. Life could also be drier.
When we got home I went inside. It seemed the natural thing to do. Ms. Pikachu did not follow. I walked back out on the porch and there she was, under a downspout that sends the water from some of the roof and porch into the driveway. It doesn’t lead all the way to the ground, it just pours it like a waterfall from the roof of the porch onto driveway cement. She was drenched and loving it. I asked her, “Are you happy?” She started singing, “I feel good, duh, nuh nuh nuh nuh nuh nuh, like I knew that I would…” It was funny, yet strange, to have my 12 year-old daughter answer a question with a James Brown riff. She sang about a verse.
Amused, I went inside because the Super Wife had walked to the hospital and I thought that if she wanted a ride home I’d better be by the phone. I could not just drive over there and wait for her; the place has a dozen doors with a parking garage. If somebody offered her a ride I’d miss her. Depending on the door she used I’d miss her. So I waited by the phone like a good Jewish mother. She got home on her bike. Rather beautiful for being all wet, her, not the bike.
I went to the back door to unlock it and put out some more birdseed. She put her bike away herself because she’s self-sufficient that way. While we were talking Ms. Pikachu came around laughing. She said that she had gone back under the downspout and started singing ‘I Feel Good’ again. Some people walking by gave her the weirdest looks. She loved it. It’s probably not going to get any better.
This evening the Super Wife was bushed. It was decided we’d eat at the little Italian place. On the way we dropped off two garbage bags full of toys at the Salvation Army. Two garbage bags full, and you can hardly see the difference. Somewhere along the way Ms. Pikachu got her hands on a little chicken no wider than a quarter. Size doesn’t matter when a manic attack is coming.
As we sat at our table she went nuts with the chicken. “Help me people, I can’t work this chicken alone.” She knocked the chicken over several times. “Aw, the chicken is narcoleptic.” The chicken is finally knocked upside down. Gravely, “Chicken is dead. When their feet point at the sky you know they’re dead.” She turns chicken upright. “Oh, chicken isn’t dead after all! Chicken, did you see a bright light?” Train Boy replied, "I think it saw a train." He was laughing and couldn’t control his root beer.
The kid gets more mileage out of a couple feathers than anyone I know. She’s just nuts, but it makes for an entertaining evening.
http://publicserf.blogspot.com
Whine at me: publicserf@yahoo.com
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Monday, May 10, 2004
We watched 'Secondhand Lions' with the kids. You get Michael Caine and Robert Duvall as brothers. That's worth watching a viewing right there. Supposedly they're nutty millionaires living in the middle of nowhere Texas, so a lousy mother dumps her son off with them for a few weeks so he can find out where the money is. She tells the brothers they need to show their nephew how to be a man since he doesn't have a father and it will only be for a few weeks. Then she takes off.
Apparently their idea of being a good influence is sitting on their porch with shotguns on their laps and shooting at salesmen. They get a lot of laughs with their shotguns.
And the boy also learns something about what it is to be a man.
It was a good movie. The kids enjoyed it. It wouldn't surprise me if the Super Wife buys it.
http://publicserf.blogspot.com
Whine at me: publicserf@yahoo.com
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Apparently their idea of being a good influence is sitting on their porch with shotguns on their laps and shooting at salesmen. They get a lot of laughs with their shotguns.
And the boy also learns something about what it is to be a man.
It was a good movie. The kids enjoyed it. It wouldn't surprise me if the Super Wife buys it.
http://publicserf.blogspot.com
Whine at me: publicserf@yahoo.com
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05/10/04
We went to Target with the kids. Some things are absolutely predictable. After getting a few items in Health we continued on to get Ms. Pikachu some art supplies. We did not get past Toys. At least some of us didn’t get past Toys.
Train Boy believes he cannot just walk past a toy section. If he doesn’t get something we have failed to understand that he must get at least one thing anytime he goes through a toy section. Super Wife and Ms. Pikachu continued the long journey to art supplies, I stayed with Train Boy, and can that boy shop. First he checked out all the Hot Wheels, then he checked out all the LEGO’S, then it was Thomas the Tank Engine. That’s all I remember, but I know there was more. I do. I know.
After he made his final decision we headed out for the art supplies like we were driving cows to Abilene. Of course, by the time we got there they were gone. There was no alternative, Mr. Favor and Rowdie Yates hitched up our pants and kept driving all the way to Montana by way of Women’s Wear. And there we found them. It wasn’t long that I knew we should have said, “Meet you at the Target Grill Watering Hole.” Ms. Pikachu was going Trail Happy.
DaaAAaad! was her setup, followed with her fashion punch line. “Dad you wouldn’t believe some of the ugly clothes they’ve got here. This blouse is awful and it looks even worse with this ugly skirt. Here, let me hold them up in front of you. See?” “Dad, this blouse is so busy it makes you look lazy.” “Dad, this would be a two piece top with the skirt, so hold up the under piece for me, would you? Thanks” Super Wife did not help when she said, “That looks good on you.”
“Dad, I’m thinking this hot pink top would look really good with your hula skirt.” She was going blonde manic and loving it. It’s funny how a kid can rob you of any sense of dignity, humiliate you in public, and you don’t mind as long as you’re getting laughs out of it too.
http://publicserf.blogspot.com
Whine at me: publicserf@yahoo.com
-
We went to Target with the kids. Some things are absolutely predictable. After getting a few items in Health we continued on to get Ms. Pikachu some art supplies. We did not get past Toys. At least some of us didn’t get past Toys.
Train Boy believes he cannot just walk past a toy section. If he doesn’t get something we have failed to understand that he must get at least one thing anytime he goes through a toy section. Super Wife and Ms. Pikachu continued the long journey to art supplies, I stayed with Train Boy, and can that boy shop. First he checked out all the Hot Wheels, then he checked out all the LEGO’S, then it was Thomas the Tank Engine. That’s all I remember, but I know there was more. I do. I know.
After he made his final decision we headed out for the art supplies like we were driving cows to Abilene. Of course, by the time we got there they were gone. There was no alternative, Mr. Favor and Rowdie Yates hitched up our pants and kept driving all the way to Montana by way of Women’s Wear. And there we found them. It wasn’t long that I knew we should have said, “Meet you at the Target Grill Watering Hole.” Ms. Pikachu was going Trail Happy.
DaaAAaad! was her setup, followed with her fashion punch line. “Dad you wouldn’t believe some of the ugly clothes they’ve got here. This blouse is awful and it looks even worse with this ugly skirt. Here, let me hold them up in front of you. See?” “Dad, this blouse is so busy it makes you look lazy.” “Dad, this would be a two piece top with the skirt, so hold up the under piece for me, would you? Thanks” Super Wife did not help when she said, “That looks good on you.”
“Dad, I’m thinking this hot pink top would look really good with your hula skirt.” She was going blonde manic and loving it. It’s funny how a kid can rob you of any sense of dignity, humiliate you in public, and you don’t mind as long as you’re getting laughs out of it too.
http://publicserf.blogspot.com
Whine at me: publicserf@yahoo.com
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Wednesday, May 05, 2004
05/05/04
As scheduled we went to the U of Ia for a neurosurgeon consult. On the way the Super Nurse remarked that surgeons always want to do surgery, so don’t be surprised if he recommends surgery instead of the gamma knife.
We talked to a Nurse Practitioner first. She outlined all three possibilities- gamma knife, radio therapy, conventional surgery. Then the neurosurgeon came in. Like the fellows at Mayo he said they don’t like to repeat conventional surgery due to the scar tissue. Then he said the gamma knife probably wouldn’t work because the tumor has moved the nerve and it would be hard to impossible to pinpoint. So he recommended radio therapy.
I don’t know how that procedure gets its name but would mean inserting a needle through my cheekbone where the nerve comes out, and fishing around till he finds where it comes out of the brain. Once that is done he would go in with another needle and burn the nerve somehow. From what I’ve read, the procedure is agony under normal conditions. Normal being the nerve is where it normally is. Mine isn’t there. Considering the prospect of a lot of fishing to find it, and a lot of pain. I balked. And the Super Wife was right.
So the next step is to have a consult with the radiologist to see if he thinks he can find it on an MRI and if the gamma knife is an option or not.
Then it was home and then to the Awana awards banquet for the kids. We got there early, who’da thunk? I was groggy from the meds, so, ignoring etiquette, I rested my head on the table. Ms. Pikachu amused herself by putting her CD player’s headphones on me. She was amused because she was playing a ‘Grassroots’ CD she’d burned, and while it played I’d pump my foot and I’d rock to it even though I was tired. I like the ‘Grassroots’ and she does too. It's impossible to stay still while 'Temptation Eyes' or 'Sooner or Later' is playing. Maybe that's just me.
I was among the first at our long table to get my food, and by far the last to finish. There were no knives so the only way to eat the sloppy joe was to compress it so I wouldn’t have to open my mouth very wide, and could take small bites. I’m not complaining, I’m long used to it. There was also a fine selection of jello’s and cakes.
When we were in the food line Train Boy was wrestling around with Ms. Pikachu’s friend, Erin. She was a good head taller than him, and it wasn’t much of a contest. But they needed to burn some energy so I let it go on. Train Boy was clearly heard to say, “But I’m too cute to die.” Girls have been talking, and he’s been listening.
Then it was home, more medication and I fell asleep on the couch. Woke up, and here you go.
http://publicserf.blogspot.com
Whine at me: publicserf@yahoo.com
-
As scheduled we went to the U of Ia for a neurosurgeon consult. On the way the Super Nurse remarked that surgeons always want to do surgery, so don’t be surprised if he recommends surgery instead of the gamma knife.
We talked to a Nurse Practitioner first. She outlined all three possibilities- gamma knife, radio therapy, conventional surgery. Then the neurosurgeon came in. Like the fellows at Mayo he said they don’t like to repeat conventional surgery due to the scar tissue. Then he said the gamma knife probably wouldn’t work because the tumor has moved the nerve and it would be hard to impossible to pinpoint. So he recommended radio therapy.
I don’t know how that procedure gets its name but would mean inserting a needle through my cheekbone where the nerve comes out, and fishing around till he finds where it comes out of the brain. Once that is done he would go in with another needle and burn the nerve somehow. From what I’ve read, the procedure is agony under normal conditions. Normal being the nerve is where it normally is. Mine isn’t there. Considering the prospect of a lot of fishing to find it, and a lot of pain. I balked. And the Super Wife was right.
So the next step is to have a consult with the radiologist to see if he thinks he can find it on an MRI and if the gamma knife is an option or not.
Then it was home and then to the Awana awards banquet for the kids. We got there early, who’da thunk? I was groggy from the meds, so, ignoring etiquette, I rested my head on the table. Ms. Pikachu amused herself by putting her CD player’s headphones on me. She was amused because she was playing a ‘Grassroots’ CD she’d burned, and while it played I’d pump my foot and I’d rock to it even though I was tired. I like the ‘Grassroots’ and she does too. It's impossible to stay still while 'Temptation Eyes' or 'Sooner or Later' is playing. Maybe that's just me.
I was among the first at our long table to get my food, and by far the last to finish. There were no knives so the only way to eat the sloppy joe was to compress it so I wouldn’t have to open my mouth very wide, and could take small bites. I’m not complaining, I’m long used to it. There was also a fine selection of jello’s and cakes.
When we were in the food line Train Boy was wrestling around with Ms. Pikachu’s friend, Erin. She was a good head taller than him, and it wasn’t much of a contest. But they needed to burn some energy so I let it go on. Train Boy was clearly heard to say, “But I’m too cute to die.” Girls have been talking, and he’s been listening.
Then it was home, more medication and I fell asleep on the couch. Woke up, and here you go.
http://publicserf.blogspot.com
Whine at me: publicserf@yahoo.com
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Tuesday, May 04, 2004
05/04/04
The Holy Wife always has a radio on, and it’s always tuned to a Christian station. Every morning they run contests. Sometimes it’s a test of Bible knowledge, and sometimes you just have to be the right caller. The Holy Wife loves playing these games. She has won more than a few CD’s. This morning the winner was the third caller. The third caller was the Holy Wife.
I found out when she came running upstairs and, smiling from ear to ear, told me she’d won. That’s nice, what’d you win, a CD? No. Concert tickets? No. I give up. Tickets to the -Sonshine Christian Rock Festival in Wilmar, Minnesota! That’s nice. Yeah it’s four days long and we can go camping! Oh my God.
This is not a little Christian Festival, it’s 20, 000 people. That was not a typo. But camping? I’ve never gone camping in my life. Starting with three nights at a rock festival seems like a steep learning curve. Maybe we could stay at a hotel? “Oh, no, camping would be free, and the kids have always wanted to go camping.” Right there I knew my only way out of this was major illness or death. The Holy Wife/Thrifty Wife/Super Mom had made up her mind.
One more time, I have never gone camping in my life. I have never used a portable toilet. They look nasty so I’ve always avoided them. My bladder and bowels can get me through a day, but I don’t think I can wait three days.
On the other hand, it’s three days of funnel cakes and corn dogs, so there is an up side. Yes, I AM kidding. Sometimes I think God has a warped sense of humor though.
Later in the day the Super Wife mowed the front yard; I mowed the back. I didn’t even injure myself. I had on some grungy blue jeans to also paint a piece of trim on the house’s second floor. I climbed the ladder a bit apprehensively because I don’t like heights in the first place, and my medication can make me very dizzy too. When she saw me up there she insisted I get down since I could get dizzy and fall. It made perfectly good sense, so I got down and she climbed up. I was grateful she was willing to do it, but also a little unhappy for failing the masculinity thing. To compensate I held the ladder, kept an eye on her, and never has a ladder been held in more manly fashion.
After the kids got home and everybody ate we rode bikes to the library. That’s a good thing to do as a fitness ‘thing’ so I have no complaints. Except we were riding into the sun the whole way and it was so blinding I could have been run over before I knew what happened, and it was really too cool, we should have been wearing jackets, we could have caught our deaths.
What always floors me on bike rides is that I change gears all the time. If we’re going up hill I’ll downshift till the pedaling is easy, I have no shame about trying to save my lousy knees. The Super Wife has never changed gears. Never. She does everything in 7th gear. This may explain why she has better legs than I do. That, and she’s the one who carries Train Boy. Do not hoot. Do not howl. It’s not that I’m unwilling.
His carrier is one of those seats that is above the rear wheel. It won’t fit on my bike, which has a wide frame that won’t accept it. Even if it did it wouldn’t matter. The Super Mom often biked with the kids before I would get home from work. She needed the carrier regardless. Never shifts with a six year-old on the back- Burly Mom.
Whine at me: publicserf@yahoo.com
The Holy Wife always has a radio on, and it’s always tuned to a Christian station. Every morning they run contests. Sometimes it’s a test of Bible knowledge, and sometimes you just have to be the right caller. The Holy Wife loves playing these games. She has won more than a few CD’s. This morning the winner was the third caller. The third caller was the Holy Wife.
I found out when she came running upstairs and, smiling from ear to ear, told me she’d won. That’s nice, what’d you win, a CD? No. Concert tickets? No. I give up. Tickets to the -Sonshine Christian Rock Festival in Wilmar, Minnesota! That’s nice. Yeah it’s four days long and we can go camping! Oh my God.
This is not a little Christian Festival, it’s 20, 000 people. That was not a typo. But camping? I’ve never gone camping in my life. Starting with three nights at a rock festival seems like a steep learning curve. Maybe we could stay at a hotel? “Oh, no, camping would be free, and the kids have always wanted to go camping.” Right there I knew my only way out of this was major illness or death. The Holy Wife/Thrifty Wife/Super Mom had made up her mind.
One more time, I have never gone camping in my life. I have never used a portable toilet. They look nasty so I’ve always avoided them. My bladder and bowels can get me through a day, but I don’t think I can wait three days.
On the other hand, it’s three days of funnel cakes and corn dogs, so there is an up side. Yes, I AM kidding. Sometimes I think God has a warped sense of humor though.
Later in the day the Super Wife mowed the front yard; I mowed the back. I didn’t even injure myself. I had on some grungy blue jeans to also paint a piece of trim on the house’s second floor. I climbed the ladder a bit apprehensively because I don’t like heights in the first place, and my medication can make me very dizzy too. When she saw me up there she insisted I get down since I could get dizzy and fall. It made perfectly good sense, so I got down and she climbed up. I was grateful she was willing to do it, but also a little unhappy for failing the masculinity thing. To compensate I held the ladder, kept an eye on her, and never has a ladder been held in more manly fashion.
After the kids got home and everybody ate we rode bikes to the library. That’s a good thing to do as a fitness ‘thing’ so I have no complaints. Except we were riding into the sun the whole way and it was so blinding I could have been run over before I knew what happened, and it was really too cool, we should have been wearing jackets, we could have caught our deaths.
What always floors me on bike rides is that I change gears all the time. If we’re going up hill I’ll downshift till the pedaling is easy, I have no shame about trying to save my lousy knees. The Super Wife has never changed gears. Never. She does everything in 7th gear. This may explain why she has better legs than I do. That, and she’s the one who carries Train Boy. Do not hoot. Do not howl. It’s not that I’m unwilling.
His carrier is one of those seats that is above the rear wheel. It won’t fit on my bike, which has a wide frame that won’t accept it. Even if it did it wouldn’t matter. The Super Mom often biked with the kids before I would get home from work. She needed the carrier regardless. Never shifts with a six year-old on the back- Burly Mom.
Whine at me: publicserf@yahoo.com
Monday, May 03, 2004
05/03/04
Slept in late. No, I don?t feel guilty.
Tried to have a bowl of Wheaties with bananas for lunch. Yes, I got up REALLY late. Unfortunately I could not eat the Wheaties. The crunching would start facial pain. Sure, I could let them sit there till they were soggy and eat them, but I don?t want soggy Wheaties, I?ve got my limits. The wife took them away and brought me tomato soup and a straw. You haven?t lived till you?ve done that. Whoopee.
It wasn?t long before we walked to Ms. Pikachu?s school to walk her home. A friend of her?s, Erin, walked along. While I got in some needed nap time on the couch the three of them made banana bread. The Super Wife believes all kids need to know how to make banana bread so they have a way of using old bananas. It?s her belief, and since the kids didn?t argue about it, okay.
Then it was another hour and I met Train Boy?s bus and walked him up to the porch. Train Boy reminded the Super Mom that they?d agreed this was a ?No TV? day. Super Mom had forgotten. Super Mom would have watched TV, in flagrant violation of the rule, except the cable was out. She?d called the cable company and they basically said, ?yeah, we know, we?re working on it.? So there had not been, nor would there be, any TV watching and the contract would be honored by all parties.
While the banana bread baked in the oven, Ms. Pikachu brought her Nintendo downstairs and plugged it into the living room TV. You?d think she would have been content to quietly play it in her own room, but no, she?s playing it in the living room where it can?t be missed. ?Hey, no TV.? ?I?m not watching TV, I?m playing a video game.? She could have a fine future as a lawyer.
While she played, Train Boy and Super Mom made bread in the bread machine. Nobody in our house is on the Atkins diet.
When the bread machine was properly set we went to see the local zoo, such as it were. It?s a small zoo- basically a petting zoo of farm animals except you?re not allowed to pet or feed them. They used to have a monkey house, and they spent $50,000 to improve it. Then they closed it. Do not ask me why. All I can say is they probably weren?t spending their own money. The next thing I?d say is, ?Are you sure you want bigger government??
We walked a little farther down to look at the ducks, which you also are not allowed to feed. Then the wife and kids decided to head up a rough looking trail. No way was I going to risk aggravating the face with a lot of jarring. So I headed back to the van. As I walked past the dirt prairie dog lot I couldn?t help but notice it was the one animal area that didn?t have a ?DO NOT FEED THE ANIMALS? sign. Damn me for legalistic tendencies, but I ripped up some dandelions, balled them up so they could carry over the screen, looked around to be sure there were no witnesses, and tossed them in.
They were excited. You almost hear them chattering, ?Oh yeah, not just looking, not just smelling it, we?ve got some greens!? They seemed happy anyway. Watching the prairie dogs eat the greens I couldn?t help notice how similar they are to the guinea pigs.
Then I walked the rest of the way to the van, put the seat back, and got some sorely needed rest. I?m kidding about it being sorely needed, but the pills do make me tired.
When we got home we had fresh-baked bread and?. soup. At least it was vegetable and there was no way to eat it with a straw.
Gotta close, the head is getting dizzy.
http://publicserf.blogspot.com
Whine at me: publicserf@yahoo.com
-
Slept in late. No, I don?t feel guilty.
Tried to have a bowl of Wheaties with bananas for lunch. Yes, I got up REALLY late. Unfortunately I could not eat the Wheaties. The crunching would start facial pain. Sure, I could let them sit there till they were soggy and eat them, but I don?t want soggy Wheaties, I?ve got my limits. The wife took them away and brought me tomato soup and a straw. You haven?t lived till you?ve done that. Whoopee.
It wasn?t long before we walked to Ms. Pikachu?s school to walk her home. A friend of her?s, Erin, walked along. While I got in some needed nap time on the couch the three of them made banana bread. The Super Wife believes all kids need to know how to make banana bread so they have a way of using old bananas. It?s her belief, and since the kids didn?t argue about it, okay.
Then it was another hour and I met Train Boy?s bus and walked him up to the porch. Train Boy reminded the Super Mom that they?d agreed this was a ?No TV? day. Super Mom had forgotten. Super Mom would have watched TV, in flagrant violation of the rule, except the cable was out. She?d called the cable company and they basically said, ?yeah, we know, we?re working on it.? So there had not been, nor would there be, any TV watching and the contract would be honored by all parties.
While the banana bread baked in the oven, Ms. Pikachu brought her Nintendo downstairs and plugged it into the living room TV. You?d think she would have been content to quietly play it in her own room, but no, she?s playing it in the living room where it can?t be missed. ?Hey, no TV.? ?I?m not watching TV, I?m playing a video game.? She could have a fine future as a lawyer.
While she played, Train Boy and Super Mom made bread in the bread machine. Nobody in our house is on the Atkins diet.
When the bread machine was properly set we went to see the local zoo, such as it were. It?s a small zoo- basically a petting zoo of farm animals except you?re not allowed to pet or feed them. They used to have a monkey house, and they spent $50,000 to improve it. Then they closed it. Do not ask me why. All I can say is they probably weren?t spending their own money. The next thing I?d say is, ?Are you sure you want bigger government??
We walked a little farther down to look at the ducks, which you also are not allowed to feed. Then the wife and kids decided to head up a rough looking trail. No way was I going to risk aggravating the face with a lot of jarring. So I headed back to the van. As I walked past the dirt prairie dog lot I couldn?t help but notice it was the one animal area that didn?t have a ?DO NOT FEED THE ANIMALS? sign. Damn me for legalistic tendencies, but I ripped up some dandelions, balled them up so they could carry over the screen, looked around to be sure there were no witnesses, and tossed them in.
They were excited. You almost hear them chattering, ?Oh yeah, not just looking, not just smelling it, we?ve got some greens!? They seemed happy anyway. Watching the prairie dogs eat the greens I couldn?t help notice how similar they are to the guinea pigs.
Then I walked the rest of the way to the van, put the seat back, and got some sorely needed rest. I?m kidding about it being sorely needed, but the pills do make me tired.
When we got home we had fresh-baked bread and?. soup. At least it was vegetable and there was no way to eat it with a straw.
Gotta close, the head is getting dizzy.
http://publicserf.blogspot.com
Whine at me: publicserf@yahoo.com
-
Sunday, May 02, 2004
05/02/04
Being Sunday there was church, of course. To amuse her parents, during the service Ms. Pikachu draws pictures of Pokemon on the church bulletin. It is with no parental prejudice when I say she’s really good. No doubt about it, she’s artistically gifted.
Lunch was Hy-Vee again. Ms. Pikachu laughed as she named the things she was sure I’d have. Just to do something different I did not have the meatloaf, I had the ham balls. Sometimes you want to a little excitement in your life. Sometimes you just want to be different and devil-may-care. Let me assure you, if you want “different” and “exciting” ham balls are not the way to go about it. The next time we eat there I will be having the comfortable meatloaf.
You may be wondering, "Did she get a Palm Pilot, or not?" Ms. Pikachu remembered I'd bought her a similar device about a year ago- a V-Tech Phusion. So she got it out of wherever it was she'd stored it, and it works just fine. Not only can she store memos, do scheduling, and calendar entries, but it also has a half-dozen games and a camera for BW pictures on the top.
She was so excited about it, it was like it was new. I'd just bought it too early. We spent lunch playing trivia games, and she and Train Boy took pictures, some of them in 'movie mode.' In movie mode it takes a picture about every three seconds. The pictures are crude, but the kids love them.
Everybody else had their usual Chinese. Train Boy ate a fortune cookie without removing the fortune. He asked the Super Mom if he'd just poop it out. She told him that yes, he could, but if he does the fortune wouldn't come true. Gotta love her.
The rest of the day was fairly wasted. It was doing laundry, and when not folding clothes I watched the History Channel. I should have spent time with the kids. They’re growing so fast and the minutes I can have with them are vanishing as inexorably as a clock’s tick.
The kids were so funny at Hy-Vee it was just screams, but in not getting it down right away I’ve quite forgotten how the conversations went. Normally that wouldn’t be a problem, it may be a side-effect of taking increased levels of nervous depressants. It's just lost. Argh.
http://publicserf.blogspot.com
Whine at me: publicserf@yahoo.com
-
Being Sunday there was church, of course. To amuse her parents, during the service Ms. Pikachu draws pictures of Pokemon on the church bulletin. It is with no parental prejudice when I say she’s really good. No doubt about it, she’s artistically gifted.
Lunch was Hy-Vee again. Ms. Pikachu laughed as she named the things she was sure I’d have. Just to do something different I did not have the meatloaf, I had the ham balls. Sometimes you want to a little excitement in your life. Sometimes you just want to be different and devil-may-care. Let me assure you, if you want “different” and “exciting” ham balls are not the way to go about it. The next time we eat there I will be having the comfortable meatloaf.
You may be wondering, "Did she get a Palm Pilot, or not?" Ms. Pikachu remembered I'd bought her a similar device about a year ago- a V-Tech Phusion. So she got it out of wherever it was she'd stored it, and it works just fine. Not only can she store memos, do scheduling, and calendar entries, but it also has a half-dozen games and a camera for BW pictures on the top.
She was so excited about it, it was like it was new. I'd just bought it too early. We spent lunch playing trivia games, and she and Train Boy took pictures, some of them in 'movie mode.' In movie mode it takes a picture about every three seconds. The pictures are crude, but the kids love them.
Everybody else had their usual Chinese. Train Boy ate a fortune cookie without removing the fortune. He asked the Super Mom if he'd just poop it out. She told him that yes, he could, but if he does the fortune wouldn't come true. Gotta love her.
The rest of the day was fairly wasted. It was doing laundry, and when not folding clothes I watched the History Channel. I should have spent time with the kids. They’re growing so fast and the minutes I can have with them are vanishing as inexorably as a clock’s tick.
The kids were so funny at Hy-Vee it was just screams, but in not getting it down right away I’ve quite forgotten how the conversations went. Normally that wouldn’t be a problem, it may be a side-effect of taking increased levels of nervous depressants. It's just lost. Argh.
http://publicserf.blogspot.com
Whine at me: publicserf@yahoo.com
-
Saturday, May 01, 2004
05/01/04
My brother called and asked if I could pick up two auto parts for him from a junkyard here that had them. No problem. I wrote down his description of the parts and brought it along. Sure enough, the face hurt when it was my turn to talk to the parts man. I showed him what I’d written down and he said, “No problem, have a seat over there.” At times like that, when I can hardly talk, I really feel pathetic. With the depressants going I just want to sit there and cry. But I didn’t.
Then it was home. Picked up the kids, and away we went. When we got there he said he wanted to get his internet connection working on his new computer. He couldn’t find the installation disc for it. Crap. What to do, what to do? Well, I could try to copy the information over file by file in the ‘Internet Options’ folder. It seemed kind of risky, but kind of fun too.
If anyone ever offers to try that for you, you slap them and send them out the door. After this tech adventure his computer wouldn’t run for more than a few minutes before it would generate ‘System Shutting Down in 60 Seconds.’ It was a Hewlett-Packard, and, unlike my Compaq it doesn’t have a disc that will restore the system. It doesn’t even have a Windows disc. You’re supposed to restore it to its last saved Restore point. The only Restore Point it had was after I’d started monkeying with it.
Eventually I had to give up because I had to get the kids home so they’d get enough sleep before Sunday School. Oh well, there’s always next Saturday.
http://publicserf.blogspot.com
Whine at me: publicserf@yahoo.com
-
My brother called and asked if I could pick up two auto parts for him from a junkyard here that had them. No problem. I wrote down his description of the parts and brought it along. Sure enough, the face hurt when it was my turn to talk to the parts man. I showed him what I’d written down and he said, “No problem, have a seat over there.” At times like that, when I can hardly talk, I really feel pathetic. With the depressants going I just want to sit there and cry. But I didn’t.
Then it was home. Picked up the kids, and away we went. When we got there he said he wanted to get his internet connection working on his new computer. He couldn’t find the installation disc for it. Crap. What to do, what to do? Well, I could try to copy the information over file by file in the ‘Internet Options’ folder. It seemed kind of risky, but kind of fun too.
If anyone ever offers to try that for you, you slap them and send them out the door. After this tech adventure his computer wouldn’t run for more than a few minutes before it would generate ‘System Shutting Down in 60 Seconds.’ It was a Hewlett-Packard, and, unlike my Compaq it doesn’t have a disc that will restore the system. It doesn’t even have a Windows disc. You’re supposed to restore it to its last saved Restore point. The only Restore Point it had was after I’d started monkeying with it.
Eventually I had to give up because I had to get the kids home so they’d get enough sleep before Sunday School. Oh well, there’s always next Saturday.
http://publicserf.blogspot.com
Whine at me: publicserf@yahoo.com
-
Friday, April 30, 2004
The Super Wife and I picked up a few things at Hy Vee. When I got a drink at the deli section one of the guys said, “Oh, there’s one of our regulars.” I was surprised. I could understand them remembering the Super Wife because she’s gorgeous. I could understand them remembering the kids because they’re a circus, but me? There’s nothing memorable about me, except the company I keep.
Speaking of circuses, while we were out we picked up some tickets for the Greatest Show On Earth that’s coming to town. We didn’t go to a Ticketmaster outlet; we went to the Box Office so we could choose our seats. It’s not like us to be early, but there we were, buying tickets a month ahead of the event.
There was window open and nobody in line. The ticket clerk was so bored she could have worked a window at the Post Office. She was as helpful as her reduced state of consciousness would allow. Cheap seats, or expensive seats, take your pick. Down there, or up here. If I’d been alone I’d have bought the expensive seats in a second. You only get to see the circus once a year so you may as well enjoy it. But there was a catch. The Thrifty Wife, She Who Does Not Like To Spend Money, accompanied me.
The clerk asked which seats we wanted. Well I knew what I wanted, but was fairly sure it wasn’t what the Thrifty Wife wanted. I hemmed, I hawed. The clerk pushed and prodded. She wanted us to make a decision so we could complete the transaction and she could resume her meditative state.
After twenty years of marriage the Super Wife probably knows when I’m just too much of a weenie to venture my own opinion. Finally the Thrifty Wife said she thought we should get the expensive seats. There was instant agreement from me. If you’re willing to spend the money early do you know where that will get you? I’ll tell you- first row, center.
The kids are going to have fun; at least they’d better. I’m going to have fun,
unless the doctors schedule me for something on that day. If so, I’ll have to refuse them. It isn’t every day you get to take the kids to a circus and go nose to nose with the clowns and exotic livestock. We’ll be able to smell the elephants, not that I want to. Actually, I don’t even want to smell the clowns. Maybe we should have gone with the cheap seats.
Speaking of circuses, while we were out we picked up some tickets for the Greatest Show On Earth that’s coming to town. We didn’t go to a Ticketmaster outlet; we went to the Box Office so we could choose our seats. It’s not like us to be early, but there we were, buying tickets a month ahead of the event.
There was window open and nobody in line. The ticket clerk was so bored she could have worked a window at the Post Office. She was as helpful as her reduced state of consciousness would allow. Cheap seats, or expensive seats, take your pick. Down there, or up here. If I’d been alone I’d have bought the expensive seats in a second. You only get to see the circus once a year so you may as well enjoy it. But there was a catch. The Thrifty Wife, She Who Does Not Like To Spend Money, accompanied me.
The clerk asked which seats we wanted. Well I knew what I wanted, but was fairly sure it wasn’t what the Thrifty Wife wanted. I hemmed, I hawed. The clerk pushed and prodded. She wanted us to make a decision so we could complete the transaction and she could resume her meditative state.
After twenty years of marriage the Super Wife probably knows when I’m just too much of a weenie to venture my own opinion. Finally the Thrifty Wife said she thought we should get the expensive seats. There was instant agreement from me. If you’re willing to spend the money early do you know where that will get you? I’ll tell you- first row, center.
The kids are going to have fun; at least they’d better. I’m going to have fun,
unless the doctors schedule me for something on that day. If so, I’ll have to refuse them. It isn’t every day you get to take the kids to a circus and go nose to nose with the clowns and exotic livestock. We’ll be able to smell the elephants, not that I want to. Actually, I don’t even want to smell the clowns. Maybe we should have gone with the cheap seats.
Thursday, April 29, 2004
04/29/04
The Super Wife called U of Ia again and asked when I could be scheduled to see them. Once again she was told that they didn’t have everything they needed, yadda, yadda, yadda. She asked them why Mayo would have seen me by now, but I couldn’t even get scheduled at Iowa City. Why there were NEW policies and regulations requiring them to get even more documentation before they could schedule me. Then they’d have to consult their calendar.
So much BS. Iowa City is a university/government hospital. You can’t fool me, whoever was in charge of getting me in didn’t want to deal with me. She was hoping I’d either give up and go to Mayo, or die. It was gummint service at its worst. Considering the quality of care I’m seeing I’d gladly go to Mayo, but we’re still in the school year and the Super Mom doesn’t want to remove the kids from school.
So the Super Wife called my neurologist and told them I couldn’t get an appointment down there, and does the good doctor have any kind of pull that could get me booked down there? Well, she’d see. A half-hour later the U of Ia called and said I was booked for next Wednesday. He must have some pull. As for me, I’m keeping my fingers crossed.
Later in the Evening
The Thrifty Wife had gotten free tickets to see a guy who does illusions/magic with an ecology theme, -SteveTrash. Oh boy. Here’s a trick for you, free us from our dependency on middle-eastern oil, huh, huh? My attitude did not matter as much as the fact the tickets were free, and so we went.
This will shock you as much as it shocked me- we got there early. On the one hand that’s a good thing, on the other hand it’s not. On the one hand we got decent seats, on the other hand since we were just sitting there waiting my medication put me right to sleep. It was a one-hour show and I woke up just in time to catch his last illusion.
You might wonder why the Holy Wife didn’t wake me up. Was it compassion, and she was just letting me sleep? I don’t think so. I think it had more to do with the Trashman having two assistants who wore mini-skirts and go-go boots. That’s just a theory, I’m not about to ask her.
http://publicserf.blogspot.com
Whine at me: publicserf@yahoo.com
The Super Wife called U of Ia again and asked when I could be scheduled to see them. Once again she was told that they didn’t have everything they needed, yadda, yadda, yadda. She asked them why Mayo would have seen me by now, but I couldn’t even get scheduled at Iowa City. Why there were NEW policies and regulations requiring them to get even more documentation before they could schedule me. Then they’d have to consult their calendar.
So much BS. Iowa City is a university/government hospital. You can’t fool me, whoever was in charge of getting me in didn’t want to deal with me. She was hoping I’d either give up and go to Mayo, or die. It was gummint service at its worst. Considering the quality of care I’m seeing I’d gladly go to Mayo, but we’re still in the school year and the Super Mom doesn’t want to remove the kids from school.
So the Super Wife called my neurologist and told them I couldn’t get an appointment down there, and does the good doctor have any kind of pull that could get me booked down there? Well, she’d see. A half-hour later the U of Ia called and said I was booked for next Wednesday. He must have some pull. As for me, I’m keeping my fingers crossed.
Later in the Evening
The Thrifty Wife had gotten free tickets to see a guy who does illusions/magic with an ecology theme, -SteveTrash. Oh boy. Here’s a trick for you, free us from our dependency on middle-eastern oil, huh, huh? My attitude did not matter as much as the fact the tickets were free, and so we went.
This will shock you as much as it shocked me- we got there early. On the one hand that’s a good thing, on the other hand it’s not. On the one hand we got decent seats, on the other hand since we were just sitting there waiting my medication put me right to sleep. It was a one-hour show and I woke up just in time to catch his last illusion.
You might wonder why the Holy Wife didn’t wake me up. Was it compassion, and she was just letting me sleep? I don’t think so. I think it had more to do with the Trashman having two assistants who wore mini-skirts and go-go boots. That’s just a theory, I’m not about to ask her.
http://publicserf.blogspot.com
Whine at me: publicserf@yahoo.com
Wednesday, April 28, 2004
04/28/04
Train Boy learned his last four verses for Awanas. He was one of a very few that completed his book this year. The Holy Wife worked with him every week to make sure he learned some verses. He often grumbled and complained, but he did them.
When they got home the Holy Wife was more excited than he was. She showed me the badge he'd earned. She also told me that he'd earned more shares to spend at the store. They had a Store Night too, so he bought himself a Bionicle with some of his shares. Another boy in his group wanted one, but didn't have enough shares. Train Boy gave him ten shares so he could get a Bionicle too. He's a sweet boy.
I had bought a 1:18 scale Super Cobra helicopter when they had one, and only one, at Wal-Mart. It's been kept downstairs until he had a suitable event. Since he'd had a big night I gave it to him. Assembled it was almost three feet from front rotor tip to rear rotor tip. It's big. He was happy with it.
Ms. Pikachu has earned a Christopher Award and it's bigger than an Academy Award. Her report card came in the mail and it was all A's and A minuses. She's on a roll, and being a smart child she knows this is the time to ask for something. So she asked for a Palm Pilot, but if she can't have a Palm Pilot she'll settle for her own cell phone. She knows how to negotiate. In a few years she'll probably start asking for protection money instead of an allowance.
But it all just goes to show that behind every successful kid is a mother saying, "Are you done with your homework yet." Because it isn't me, I assure you of that. I just watch 'Ed, Edd and Eddie' with them, and shoot an occasional rocket.
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Whine at me: publicserf@yahoo.com
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Train Boy learned his last four verses for Awanas. He was one of a very few that completed his book this year. The Holy Wife worked with him every week to make sure he learned some verses. He often grumbled and complained, but he did them.
When they got home the Holy Wife was more excited than he was. She showed me the badge he'd earned. She also told me that he'd earned more shares to spend at the store. They had a Store Night too, so he bought himself a Bionicle with some of his shares. Another boy in his group wanted one, but didn't have enough shares. Train Boy gave him ten shares so he could get a Bionicle too. He's a sweet boy.
I had bought a 1:18 scale Super Cobra helicopter when they had one, and only one, at Wal-Mart. It's been kept downstairs until he had a suitable event. Since he'd had a big night I gave it to him. Assembled it was almost three feet from front rotor tip to rear rotor tip. It's big. He was happy with it.
Ms. Pikachu has earned a Christopher Award and it's bigger than an Academy Award. Her report card came in the mail and it was all A's and A minuses. She's on a roll, and being a smart child she knows this is the time to ask for something. So she asked for a Palm Pilot, but if she can't have a Palm Pilot she'll settle for her own cell phone. She knows how to negotiate. In a few years she'll probably start asking for protection money instead of an allowance.
But it all just goes to show that behind every successful kid is a mother saying, "Are you done with your homework yet." Because it isn't me, I assure you of that. I just watch 'Ed, Edd and Eddie' with them, and shoot an occasional rocket.
http://publicserf.blogspot.com
Whine at me: publicserf@yahoo.com
-
Tuesday, April 27, 2004
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4/27/04
I can't remember anything worth writing about that happened today. So I'm just going to post a Super Nurse story.
Whenever the Super Nurse cares for a veteran she thanks them for their service.
This past weekend she was taking care of a fellow and when she looked at his chart she figured he was old enough to be a Korean Vet. So she asked him if he served during Korea. He said, why yes he did. She said, "Thank you for serving." He told her that, "While I served 'during Korea' I was stationed in Paris, France. Thank you for sending me."
As Gomer Pyle would say, "Surprise, surprise, surprise."
Whine at me: publicserf@yahoo.com
4/27/04
I can't remember anything worth writing about that happened today. So I'm just going to post a Super Nurse story.
Whenever the Super Nurse cares for a veteran she thanks them for their service.
This past weekend she was taking care of a fellow and when she looked at his chart she figured he was old enough to be a Korean Vet. So she asked him if he served during Korea. He said, why yes he did. She said, "Thank you for serving." He told her that, "While I served 'during Korea' I was stationed in Paris, France. Thank you for sending me."
As Gomer Pyle would say, "Surprise, surprise, surprise."
Monday, April 26, 2004
4/26/04
No word yet from the hospital. Face still hurts too much to go to work so I had to stay home. I'm coping the best I can.
The Super Wife informed me that Train Boy had a school walk early in the afternoon. I could continue being a useless bag of water, or I could join them. Being an astute fellow I picked up on the clues real fast and decided to join them.
His teacher lives about a half-mile from the school and the walk was to her place. The survivors got the bonus of also walking back.
On the way the teacher told the kids they could pick a dandelion. All the kids were happy to do so, and quickly did it, except Train Boy. He surveyed the land in front of him with a critical eye. He looked and looked, and he had a hard time picking one. None of the dandelions seemed to meet his standards. Eventually he picked a violet and gave it to his Mom. This is a boy with his own ideas.
Every kid had a walking partner and held hands with their partner. We were at the back of the line. Train Boy held his Mom's hand. I was Tail-End Charlie and responsible for stragglers. The Super Wife handed me the violet so I was also Keeper of the Violet. It was one thing after another; I might as well have gone in to work.
When we crossed the road I stood in the middle of it. I was by far the tallest person there so I made the best crossing guard. Nobody got hurt, so I didn't have to hurt any drivers. Everybody was happy.
At the teacher's house she had a small pond, a chicken coop, and a rabbit hutch. The kids were excited. For reasons I'll never know the teacher opened the door to the chicken coop. Seeing the opportunity for freedom one of the chickens bolted. It ran right by me. A rather bold move for a chicken.
It probably had one of those uncanny animal senses that seems so spooky to those of us who don't watch 'The Other Side.' It knew I did not eat poultry. It knew I was not a threat. It clucked by me like I wasn't even there, buck-buck-buck.
Unfortunately for the chicken, its expectations of freedom were easily met. As soon as it got by me it hid behind a bush. Or maybe it was just stupid. Nobody ever refers to a chicken as an example of sparkling intelligence. Nobody ever says, "Now what would a chicken do?"
I was the last in line. I was the closest to the chicken. It was time to show I was not totally useless. I stepped around to the far side of the bush and shook it. Terrified, the chicken ran back to the safety of its coop. There's probably a moral in there, but I don't care. Now I'm a Keeper of the Flower, Crossing Guard, Bush Shaker, and a Chicken Wrangler too. More under 'Other Duties As Assigned.' At least I now know I can outsmart a chicken. Hooray for me.
Then she got a bunny out for the kids to pet. God, will it never end? She asked me if I wanted to pet it too. I didn't want to as it obviously cringed in fear. Using one of its spooky animal senses it probably knew I'd once bought the Super Wife a rabbit coat. Yes, I saw fear in its eye, and I didn't want it to flee, resulting in more chasing and bush shaking. I declined.
On the way back to the school I once again stood in the middle of the street, offering myself as the first target of opportunity for any hung-over employees working the afternoon shift. I handed the violet back to the Super Wife and cautioned her that it was a Flower of Great Care. What has happened to it I do not know, but I did my part.
Back at the classroom Train Boy loudly informed his teacher that his Dad can fix anything. He also told a classmate that his Dad fixed the sound on the computer. There are easier things than living up to the expectations of a six year-old child. But I'll try. I've just got to try.
http://publicserf.blogspot.com
Whine at me: publicserf@yahoo.com
-
No word yet from the hospital. Face still hurts too much to go to work so I had to stay home. I'm coping the best I can.
The Super Wife informed me that Train Boy had a school walk early in the afternoon. I could continue being a useless bag of water, or I could join them. Being an astute fellow I picked up on the clues real fast and decided to join them.
His teacher lives about a half-mile from the school and the walk was to her place. The survivors got the bonus of also walking back.
On the way the teacher told the kids they could pick a dandelion. All the kids were happy to do so, and quickly did it, except Train Boy. He surveyed the land in front of him with a critical eye. He looked and looked, and he had a hard time picking one. None of the dandelions seemed to meet his standards. Eventually he picked a violet and gave it to his Mom. This is a boy with his own ideas.
Every kid had a walking partner and held hands with their partner. We were at the back of the line. Train Boy held his Mom's hand. I was Tail-End Charlie and responsible for stragglers. The Super Wife handed me the violet so I was also Keeper of the Violet. It was one thing after another; I might as well have gone in to work.
When we crossed the road I stood in the middle of it. I was by far the tallest person there so I made the best crossing guard. Nobody got hurt, so I didn't have to hurt any drivers. Everybody was happy.
At the teacher's house she had a small pond, a chicken coop, and a rabbit hutch. The kids were excited. For reasons I'll never know the teacher opened the door to the chicken coop. Seeing the opportunity for freedom one of the chickens bolted. It ran right by me. A rather bold move for a chicken.
It probably had one of those uncanny animal senses that seems so spooky to those of us who don't watch 'The Other Side.' It knew I did not eat poultry. It knew I was not a threat. It clucked by me like I wasn't even there, buck-buck-buck.
Unfortunately for the chicken, its expectations of freedom were easily met. As soon as it got by me it hid behind a bush. Or maybe it was just stupid. Nobody ever refers to a chicken as an example of sparkling intelligence. Nobody ever says, "Now what would a chicken do?"
I was the last in line. I was the closest to the chicken. It was time to show I was not totally useless. I stepped around to the far side of the bush and shook it. Terrified, the chicken ran back to the safety of its coop. There's probably a moral in there, but I don't care. Now I'm a Keeper of the Flower, Crossing Guard, Bush Shaker, and a Chicken Wrangler too. More under 'Other Duties As Assigned.' At least I now know I can outsmart a chicken. Hooray for me.
Then she got a bunny out for the kids to pet. God, will it never end? She asked me if I wanted to pet it too. I didn't want to as it obviously cringed in fear. Using one of its spooky animal senses it probably knew I'd once bought the Super Wife a rabbit coat. Yes, I saw fear in its eye, and I didn't want it to flee, resulting in more chasing and bush shaking. I declined.
On the way back to the school I once again stood in the middle of the street, offering myself as the first target of opportunity for any hung-over employees working the afternoon shift. I handed the violet back to the Super Wife and cautioned her that it was a Flower of Great Care. What has happened to it I do not know, but I did my part.
Back at the classroom Train Boy loudly informed his teacher that his Dad can fix anything. He also told a classmate that his Dad fixed the sound on the computer. There are easier things than living up to the expectations of a six year-old child. But I'll try. I've just got to try.
http://publicserf.blogspot.com
Whine at me: publicserf@yahoo.com
-
Sunday, April 25, 2004
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04/25/04
Church and lunch for starters. Where to eat? Decisions, decisions. It was decided that since we’ve become Hy’Vee’s Sunday Family, and we didn’t eat there last week, we would eat there. Everybody got Chinese except for me; I got meatloaf again.
While we were eating Ms. Pikachu once more complained about the smell of my meatloaf. I told her I didn’t understand her problem, she should just think of it as one of her hamburgers run through a blender with extra ketchup. It obviously did not help her deal with it.
She finished her food. She ate some of her Mom’s, she ate some of Train Boy’s. She’s definitely going through a growth spurt. She still finished before I did so she headed off to do some shopping. On her way past me she pointed and said, “Dad, I think your meatloaf has pneumonia.” It was a surprisingly effective way to kill my appetite for it.
So I ate some lemon pie with my coffee and life still seemed pretty good. Then she came back. She looked at the meatloaf again and slowly said, “Maybe that’s anthrax.” Pause. “Or it could be the bird flu.” Not content to kill my appetite she danced on its grave.
Later on I went to Target to get some brushes to stain the steps, and some screwdrivers to take the old steps apart. I don’t know why it is but I can never keep screwdrivers. Every couple of years I have to buy another pack of them. When I got home I set them down and it wasn’t long before Ms. Pikachu walked in. On seeing them she said, “Arts and crafts, I love them!” She’s not a teenager and I can’t keep up with her.
Whine at me: publicserf@yahoo.com
04/25/04
Church and lunch for starters. Where to eat? Decisions, decisions. It was decided that since we’ve become Hy’Vee’s Sunday Family, and we didn’t eat there last week, we would eat there. Everybody got Chinese except for me; I got meatloaf again.
While we were eating Ms. Pikachu once more complained about the smell of my meatloaf. I told her I didn’t understand her problem, she should just think of it as one of her hamburgers run through a blender with extra ketchup. It obviously did not help her deal with it.
She finished her food. She ate some of her Mom’s, she ate some of Train Boy’s. She’s definitely going through a growth spurt. She still finished before I did so she headed off to do some shopping. On her way past me she pointed and said, “Dad, I think your meatloaf has pneumonia.” It was a surprisingly effective way to kill my appetite for it.
So I ate some lemon pie with my coffee and life still seemed pretty good. Then she came back. She looked at the meatloaf again and slowly said, “Maybe that’s anthrax.” Pause. “Or it could be the bird flu.” Not content to kill my appetite she danced on its grave.
Later on I went to Target to get some brushes to stain the steps, and some screwdrivers to take the old steps apart. I don’t know why it is but I can never keep screwdrivers. Every couple of years I have to buy another pack of them. When I got home I set them down and it wasn’t long before Ms. Pikachu walked in. On seeing them she said, “Arts and crafts, I love them!” She’s not a teenager and I can’t keep up with her.
Saturday, April 24, 2004
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Whine at me: publicserf@yahoo.com
04/24/04
We put together the steps for the front of the house, or should I say Thomas did. Thomas is a Type A that just does things himself. I helped when I could, but most of the time he said, “You just sit over there.” Perhaps he knows I’m cross-eyed and dizzy and not exactly the best partner to be around power tools. I dunno, but they’re done.
Well not quite. The steps are down, and they’re solid. There are handrails on both sides held up at their front and back, so it’s open space between the front and back of the handrail. At this point that’s actually a good thing. Trainboy thinks I did the steps. I never said I did, he just assumes I did. When he first told me he thought I made good steps I told him Thomas did most of the work and I just helped him. He doesn’t care, as far as he’s concerned his Dad made the steps.
I can get some 2x2’s to finish the handrails and drill some pilot holes in them. He can put the screws in as best he can. They can be the steps that he helped build. He’ll remember that.
Whine at me: publicserf@yahoo.com
04/24/04
We put together the steps for the front of the house, or should I say Thomas did. Thomas is a Type A that just does things himself. I helped when I could, but most of the time he said, “You just sit over there.” Perhaps he knows I’m cross-eyed and dizzy and not exactly the best partner to be around power tools. I dunno, but they’re done.
Well not quite. The steps are down, and they’re solid. There are handrails on both sides held up at their front and back, so it’s open space between the front and back of the handrail. At this point that’s actually a good thing. Trainboy thinks I did the steps. I never said I did, he just assumes I did. When he first told me he thought I made good steps I told him Thomas did most of the work and I just helped him. He doesn’t care, as far as he’s concerned his Dad made the steps.
I can get some 2x2’s to finish the handrails and drill some pilot holes in them. He can put the screws in as best he can. They can be the steps that he helped build. He’ll remember that.
Friday, April 23, 2004
Thursday, April 22, 2004
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04/22/04
The guy who we ordered concrete steps from has never showed to do his own measurements. He apparently didn’t think I could use a measuring tape myself and wanted to measure it himself. We got tire of waiting and decided to go with wood instead.
We went to Home Depot and got four stringers- that should be plenty of support for six-foot wide steps. We also got two green-treated 2x6’s per step. That way there’s a split in the middle of the steps and they can drain better.
Since nothing is adequate unless it’s excessive I applied stain to all parts that would be in contact with the ground or hidden from further painting. Being treated they’re supposed to last 10-15 years anyway, but we can try for more.
Seeing me outside, Thomas came over and asked how I was doing. He agreed I had everything needed for the steps and asked what I was doing. I told him I was sealing the hidden areas. He thought it was a good idea; at least he said so. For all I know he went home and had a good laugh. It matters not to me, these steps are going to last. He said he’d come by to help. As skilled as he is that would be a good thing, laughing or not.
Whine at me: publicserf@yahoo.com
04/22/04
The guy who we ordered concrete steps from has never showed to do his own measurements. He apparently didn’t think I could use a measuring tape myself and wanted to measure it himself. We got tire of waiting and decided to go with wood instead.
We went to Home Depot and got four stringers- that should be plenty of support for six-foot wide steps. We also got two green-treated 2x6’s per step. That way there’s a split in the middle of the steps and they can drain better.
Since nothing is adequate unless it’s excessive I applied stain to all parts that would be in contact with the ground or hidden from further painting. Being treated they’re supposed to last 10-15 years anyway, but we can try for more.
Seeing me outside, Thomas came over and asked how I was doing. He agreed I had everything needed for the steps and asked what I was doing. I told him I was sealing the hidden areas. He thought it was a good idea; at least he said so. For all I know he went home and had a good laugh. It matters not to me, these steps are going to last. He said he’d come by to help. As skilled as he is that would be a good thing, laughing or not.
Tuesday, April 20, 2004
The Thrifty Wife does our taxes, so she knows how those things work. She determined that since we’re paying more on principal than interest we aren’t getting much of a break on the taxes for home ownership. When the mortgage statement came she told me how much we were paying per year in interest, and how much our home would cost by the time we are done paying for it, she was more than slightly appalled.
She tried to get the mortgage refinanced, but no company was interested because the amount involved apparently wasn’t worth their trouble. So she called the mortgage company and had them send us a statement showing how much it would cost to just pay it off. It was a good chunk of change, and ohmigod, we have enough in the bank to cover it.
I don’t like the idea of being so financially depleted while I’m having medical problems. It matters not; she is convinced it’s the rational thing to do. I learned long ago that for a happy marriage the husband must give in early. So we made a trip to the bank for a cashier’s check, and another to the post office to send it certified mail, or was it registered, I still don’t know.
The clerk at the Post Office explained the different options, but honest to God, there hardly seemed to be a difference. I couldn’t discern any advantage. The Financial Empress couldn’t discern any advantage. The clerk rolled her eyes and you knew she was thinking, ‘You idiots, just pick one and let me do my job.’ In desperation she tried to be helpful, and asked what it was. Upon being informed it was a check she said, “Well you can always get one of those replaced.” Maybe, but being a rather large check it still made us largely nervous. I told her I wanted a return receipt and that was that.
It’s just a matter of days before we have the paperwork showing we own this pile of sticks free and clear. The Super Wife is one HAPPY WIFE. Being debt-free has always been her Holy Grail.
After the post office we went to Hy-Vee for a few things. I don’t have a lot of vices, and I don’t feel particularly confessional at the moment, but I like their Broccoli Sunshine Salad a lot. It’s broccoli salad and I like it, what else is there to say. The woman at the deli counter asked the HAPPY WIFE where we were Sunday- everybody had "wondered where the family was”. This is probably what happens when the Dad usually gets meatloaf every Sunday and his manic blonde daughter teases him unmercifully about it. It does make it feel even more like our neighborhood grocery store.
Super Wife was HAPPY, I was amused, so it was an okay day.
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-
She tried to get the mortgage refinanced, but no company was interested because the amount involved apparently wasn’t worth their trouble. So she called the mortgage company and had them send us a statement showing how much it would cost to just pay it off. It was a good chunk of change, and ohmigod, we have enough in the bank to cover it.
I don’t like the idea of being so financially depleted while I’m having medical problems. It matters not; she is convinced it’s the rational thing to do. I learned long ago that for a happy marriage the husband must give in early. So we made a trip to the bank for a cashier’s check, and another to the post office to send it certified mail, or was it registered, I still don’t know.
The clerk at the Post Office explained the different options, but honest to God, there hardly seemed to be a difference. I couldn’t discern any advantage. The Financial Empress couldn’t discern any advantage. The clerk rolled her eyes and you knew she was thinking, ‘You idiots, just pick one and let me do my job.’ In desperation she tried to be helpful, and asked what it was. Upon being informed it was a check she said, “Well you can always get one of those replaced.” Maybe, but being a rather large check it still made us largely nervous. I told her I wanted a return receipt and that was that.
It’s just a matter of days before we have the paperwork showing we own this pile of sticks free and clear. The Super Wife is one HAPPY WIFE. Being debt-free has always been her Holy Grail.
After the post office we went to Hy-Vee for a few things. I don’t have a lot of vices, and I don’t feel particularly confessional at the moment, but I like their Broccoli Sunshine Salad a lot. It’s broccoli salad and I like it, what else is there to say. The woman at the deli counter asked the HAPPY WIFE where we were Sunday- everybody had "wondered where the family was”. This is probably what happens when the Dad usually gets meatloaf every Sunday and his manic blonde daughter teases him unmercifully about it. It does make it feel even more like our neighborhood grocery store.
Super Wife was HAPPY, I was amused, so it was an okay day.
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Monday, April 19, 2004
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Another one for the files of nature vs. nurture
This evening Ms. Pikachu declared, “Boy, I’d really like to burn something up.”
What are you talking about? What do you want to burn up? “Oh, anything. I just want to smell the burning and hear it crackle.” She was so exuberant about it I could only shudder and think that it runs in the family.
When my brothers and I were even younger than she is we had small fires underneath the bunk beds. I kid you not. We were fascinated with fire. Some of us were more fascinated than others, but the difference was only a matter of degree. Knowing how dangerous a kid is with fire, and how she wants to play, Mommy and Daddy are going to keep real close control on the matches and lighters.
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Whine at me: publicserf@yahoo.com
Another one for the files of nature vs. nurture
This evening Ms. Pikachu declared, “Boy, I’d really like to burn something up.”
What are you talking about? What do you want to burn up? “Oh, anything. I just want to smell the burning and hear it crackle.” She was so exuberant about it I could only shudder and think that it runs in the family.
When my brothers and I were even younger than she is we had small fires underneath the bunk beds. I kid you not. We were fascinated with fire. Some of us were more fascinated than others, but the difference was only a matter of degree. Knowing how dangerous a kid is with fire, and how she wants to play, Mommy and Daddy are going to keep real close control on the matches and lighters.
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We live on a two-lane one-way. This has given me the heebie-jeebies when Train Boy gets on, or off, the schoolbus. It pulls up like any other bus- lights flashing, and a red stop sign that swings out from its left side. You would think those safety features would ensure his safety. Hardly.
I have seen cars speed by the bus like they were trying to set a new stop sign to stop sign speed record. It’s infuriating, and it makes me fear for the Train Boy everyday.
The Super Wife has traditionally walked him to the bus in the morning. In the afternoon he seems to have a race with another kid to see who can get across the street first. They don’t look, and we haven’t been able to impress upon them the need.
The Super Wife had resigned herself to kids being kids. While being home, I’ve decided that I will be an SOB when I want to. I’m on the porch waiting for the bus to come, and I’m standing in the middle of the lane when they get off the bus. Just in case anybody tries to blow by the bus I carry a nice rock to lob in front of any car. If they take the shot and want to complain they can explain to the police why they were speeding by a school bus and endangering the lives of children. Just part of the Public Serf’s job of public education.
This morning the Super Wife was waiting with Train Boy for the bus. Had she not been there he would almost surely been run over by someone who did not stop for the bus. Even though they were standing at the side of the van, ready to cross the car just blew by. The Super Wife got the license plate number.
The car braked to a stop a half-block away. A woman got out and waved her arms over her head. Apparently this was her sign for “My bad, sorry, let’s forget about it.” Then she got back in her car and drove off. She could be that cavalier about it because it wasn’t her child she’d put at risk. The Super Mom called it in.
I have no idea what the penalty will be, if any. Whatever it is it will be cheaper than me floating a rock in front of her car. That may seem extreme, but when it comes to the safety of those we love extremism comes easy. Or is it vengeance? It doesn't matter, I'm comfortable either way.
This morning’s close call did leave an impression on Train Boy. When he got off the bus he looked around the fender to see if a car was coming. I am not grateful for the lesson though. Given my druthers I would have been there to put a rock in front of her car.
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Whine at me: publicserf@yahoo.com
-
I have seen cars speed by the bus like they were trying to set a new stop sign to stop sign speed record. It’s infuriating, and it makes me fear for the Train Boy everyday.
The Super Wife has traditionally walked him to the bus in the morning. In the afternoon he seems to have a race with another kid to see who can get across the street first. They don’t look, and we haven’t been able to impress upon them the need.
The Super Wife had resigned herself to kids being kids. While being home, I’ve decided that I will be an SOB when I want to. I’m on the porch waiting for the bus to come, and I’m standing in the middle of the lane when they get off the bus. Just in case anybody tries to blow by the bus I carry a nice rock to lob in front of any car. If they take the shot and want to complain they can explain to the police why they were speeding by a school bus and endangering the lives of children. Just part of the Public Serf’s job of public education.
This morning the Super Wife was waiting with Train Boy for the bus. Had she not been there he would almost surely been run over by someone who did not stop for the bus. Even though they were standing at the side of the van, ready to cross the car just blew by. The Super Wife got the license plate number.
The car braked to a stop a half-block away. A woman got out and waved her arms over her head. Apparently this was her sign for “My bad, sorry, let’s forget about it.” Then she got back in her car and drove off. She could be that cavalier about it because it wasn’t her child she’d put at risk. The Super Mom called it in.
I have no idea what the penalty will be, if any. Whatever it is it will be cheaper than me floating a rock in front of her car. That may seem extreme, but when it comes to the safety of those we love extremism comes easy. Or is it vengeance? It doesn't matter, I'm comfortable either way.
This morning’s close call did leave an impression on Train Boy. When he got off the bus he looked around the fender to see if a car was coming. I am not grateful for the lesson though. Given my druthers I would have been there to put a rock in front of her car.
http://publicserf.blogspot.com
Whine at me: publicserf@yahoo.com
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Friday, April 16, 2004
04/15/04
The office had a going-away pot-luck for someone who transferred to another office. While I was still working I had said I’d bring a desert. People like my apple pies, but I’ve gotten to where I just don’t care to roll out that many crusts. Therefore, they get an apple crisp and it works just fine.
Last night I peeled and cut five pounds of apples. Spiced them in a way that seemed pretty good. Put them in a large cake pan, topped them, and already sure of success I put them in the oven. Set the timer on the microwave for 30 minutes, not that I needed to, because it was on the hour and thirty minutes is easy to see. All you have to do is watch any TV program and wait for the half-hour break. That’s the way it should work.
In reality, I sat down and the medication put me right to sleep. Seven hours later I had two apple crisps that were way too crisp. They were- crispy. Such is life.
No word yet from the neurologist. He had offered Mayo or University of Iowa. The Supernurse said U of Ia because it’s closer. The kids are still in school so if we can get it done without affecting their schooling then that’s what we’re going to do. She has spoken.
Getting a little impatient, she called U of Ia. They are assessing my case and “will get back to you.” So we’ll see. I hope they get this resolved before I waste any more cooking efforts.
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-
The office had a going-away pot-luck for someone who transferred to another office. While I was still working I had said I’d bring a desert. People like my apple pies, but I’ve gotten to where I just don’t care to roll out that many crusts. Therefore, they get an apple crisp and it works just fine.
Last night I peeled and cut five pounds of apples. Spiced them in a way that seemed pretty good. Put them in a large cake pan, topped them, and already sure of success I put them in the oven. Set the timer on the microwave for 30 minutes, not that I needed to, because it was on the hour and thirty minutes is easy to see. All you have to do is watch any TV program and wait for the half-hour break. That’s the way it should work.
In reality, I sat down and the medication put me right to sleep. Seven hours later I had two apple crisps that were way too crisp. They were- crispy. Such is life.
No word yet from the neurologist. He had offered Mayo or University of Iowa. The Supernurse said U of Ia because it’s closer. The kids are still in school so if we can get it done without affecting their schooling then that’s what we’re going to do. She has spoken.
Getting a little impatient, she called U of Ia. They are assessing my case and “will get back to you.” So we’ll see. I hope they get this resolved before I waste any more cooking efforts.
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Monday, April 12, 2004
We went to see the neurologist. He didn’t seem capable of uttering the words, “Mayo was wrong.” But he did agree with me that my eye problem wasn’t caused by a stroke. He wants to do a gamma knife. Again we were in agreement. It should stop the pain, but won’t restore my eyesight. I’ll talk to the neurologists at U of Ia about that.
After the kids got home from school it was decided we’d have Arby’s for supper. I also got a Jamocha shake. It seems I need the calories because on weighing myself before the doctor visit I found I’d lost 10 pounds from hardly eating. Had to cut up a small roast beef sandwich so I could eat it. I found that by dipping it in au jus you don’t have to chew. Due to this revelation it only took me 30 minutes to eat it. What fun- but it was calories.
After the kids headed upstairs to play games the Super Wife put Sea Biscuit on. She sat down in the middle of the couch, I sat on an end. Like a greedy miser I put my arms around her and pulled her next to me. She watched the movie and I laid my head on the couch back behind her. With my nose in her hair and my chin on her shoulder I felt like a rich man indeed.
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-
After the kids got home from school it was decided we’d have Arby’s for supper. I also got a Jamocha shake. It seems I need the calories because on weighing myself before the doctor visit I found I’d lost 10 pounds from hardly eating. Had to cut up a small roast beef sandwich so I could eat it. I found that by dipping it in au jus you don’t have to chew. Due to this revelation it only took me 30 minutes to eat it. What fun- but it was calories.
After the kids headed upstairs to play games the Super Wife put Sea Biscuit on. She sat down in the middle of the couch, I sat on an end. Like a greedy miser I put my arms around her and pulled her next to me. She watched the movie and I laid my head on the couch back behind her. With my nose in her hair and my chin on her shoulder I felt like a rich man indeed.
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Whine at me: publicserf@yahoo.com
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Sunday, April 11, 2004
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4/11/04
Went to church with the in-laws. We left early enough to go to Sunday School. I was having enough difficulty talking that I didn’t contribute a thing, not that I ever do. If a Sunday School teacher wants my opinion he can ask me to write him a paper. Let’s face it, I write better than I talk. Not being terribly quick-witted I need to edit, but tonight I won’t- for reasons that will be explained shortly.
After church all of us went to eat at a restaurant in downtown Clinton. From the looks of it it’s one of the few thriving businesses there. It’s a restaurant done in a style best described as “homey.” At least it’s homey if you have a lot of pictures of country-western singers on your walls. If you don’t, you’ve still got a good idea.
The food was plentiful. To my knowledge everybody was stuffed by the time we left- everybody but me. I’ve been taking lots of Tegretol but it isn’t making the pain go away. It’s certainly keeping the pain from running away to suicide inducing levels, but most bites are rewarded with what feels like a sharp slap on the right side of the face, sometimes they’re machinegun style slaps. Anybody who has taken Psyche 101 could guess that linking pain with a behavior will result in the suppression of that behavior.
I hadn't eaten anything Saturday. Even though I have a long way to go until I appear to be wasting away it only seems sensible to eat. So I tried. I had a big plate of scrambled eggs, ham, and hash browns. Those are easy to take in small bites. I was almost halfway through when I gave up.
I had resolved to eat slowly and carefully and accept any pain that came. About every other bite hurt. After two bites in a row resulted in machinegun pain I started to cry in the middle of a packed restaurant and in front of a long table full of family. That was enough for me. Skinner was at least right at the most basic level of behavior.
Then it was on to the in-law’s where the kids had an Easter egg hunt. The wife wanted me to take pictures. Okay. There was only one problem, well two actually. First- it was so cool it was threatening to trigger the facial pain. Secondly, the kids were running as fast as they could. The jarring of running can set off, one more time, the facial pain. It’s hard to get good photos when you’re looking at their backs. I tried to anticipate their directions, but kids are rarely predictable. Oh well.
When we got home Ms. Pikachu walked over to the pantry and asked, “Hey Dad, are you hungry?” She reached in, and pulling out a can exclaimed, “Green beans, everybody loves ’em!” The kid likes a running joke, another gene she got from me. Don’t ask me how that’s genetic; I’m just sure it is.
Since I’ve hardly had a caloric intake equal to what I’ve burned for the past week the Supernurse apparently felt it was time to try something else. So she had me take a few pills left over from other treatments. Don’t worry; they aren’t anti-biotic so we aren’t risking the development of super bugs. We are talking pain pills. It won’t be long and I’ll be fast asleep. So this isn’t going to be edited at all. You’re getting a post in its raw form. It is literarily vulgar. I know- you should have been warned so you could hide the children and avert your eyes. Maybe next time. In the mean time, pardon me; I’m going to go dream of food.
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Whine at me: publicserf@yahoo.com
4/11/04
Went to church with the in-laws. We left early enough to go to Sunday School. I was having enough difficulty talking that I didn’t contribute a thing, not that I ever do. If a Sunday School teacher wants my opinion he can ask me to write him a paper. Let’s face it, I write better than I talk. Not being terribly quick-witted I need to edit, but tonight I won’t- for reasons that will be explained shortly.
After church all of us went to eat at a restaurant in downtown Clinton. From the looks of it it’s one of the few thriving businesses there. It’s a restaurant done in a style best described as “homey.” At least it’s homey if you have a lot of pictures of country-western singers on your walls. If you don’t, you’ve still got a good idea.
The food was plentiful. To my knowledge everybody was stuffed by the time we left- everybody but me. I’ve been taking lots of Tegretol but it isn’t making the pain go away. It’s certainly keeping the pain from running away to suicide inducing levels, but most bites are rewarded with what feels like a sharp slap on the right side of the face, sometimes they’re machinegun style slaps. Anybody who has taken Psyche 101 could guess that linking pain with a behavior will result in the suppression of that behavior.
I hadn't eaten anything Saturday. Even though I have a long way to go until I appear to be wasting away it only seems sensible to eat. So I tried. I had a big plate of scrambled eggs, ham, and hash browns. Those are easy to take in small bites. I was almost halfway through when I gave up.
I had resolved to eat slowly and carefully and accept any pain that came. About every other bite hurt. After two bites in a row resulted in machinegun pain I started to cry in the middle of a packed restaurant and in front of a long table full of family. That was enough for me. Skinner was at least right at the most basic level of behavior.
Then it was on to the in-law’s where the kids had an Easter egg hunt. The wife wanted me to take pictures. Okay. There was only one problem, well two actually. First- it was so cool it was threatening to trigger the facial pain. Secondly, the kids were running as fast as they could. The jarring of running can set off, one more time, the facial pain. It’s hard to get good photos when you’re looking at their backs. I tried to anticipate their directions, but kids are rarely predictable. Oh well.
When we got home Ms. Pikachu walked over to the pantry and asked, “Hey Dad, are you hungry?” She reached in, and pulling out a can exclaimed, “Green beans, everybody loves ’em!” The kid likes a running joke, another gene she got from me. Don’t ask me how that’s genetic; I’m just sure it is.
Since I’ve hardly had a caloric intake equal to what I’ve burned for the past week the Supernurse apparently felt it was time to try something else. So she had me take a few pills left over from other treatments. Don’t worry; they aren’t anti-biotic so we aren’t risking the development of super bugs. We are talking pain pills. It won’t be long and I’ll be fast asleep. So this isn’t going to be edited at all. You’re getting a post in its raw form. It is literarily vulgar. I know- you should have been warned so you could hide the children and avert your eyes. Maybe next time. In the mean time, pardon me; I’m going to go dream of food.
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Saturday, April 10, 2004
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4/10/04
Went to visit the in-laws. While getting ready I checked the van?s oil- needed a quart, checked the water- needed some. Yes, I certainly performed my manly duties. Then, seized with the fear of a faulty water pump, I looked underneath for dripping. Big surprise, there was dripping. Of course there was dripping, I?d probably spilled a little. Not just fear, paranoia, because the last thing I want is to be stuck in the middle of nowhere with my family because of a stinkin? water pump that failed.
So to be sure I start it up and let it run to operating temperature, we?ll see if it really leaks of not. It?s dripping faster. But?.. check the overflow tank. Sure enough, with my crappy vision I?d put too much in the water tank and it?s spitting out the excess. But I have to be sure. Who do I espy buy Tom, my friendly neighbor. That would be Tom who can tear a car down to it?s frame and rebuild it. Handy Tom. I call him over. He can see no fluid being thrown on the firewall (why didn?t I think of that). He thinks it?s fine. Then the van it is, I tell the kids to load ?er up. I thank Handy Tom, and tell him that we?ll be gone till late Sunday night, so if he see?s anybody going into or out of the house he is to shoot to kill. He seems amused.
I noticed one of the front steps was working loose, so I figure that before we leave I?ll put a couple screws in it. Before I can the Petite Wife comes out, and in going down the steps the step falls in. Fortunately she is not hurt. I tell her that no way are we leaving this invitation to a lawsuit this way.
She says she can take a couple things back to the library, but then WE'VE GOT TO LEAVE. Well alrighty. I get some tin sheet, a tin snips, and some screws and cut some brackets to hold it in place. Having two drills makes it fairly easy, one to drill holes in the tin, one to drive the screws. She?s back before I?m done though. Nearly done, but not done. And WE HAVE GOT TO LEAVE. I heard you.
It?s done. Stand on it. Solid. Not to be confused with pretty, but solid. The Impatient Wife is happy. Step down and the bottom step falls in. Good Lord. Making two more brackets will test the Impatient Wife?s pressure capacity, let?s not go there. What we need here is a fast fix that?s still solid. It?s the bottom step, so just fill it in. Grab a couple of boards and force them under the step, hammer them just to make sure they?re tight. Test them- another solid fix. The Impatient Wife is happy, and we?re on our way.
Whine at me: publicserf@yahoo.com
4/10/04
Went to visit the in-laws. While getting ready I checked the van?s oil- needed a quart, checked the water- needed some. Yes, I certainly performed my manly duties. Then, seized with the fear of a faulty water pump, I looked underneath for dripping. Big surprise, there was dripping. Of course there was dripping, I?d probably spilled a little. Not just fear, paranoia, because the last thing I want is to be stuck in the middle of nowhere with my family because of a stinkin? water pump that failed.
So to be sure I start it up and let it run to operating temperature, we?ll see if it really leaks of not. It?s dripping faster. But?.. check the overflow tank. Sure enough, with my crappy vision I?d put too much in the water tank and it?s spitting out the excess. But I have to be sure. Who do I espy buy Tom, my friendly neighbor. That would be Tom who can tear a car down to it?s frame and rebuild it. Handy Tom. I call him over. He can see no fluid being thrown on the firewall (why didn?t I think of that). He thinks it?s fine. Then the van it is, I tell the kids to load ?er up. I thank Handy Tom, and tell him that we?ll be gone till late Sunday night, so if he see?s anybody going into or out of the house he is to shoot to kill. He seems amused.
I noticed one of the front steps was working loose, so I figure that before we leave I?ll put a couple screws in it. Before I can the Petite Wife comes out, and in going down the steps the step falls in. Fortunately she is not hurt. I tell her that no way are we leaving this invitation to a lawsuit this way.
She says she can take a couple things back to the library, but then WE'VE GOT TO LEAVE. Well alrighty. I get some tin sheet, a tin snips, and some screws and cut some brackets to hold it in place. Having two drills makes it fairly easy, one to drill holes in the tin, one to drive the screws. She?s back before I?m done though. Nearly done, but not done. And WE HAVE GOT TO LEAVE. I heard you.
It?s done. Stand on it. Solid. Not to be confused with pretty, but solid. The Impatient Wife is happy. Step down and the bottom step falls in. Good Lord. Making two more brackets will test the Impatient Wife?s pressure capacity, let?s not go there. What we need here is a fast fix that?s still solid. It?s the bottom step, so just fill it in. Grab a couple of boards and force them under the step, hammer them just to make sure they?re tight. Test them- another solid fix. The Impatient Wife is happy, and we?re on our way.
Thursday, April 08, 2004
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Another journey to Wal-Mart. That would not be blog-worthy except for Ms. Pikachu.
While going down one of the amply stocked aisles she screamed, yes, screamed, “Lint rollers! Everybody loves lint rollers!” She ran to the lint roller display farther down the aisle, grabbed two, and with one in each hand flapped her arms like wings while running up and down the aisles while continuing to yell, “Lint rollers! Everybody loves lint rollers!”
It set a precedent of some sort. When we walked down the vegetable aisle she yelled, “Green beans, everybody loves green beans!” and put a can of them in the cart. Not long after it was “Baked beans! Everybody loves baked beans!” She walked back to the cart with a one-gallon can of baked beans. No fooling, one gallon of Bush’s Best.
I told her that was nuts, put them back and get a smaller can. If she resisted I could see a negotiation that ended up with a couple of smaller cans. She would not compromise, she took it to a higher authority. She took it to the Super Wife. Who said it was okay, because they’d all get eaten. Alright, fine, cuz everybody loves baked beans.
As we walked through the store there seemed to be two kinds of customers- those who found Ms. Pikachu’s antics funny, and those who thought she should be in a psyche ward. Fortunately we didn’t run into anybody we knew.
Knowing that some people weren’t amused, and her displays might be perceived as rude, I tried to calm her down. But there was no slowing her down. She was manic and loving it. While I find it a bit irritating sometimes, it doesn’t bother me too much because she gets it from me. Funny how having the same problem makes one more indulgent, especially when it’s your genes at fault.
Another journey to Wal-Mart. That would not be blog-worthy except for Ms. Pikachu.
While going down one of the amply stocked aisles she screamed, yes, screamed, “Lint rollers! Everybody loves lint rollers!” She ran to the lint roller display farther down the aisle, grabbed two, and with one in each hand flapped her arms like wings while running up and down the aisles while continuing to yell, “Lint rollers! Everybody loves lint rollers!”
It set a precedent of some sort. When we walked down the vegetable aisle she yelled, “Green beans, everybody loves green beans!” and put a can of them in the cart. Not long after it was “Baked beans! Everybody loves baked beans!” She walked back to the cart with a one-gallon can of baked beans. No fooling, one gallon of Bush’s Best.
I told her that was nuts, put them back and get a smaller can. If she resisted I could see a negotiation that ended up with a couple of smaller cans. She would not compromise, she took it to a higher authority. She took it to the Super Wife. Who said it was okay, because they’d all get eaten. Alright, fine, cuz everybody loves baked beans.
As we walked through the store there seemed to be two kinds of customers- those who found Ms. Pikachu’s antics funny, and those who thought she should be in a psyche ward. Fortunately we didn’t run into anybody we knew.
Knowing that some people weren’t amused, and her displays might be perceived as rude, I tried to calm her down. But there was no slowing her down. She was manic and loving it. While I find it a bit irritating sometimes, it doesn’t bother me too much because she gets it from me. Funny how having the same problem makes one more indulgent, especially when it’s your genes at fault.
Wednesday, April 07, 2004
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Having done our “official” Seder last night, the Holy Wife had no problems with starting a second one as soon as everybody was together. Instead of starting where we left off we did the whole thing over again. The Holy Wife was in her element, she was happy.
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Having done our “official” Seder last night, the Holy Wife had no problems with starting a second one as soon as everybody was together. Instead of starting where we left off we did the whole thing over again. The Holy Wife was in her element, she was happy.
Tuesday, April 06, 2004
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I’m off work the rest of the week, the facial pain can’t be totally suppressed. I’m taking the limit of tegretol and it keeps me from having the worst pain, and I’m grateful for that. But it’s still too painful to talk much. There’s no way I can interview the public with the pain I’m having. The neurologist gave me an excuse good until my appointment with him on the 12th. On the one hand, I feel awful leaving my unit shorthanded, on the other hand I feel like a kid who got out of school. Which is to say- I’m conflicted, but dealing with it rather well.
I have around six months of sick leave built up. I shouldn’t say “oh boy”, but, oh boy.
Dai Dai Ainu, Dai Dai Ainu, Dai Dai Ainu, Dai Ainu, Dai Anu
This can only mean one thing. Our little Christian family is celebrating Passover. There’s a girl next door or Ms. Pikachu’s age that wants to partake. Okay, but you need your parents’ approval. She comes back and it’s okay, she just has to be home by 8:30. Passover Seder starts at sunset, no way is it going to be over by 8:30.
She stays and enjoys herself. Normally I would read aloud from the Haggadah but the facial pain won’t permit it. The Holy Wife does a fine job. We send our neighbor home just before 8:30. Before leaving the Holy Wife tells her we can pick it up tomorrow after they get home from school. Dear God. Two Seders? That’s a lot of Seder. Is she a Holy Wife or what?
She must be since she got a six year-old to eat a hillel sandwich. A hillel sandwich is two small pieces of matzoh with horseradish on the front end, and a mixture of charoset, apples, honey, nuts, etc on the back end. Charoset is quite yummy.
Why this odd sandwich? The horseradish is like the taste of our sin in God’s mouth. The charoset is an antidote, his sweet grace, in ours.
Anyway, Ms. Pikachu had great fun teasing Trainboy about the horseradish. Using chopped horseradish will bring tears to your eyes, so it’s not a fun thing. However, we got creamy horseradish- considerably more bearable. Ms. Pikachu scared Trainboy right out of eating it. He refused, or so he thought. The Holy Wife’s powers of persuasion are powerful indeed. He ate the sandwich, and we finished the Seder.
-
Whine at me: publicserf@yahoo.com
I’m off work the rest of the week, the facial pain can’t be totally suppressed. I’m taking the limit of tegretol and it keeps me from having the worst pain, and I’m grateful for that. But it’s still too painful to talk much. There’s no way I can interview the public with the pain I’m having. The neurologist gave me an excuse good until my appointment with him on the 12th. On the one hand, I feel awful leaving my unit shorthanded, on the other hand I feel like a kid who got out of school. Which is to say- I’m conflicted, but dealing with it rather well.
I have around six months of sick leave built up. I shouldn’t say “oh boy”, but, oh boy.
Dai Dai Ainu, Dai Dai Ainu, Dai Dai Ainu, Dai Ainu, Dai Anu
This can only mean one thing. Our little Christian family is celebrating Passover. There’s a girl next door or Ms. Pikachu’s age that wants to partake. Okay, but you need your parents’ approval. She comes back and it’s okay, she just has to be home by 8:30. Passover Seder starts at sunset, no way is it going to be over by 8:30.
She stays and enjoys herself. Normally I would read aloud from the Haggadah but the facial pain won’t permit it. The Holy Wife does a fine job. We send our neighbor home just before 8:30. Before leaving the Holy Wife tells her we can pick it up tomorrow after they get home from school. Dear God. Two Seders? That’s a lot of Seder. Is she a Holy Wife or what?
She must be since she got a six year-old to eat a hillel sandwich. A hillel sandwich is two small pieces of matzoh with horseradish on the front end, and a mixture of charoset, apples, honey, nuts, etc on the back end. Charoset is quite yummy.
Why this odd sandwich? The horseradish is like the taste of our sin in God’s mouth. The charoset is an antidote, his sweet grace, in ours.
Anyway, Ms. Pikachu had great fun teasing Trainboy about the horseradish. Using chopped horseradish will bring tears to your eyes, so it’s not a fun thing. However, we got creamy horseradish- considerably more bearable. Ms. Pikachu scared Trainboy right out of eating it. He refused, or so he thought. The Holy Wife’s powers of persuasion are powerful indeed. He ate the sandwich, and we finished the Seder.
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Monday, April 05, 2004
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At work today a woman who works next door and reads my blog was feeling sympathetic after my last pitiful entry. Donna brought me some flowers to cheer me up. God bless her. It’s nice to look over occasionally and see them. It’s kind of amazing how a thoughtful gesture can affect you. Too bad it can’t stop my recurring facial pain.
Whine at me: publicserf@yahoo.com
At work today a woman who works next door and reads my blog was feeling sympathetic after my last pitiful entry. Donna brought me some flowers to cheer me up. God bless her. It’s nice to look over occasionally and see them. It’s kind of amazing how a thoughtful gesture can affect you. Too bad it can’t stop my recurring facial pain.
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Woke up on the couch. Super Nurse must certainly be home. She certainly was. Not in kitchen, check fridge - sandwich not eaten, oh well, check bathroom- nothing, check bedroom- she's laying there looking at book orders for the kids. God she's beautiful. She said she just wasn't hungry because she ate that much for lunch. Okay. I told her I'd checked out the cranial nerves on the web and the ones involving the eyes were more complicated than I could understand. I couldn't figure out how to bang my head to fix my eye problem. She was glad. She rolls away from me and I snuggle up behind her. It's just bliss to be so close.
Can't go to sleep. Try to go to sleep. Can't go to sleep and a half-hour's gone. Must have been all the napping. I whisper "I'm sorry." She half-rolls back and says "huh?" Thought she was asleep, crap. Wanted to tell her, "I'm sorry I'm such a burden. You and the kids deserve so much better. I'm sorry you married me." Just too much of a coward to say it while she was awake. Can't sleep. Wait another half-hour and get out of bed, might as well blog.
I hate this tumor. I hate feeling like a burden. I hate wishing my kids had a better father. I hate wishing my wife had a better husband. I hate wishing I wasn't me. Dammit, I'm crying again. I've cried too much lately.
Whine at me: publicserf@yahoo.com
Woke up on the couch. Super Nurse must certainly be home. She certainly was. Not in kitchen, check fridge - sandwich not eaten, oh well, check bathroom- nothing, check bedroom- she's laying there looking at book orders for the kids. God she's beautiful. She said she just wasn't hungry because she ate that much for lunch. Okay. I told her I'd checked out the cranial nerves on the web and the ones involving the eyes were more complicated than I could understand. I couldn't figure out how to bang my head to fix my eye problem. She was glad. She rolls away from me and I snuggle up behind her. It's just bliss to be so close.
Can't go to sleep. Try to go to sleep. Can't go to sleep and a half-hour's gone. Must have been all the napping. I whisper "I'm sorry." She half-rolls back and says "huh?" Thought she was asleep, crap. Wanted to tell her, "I'm sorry I'm such a burden. You and the kids deserve so much better. I'm sorry you married me." Just too much of a coward to say it while she was awake. Can't sleep. Wait another half-hour and get out of bed, might as well blog.
I hate this tumor. I hate feeling like a burden. I hate wishing my kids had a better father. I hate wishing my wife had a better husband. I hate wishing I wasn't me. Dammit, I'm crying again. I've cried too much lately.
Sunday, April 04, 2004
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Around 7:00 the kids decide they're hungry again. Well allrighty, and what will your order be. Big surprise, chicken nuggets for Trainboy, Cheeseburger for Ms. Pikachu. I'm sitting on the floor, Trainboy comes over to me, puts his hand on my shoulder and says, "Get it from the Wendys that's closest," My little micromanager. No problem.
In addition, I get Ms. Pikachu her own chili so we can avoid another chili war. And I get the wife a grilled chicken sandwich with veggies, because that would be low-fat and she would like that. I aim to please.
Whine at me: publicserf@yahoo.com
Around 7:00 the kids decide they're hungry again. Well allrighty, and what will your order be. Big surprise, chicken nuggets for Trainboy, Cheeseburger for Ms. Pikachu. I'm sitting on the floor, Trainboy comes over to me, puts his hand on my shoulder and says, "Get it from the Wendys that's closest," My little micromanager. No problem.
In addition, I get Ms. Pikachu her own chili so we can avoid another chili war. And I get the wife a grilled chicken sandwich with veggies, because that would be low-fat and she would like that. I aim to please.
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4/4/04
Church, of course.
Lunch at Hy Vee. I ordered the fish just to keep the kids off balance. It was a mistake though. If you don’t have the right tartar sauce fish is hardly edible. I also got sweet potatoes because they are one of the Super Wife’s favorite foods and I just wanted to share them with her.
As we were seating ourselves because, oddly enough, the grocery store doesn’t have a maitre’d on Sundays, Trainboy riddled- “What do you call a sister with half a brain?” …. “gifted.” The Super Wife laughed. Ms. Pikachu said, “I don’t get it.” She of the straight A report card didn’t get it. Hah. What is this educational system coming to?
When we got home our neighbor Tom, the Super Fix-it Guy was trying to get his cat out of the tree across the street. It is a tall tree indeed. I told him my Dad always said a cat would come down when it got hungry enough. (Everyone nods at such wisdom.) I had no sympathy for the cat anyway. It was probably up there to kill birds. Let it starve.
Tom threw rocks at the cat to try to encourage it to retreat from the limb and come down. Even something as dumb as a cat that trees itself probably doesn’t want to come down a tree and get closer to somebody throwing rocks at it. More rocks, the cat retreats to the tree trunk. More rocks, the cat runs back out on the limb. You just can’t beat urban living.
Ms. Pikachu asked if she could volunteer my paintball gun. She has lost all contact with reality. “No.” She goes outside. She comes back inside. She asks again. “No.” Out. In. She’s going to nag till she gets what she wants. I am a weenie. Sadly, the system works. Okay, fine. Let’s be realistic here, does he really want to get paint all over his cat? Does he really want to risk knocking it right off of the tree? As if logic mattered. She just wants to shoot the cat. She comes back disheartened- he refused her offer.
I asked Trainboy if he wanted to help feed the birds. He thought it was a good idea. I grabbed the feed and a stepstool and away we went. I held the top of the feeder open, he climbed up and shoveled the feed in. I love those bonding moments.
Five hours later the cat is still up the tree making its pitiful mewling. But I have no pity for it. At least while it’s up there it isn’t threatening any other birds, and that’s what’s important, isn’t it?
The rest of the day looks to be laundry, TV, whatever home improvement I get around to doing, and I may not get around to doing any. Ah weekends.
-
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4/4/04
Church, of course.
Lunch at Hy Vee. I ordered the fish just to keep the kids off balance. It was a mistake though. If you don’t have the right tartar sauce fish is hardly edible. I also got sweet potatoes because they are one of the Super Wife’s favorite foods and I just wanted to share them with her.
As we were seating ourselves because, oddly enough, the grocery store doesn’t have a maitre’d on Sundays, Trainboy riddled- “What do you call a sister with half a brain?” …. “gifted.” The Super Wife laughed. Ms. Pikachu said, “I don’t get it.” She of the straight A report card didn’t get it. Hah. What is this educational system coming to?
When we got home our neighbor Tom, the Super Fix-it Guy was trying to get his cat out of the tree across the street. It is a tall tree indeed. I told him my Dad always said a cat would come down when it got hungry enough. (Everyone nods at such wisdom.) I had no sympathy for the cat anyway. It was probably up there to kill birds. Let it starve.
Tom threw rocks at the cat to try to encourage it to retreat from the limb and come down. Even something as dumb as a cat that trees itself probably doesn’t want to come down a tree and get closer to somebody throwing rocks at it. More rocks, the cat retreats to the tree trunk. More rocks, the cat runs back out on the limb. You just can’t beat urban living.
Ms. Pikachu asked if she could volunteer my paintball gun. She has lost all contact with reality. “No.” She goes outside. She comes back inside. She asks again. “No.” Out. In. She’s going to nag till she gets what she wants. I am a weenie. Sadly, the system works. Okay, fine. Let’s be realistic here, does he really want to get paint all over his cat? Does he really want to risk knocking it right off of the tree? As if logic mattered. She just wants to shoot the cat. She comes back disheartened- he refused her offer.
I asked Trainboy if he wanted to help feed the birds. He thought it was a good idea. I grabbed the feed and a stepstool and away we went. I held the top of the feeder open, he climbed up and shoveled the feed in. I love those bonding moments.
Five hours later the cat is still up the tree making its pitiful mewling. But I have no pity for it. At least while it’s up there it isn’t threatening any other birds, and that’s what’s important, isn’t it?
The rest of the day looks to be laundry, TV, whatever home improvement I get around to doing, and I may not get around to doing any. Ah weekends.
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Saturday, April 03, 2004
04/03/04
Pills had me napping again. When I woke up it was time to feed the critters supper. It was Steak & Shake again by the roar of the mob. So away we go. When the Super Wife is along Ms. Pikachu rides in the back seat. Since the Super One was at work Ms. Pikachu rode up front, keeping an eagle eye out for traffic problems. She knows I have eye problems, and it makes her nervous. It will only be a few years before she’s learning how to drive and it will be my turn to be nervous.
Regardless, we arrived at the restaurant with no unexpected events. Instead of ordering a kid’s meal like usual she ordered a single and two sides. My but she is growing. Then she got a shake with hot fudge topping and she went nuts over the fudge. She looked around and said, “Dad, people are looking at me.” Imagine that. I don’t suppose you noticed if there was any guilt by association?
Trainboy looked at her and asked, “What planet are you from?” I’ve often wondered myself. In blonde mode she sing-songed “Jupiter, because I couldn’t be stupider.” I was not going to look for the public’s reaction. There are times I don’t know why I don’t lock them up and feed them through a slot in the door. Must be their entertainment value, such as it were.
When we were about done I ordered a Frisco burger to go. I know the Super Nurse likes them, and sometimes she doesn’t get to eat all day. Then it was back home, where I did laundry, watched TV, and waited for Her return. When she got home she said, “Didn’t you get my message? I couldn’t eat because I had no money and I couldn’t charge it because I couldn’t find my ID before I left. I wanted you to bring it over.” Uh oh, big whoops .
Time to dance. “Why no I’m sorry I didn’t see your message but if I had you know I would have found it and brought it to you because nothing makes me happier than making you happy but when we went out to eat I got you a sandwich that you like would you like it now? Darling?” Fast waltz. She ate her sandwich and was grateful, I guess. There were no bodily injuries and that’s always a good sign.
The day was done.
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-
Pills had me napping again. When I woke up it was time to feed the critters supper. It was Steak & Shake again by the roar of the mob. So away we go. When the Super Wife is along Ms. Pikachu rides in the back seat. Since the Super One was at work Ms. Pikachu rode up front, keeping an eagle eye out for traffic problems. She knows I have eye problems, and it makes her nervous. It will only be a few years before she’s learning how to drive and it will be my turn to be nervous.
Regardless, we arrived at the restaurant with no unexpected events. Instead of ordering a kid’s meal like usual she ordered a single and two sides. My but she is growing. Then she got a shake with hot fudge topping and she went nuts over the fudge. She looked around and said, “Dad, people are looking at me.” Imagine that. I don’t suppose you noticed if there was any guilt by association?
Trainboy looked at her and asked, “What planet are you from?” I’ve often wondered myself. In blonde mode she sing-songed “Jupiter, because I couldn’t be stupider.” I was not going to look for the public’s reaction. There are times I don’t know why I don’t lock them up and feed them through a slot in the door. Must be their entertainment value, such as it were.
When we were about done I ordered a Frisco burger to go. I know the Super Nurse likes them, and sometimes she doesn’t get to eat all day. Then it was back home, where I did laundry, watched TV, and waited for Her return. When she got home she said, “Didn’t you get my message? I couldn’t eat because I had no money and I couldn’t charge it because I couldn’t find my ID before I left. I wanted you to bring it over.” Uh oh, big whoops .
Time to dance. “Why no I’m sorry I didn’t see your message but if I had you know I would have found it and brought it to you because nothing makes me happier than making you happy but when we went out to eat I got you a sandwich that you like would you like it now? Darling?” Fast waltz. She ate her sandwich and was grateful, I guess. There were no bodily injuries and that’s always a good sign.
The day was done.
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Friday, April 02, 2004
I left work early because Trainboy had his Spring Program at school. By the time I’d gotten home the Super Wife had already left, so I drove on to the school. I found her in the gym, already seated and about in the middle of a row. She had an empty seat beside her so I excused myself all the way to it.
She seemed happy to see me, but said she reserved rebuttal rights on last night’s blog posting. Everybody’s a critic. Shortly after exchanging pleasantries I looked for the camera bag. It was not there. I asked her if she wanted pictures. She thought the gear was in the back of my car. It was not. It was in the back of her van. But yes, she’d like some pictures.
I excused myself all the way out to the other end of the line. Then came a jog to the van. I’d parked across the street from it about a block away. Open the rear of the van and… there it is- one camera bag. It’s a fairly large one, and by the time you put in a fairly large video camera, 35 mm camera, zoom lens, and assorted accessories it’s a heavy thing. No matter, I need the exercise. I jog back to school with it.
Sweating, I excuse myself all the way back to her seat, carrying this big bag, trying not to bump people too badly. I unpack the 35 mm and put the zoom on, locked and loaded. Then I ask, “You want video too?” When will I learn? She says why yes. Unpack the video camera, etc.
I excuse myself out, grateful that it’s highly unlikely anybody would pack heat in a grade school, but wondering if it isn’t about time we installed metal detectors. I also wonder if my deodorant is working. It doesn’t matter. Just set up.and.we.are.LIVE!
Neither of my hearing aids is working. I haven’t a clue what they’re singing; apparently this is the Spring Program of the Obscure. (dramatically) Before we can go into the future, first we must understand the past. It is time… for a time warp {{{{{}}}}}
Last night the Super Mom put together a cowboy outfit for Trainboy. His teacher had sent a note home that all the boys should try to dress like cowboys. The ever-resourceful Super Mom put together a cowboy outfit including a cowboy hat and a vest made out of a fake wool last seen on the seat covers of a 1968 Dodge Dart. It was unconvincing fake wool and we would leave it at that, except. Except even a six year-old knew it wasn’t exactly cowboy gear, not unless the cowboy had shot a sheep herder, and was willing to wear the skin of a wooly gila monster. Not likely. Time to …time warp {{{{{}}}}}.
Trainboy, now Cowboy, is onstage. He is not wearing a vest. He is not wearing a hat. The Super Mom is surprised; I am not. Because I realize that Trainboy is more like me than I’d ever suspected. As a kid I would have refused to wear any vest that didn’t meet my expectation of authentic. And I would have refused to wear any hat. It was never so cold I had to wear a hat, never. Super Mom may be surprised, but I understand completely, and I’m happy.
When the program finished we went home. Ms. Pikachu was already home, honing her Nintendo skills. Tired from being up too late last night blogging, I fell asleep on the couch. When I woke up the Super Nurse had already departed for work.
The reasonable thing would be to ask the kids if they’re hungry. So I ask them. Ms. Pikachu says no, she’s already eaten. Trainboy says he’s not hungry either. Well I am. So I grabbed a TV dinner out of the freezer, popped it in the microwave, and really pitied my poor ancestors. How did they get by?
Properly heated, I sit down in front of the TV because where else should one eat a TV dinner? There’s pot roast, mashed potatoes and gravy and the usual etc… Take a bite, not bad, not bad at all. Trainboy is sitting by me, I ask him if he’d like a bite. He points at a piece of meat, “That one.” Well alrighty then. For a kid who isn’t hungry he does very well. He eats everything except the green beans and celery. No problem with me, there’s more as close as a trip to the freezer and microwave.
We watched Spongebob; it was a good one. Ms. Pikachu came down stairs and said “I heard you laughing.” In the interest of saving energy we aren’t going to use the time warp, I’m just going to tell you- the last time the Schwan’s man came around I got a French silk pie figuring Ms. Chocoholic would like that. She did. So, before she headed back upstairs she told me she’d already eaten the pie, and would I please get another. I could, but technically, that would probably make me an enabler.
Eventually Trainboy decided it was time to pull the plug. We went upstairs and he asked me for a “big shirt” for bed. He likes to use one of my T-shirts for a nightshirt. I got him my Mensa T and told him that it’s a shirt for smart people and now that he can recite all the presidents he can wear it. He seemed pleased. Then we read ‘Harry and the Lady Next Door’ and he was done.
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-
She seemed happy to see me, but said she reserved rebuttal rights on last night’s blog posting. Everybody’s a critic. Shortly after exchanging pleasantries I looked for the camera bag. It was not there. I asked her if she wanted pictures. She thought the gear was in the back of my car. It was not. It was in the back of her van. But yes, she’d like some pictures.
I excused myself all the way out to the other end of the line. Then came a jog to the van. I’d parked across the street from it about a block away. Open the rear of the van and… there it is- one camera bag. It’s a fairly large one, and by the time you put in a fairly large video camera, 35 mm camera, zoom lens, and assorted accessories it’s a heavy thing. No matter, I need the exercise. I jog back to school with it.
Sweating, I excuse myself all the way back to her seat, carrying this big bag, trying not to bump people too badly. I unpack the 35 mm and put the zoom on, locked and loaded. Then I ask, “You want video too?” When will I learn? She says why yes. Unpack the video camera, etc.
I excuse myself out, grateful that it’s highly unlikely anybody would pack heat in a grade school, but wondering if it isn’t about time we installed metal detectors. I also wonder if my deodorant is working. It doesn’t matter. Just set up.and.we.are.LIVE!
Neither of my hearing aids is working. I haven’t a clue what they’re singing; apparently this is the Spring Program of the Obscure. (dramatically) Before we can go into the future, first we must understand the past. It is time… for a time warp {{{{{}}}}}
Last night the Super Mom put together a cowboy outfit for Trainboy. His teacher had sent a note home that all the boys should try to dress like cowboys. The ever-resourceful Super Mom put together a cowboy outfit including a cowboy hat and a vest made out of a fake wool last seen on the seat covers of a 1968 Dodge Dart. It was unconvincing fake wool and we would leave it at that, except. Except even a six year-old knew it wasn’t exactly cowboy gear, not unless the cowboy had shot a sheep herder, and was willing to wear the skin of a wooly gila monster. Not likely. Time to …time warp {{{{{}}}}}.
Trainboy, now Cowboy, is onstage. He is not wearing a vest. He is not wearing a hat. The Super Mom is surprised; I am not. Because I realize that Trainboy is more like me than I’d ever suspected. As a kid I would have refused to wear any vest that didn’t meet my expectation of authentic. And I would have refused to wear any hat. It was never so cold I had to wear a hat, never. Super Mom may be surprised, but I understand completely, and I’m happy.
When the program finished we went home. Ms. Pikachu was already home, honing her Nintendo skills. Tired from being up too late last night blogging, I fell asleep on the couch. When I woke up the Super Nurse had already departed for work.
The reasonable thing would be to ask the kids if they’re hungry. So I ask them. Ms. Pikachu says no, she’s already eaten. Trainboy says he’s not hungry either. Well I am. So I grabbed a TV dinner out of the freezer, popped it in the microwave, and really pitied my poor ancestors. How did they get by?
Properly heated, I sit down in front of the TV because where else should one eat a TV dinner? There’s pot roast, mashed potatoes and gravy and the usual etc… Take a bite, not bad, not bad at all. Trainboy is sitting by me, I ask him if he’d like a bite. He points at a piece of meat, “That one.” Well alrighty then. For a kid who isn’t hungry he does very well. He eats everything except the green beans and celery. No problem with me, there’s more as close as a trip to the freezer and microwave.
We watched Spongebob; it was a good one. Ms. Pikachu came down stairs and said “I heard you laughing.” In the interest of saving energy we aren’t going to use the time warp, I’m just going to tell you- the last time the Schwan’s man came around I got a French silk pie figuring Ms. Chocoholic would like that. She did. So, before she headed back upstairs she told me she’d already eaten the pie, and would I please get another. I could, but technically, that would probably make me an enabler.
Eventually Trainboy decided it was time to pull the plug. We went upstairs and he asked me for a “big shirt” for bed. He likes to use one of my T-shirts for a nightshirt. I got him my Mensa T and told him that it’s a shirt for smart people and now that he can recite all the presidents he can wear it. He seemed pleased. Then we read ‘Harry and the Lady Next Door’ and he was done.
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When I got home Trainboy asked me if I wanted to play Hot and Cold. No way can you refuse a child's request like that, I told him I'd be happy to play Hot and Cold. So I walked in different directions and he told me if I was getting hotter or colder. It really didn't take long to arrive at 'hottest' and he was so excited he was practically percolating himself.
I was in front of the deacon's bench so there was only one thing to do. I opened the lid and he started hopping up and down, he WAS percolating. Inside was a box wrapped in blue paper with a white ribbon. As I lifted it out he told me he'd bought it at Awanas last night because it was a store night. He used the shares he'd earned to buy something for me. It was supposed to be for Father's Day, but he just couldn't wait. He had to give it to me now.
I am now the proud owner of a truck with a missile launcher on the back. He knew I liked missiles. He was so happy to give it to me. What a sweet boy. God I love him.
Later it was our night to do taxes. She did them earlier during the day on paper forms. That's right, the SuperNurse/SuperMom/SuperWife does taxes too. She's very versatile. It was up to me to then type them in using TaxAct. We used the program last year and generally speaking it was very easy, except, and there's always and exception, it took a long time to figure out how to enter the mortgage credit. It finally occurred to me to just click on 'forms' and choose the correct form instead of trying to just get it from the program's flow.
It took us four hours last year. This year, since we were experienced, it took an hour and a half. The problem, as I see it, is that it's hard to really get used to something you only use once per year. It's always something, but next year it'll probably only take about a half hour. We'll see.
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Whine at me: publicserf@yahoo.com
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I was in front of the deacon's bench so there was only one thing to do. I opened the lid and he started hopping up and down, he WAS percolating. Inside was a box wrapped in blue paper with a white ribbon. As I lifted it out he told me he'd bought it at Awanas last night because it was a store night. He used the shares he'd earned to buy something for me. It was supposed to be for Father's Day, but he just couldn't wait. He had to give it to me now.
I am now the proud owner of a truck with a missile launcher on the back. He knew I liked missiles. He was so happy to give it to me. What a sweet boy. God I love him.
Later it was our night to do taxes. She did them earlier during the day on paper forms. That's right, the SuperNurse/SuperMom/SuperWife does taxes too. She's very versatile. It was up to me to then type them in using TaxAct. We used the program last year and generally speaking it was very easy, except, and there's always and exception, it took a long time to figure out how to enter the mortgage credit. It finally occurred to me to just click on 'forms' and choose the correct form instead of trying to just get it from the program's flow.
It took us four hours last year. This year, since we were experienced, it took an hour and a half. The problem, as I see it, is that it's hard to really get used to something you only use once per year. It's always something, but next year it'll probably only take about a half hour. We'll see.
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Whine at me: publicserf@yahoo.com
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Tuesday, March 30, 2004
It looked like a free night, showing how delusional I am. The Thriftywife informed me that she’d bought a video game for Ms Pikachu and since then, horrors, it had gone on sale elsewhere. This can only mean one thing- we are going to get some money back.
So we take a poll of the kids. “We are going make a stop at the library and then go to Target and Toys R’ Us, do you want to go?” They don’t want to go. We’ve already eaten and they don’t want to bounce around between stores when then could stay at home and watch Cartoon Network. Kids grow up so early nowadays.
But I would go, yes me, Weenie Husband! Off we went and on the way she explained to me what needed to be done. It involved buying another, taking one back, and getting a price adjustment- at least that’s all I remember. The whole thing seemed so convoluted it would intimidate a venture capitalist. All that mattered was that she knew what she was doing, and wanted to do it..
During the drive I asked her how much money she was making on this little adventure. She said “$5.00.” I was a little incredulous. Driving to two different stores and dealing with customer service in both of them for $5.00? I asked her what her time was worth, and did not mention gas or wear on the van. She didn’t mind, for her $5.00 is $5.00. Right there you know she’ll never spend us poor, nor will she let me. Which is a good thing…within limits.
So I didn’t say anything else about it. It doesn’t do much good to get somebody angry over so little. Hey if it’s worth it to you to drive all over town for $5.00, if that makes you happy, well alrighty then. So I shut up and put up with it.
In return, I got about an hour and a half with just her, no kids. She drove so I got to just look at her face, squeeze her right leg, and hold hands. For $5.00 I’d be more than happy to do it again.
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So we take a poll of the kids. “We are going make a stop at the library and then go to Target and Toys R’ Us, do you want to go?” They don’t want to go. We’ve already eaten and they don’t want to bounce around between stores when then could stay at home and watch Cartoon Network. Kids grow up so early nowadays.
But I would go, yes me, Weenie Husband! Off we went and on the way she explained to me what needed to be done. It involved buying another, taking one back, and getting a price adjustment- at least that’s all I remember. The whole thing seemed so convoluted it would intimidate a venture capitalist. All that mattered was that she knew what she was doing, and wanted to do it..
During the drive I asked her how much money she was making on this little adventure. She said “$5.00.” I was a little incredulous. Driving to two different stores and dealing with customer service in both of them for $5.00? I asked her what her time was worth, and did not mention gas or wear on the van. She didn’t mind, for her $5.00 is $5.00. Right there you know she’ll never spend us poor, nor will she let me. Which is a good thing…within limits.
So I didn’t say anything else about it. It doesn’t do much good to get somebody angry over so little. Hey if it’s worth it to you to drive all over town for $5.00, if that makes you happy, well alrighty then. So I shut up and put up with it.
In return, I got about an hour and a half with just her, no kids. She drove so I got to just look at her face, squeeze her right leg, and hold hands. For $5.00 I’d be more than happy to do it again.
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Wednesday, March 24, 2004
I probably have nothing original to say regarding the Israeli killing of one of the founders of Hamas, Sheikh Yasmin. But that won't stop me, it never has. On the one hand the timing of his death seems odd, because they could have killed him any number of times before. On the other hand, maybe it was just their way of letting Hamas know that just because the people of Spain could be cowed with a bomb, Israel refuses to give in.
I don’t understand the protests of his killing- the man helped found a terrorist organization and was responsible for a lot of deaths. Protesters and the media repeatedly point out that he was old and wheelchair bound. As though that was an automatic Get Out Of Jail Free card. It was not, with a missile.
The Israelis should have scooped his remains into a trash barrel and thrown them, and his wheelchair, off the side of a cruise ship. Leon Klinghoffer’s family could do the dishonors. That idea would surely upset some people. It would upset them because Klinghoffer was an American and a Jew and therefore doubly deserving of his fate. Screw that.
Hamas is a death cult, it’s all they understand. How can you reason with a group that straps bombs to the bodies of their own boys? How do you have a meaningful dialogue with a group that kills babies? So you have to kill more of them so they understand, “The killing needs to end.” No more bombing busses and restaurants. No more killing innocent men, women and children. There will be no more bombing when they realize it’s to their advantage to stop.
Not that it’s going to happen in Israel. The Israelis don’t even exact an eye for an eye and as long as the Palestinians are showing a favorable balance sheet the killing will go on.
In contrast, right after the Sheikh was killed a Hamas spokesman declared they would exact revenge against Israel and the USA. Dubyah came out and said he took such a threat seriously. The next day Hamas said they would NOT exact revenge against the USA. It doesn’t take much to see why. Al Qaida took out two buildings in New York City. In response we knocked over two COUNTRIES. Dubya has made it clear to them, mess with us and we will hurt you more than you hurt us.
If Hamas starts revenge bombings it won’ t be until Dubya is out of office. God help us if we get an appeaser in the oval office. It won’t help to say “we’re sorry. Surely you only did that for valid reasons. We must have deserved it. What would make you happy?”. They’ll perceive it as a sign of weakness, and it will be. The madmen will run riot. The bombings won’t end.
I don’t grieve the death of a monster anymore than I grieve a monster being deposed. Want peace in the Middle East? It’s fairly easy. Tell the surrounding Islamic countries that continued assaults on our ally Israel will not be tolerated. None of their governments want to be the next Iraq. Somehow, I’m sure support for the Palestinian terrorists would dry up.
I don’t understand the protests of his killing- the man helped found a terrorist organization and was responsible for a lot of deaths. Protesters and the media repeatedly point out that he was old and wheelchair bound. As though that was an automatic Get Out Of Jail Free card. It was not, with a missile.
The Israelis should have scooped his remains into a trash barrel and thrown them, and his wheelchair, off the side of a cruise ship. Leon Klinghoffer’s family could do the dishonors. That idea would surely upset some people. It would upset them because Klinghoffer was an American and a Jew and therefore doubly deserving of his fate. Screw that.
Hamas is a death cult, it’s all they understand. How can you reason with a group that straps bombs to the bodies of their own boys? How do you have a meaningful dialogue with a group that kills babies? So you have to kill more of them so they understand, “The killing needs to end.” No more bombing busses and restaurants. No more killing innocent men, women and children. There will be no more bombing when they realize it’s to their advantage to stop.
Not that it’s going to happen in Israel. The Israelis don’t even exact an eye for an eye and as long as the Palestinians are showing a favorable balance sheet the killing will go on.
In contrast, right after the Sheikh was killed a Hamas spokesman declared they would exact revenge against Israel and the USA. Dubyah came out and said he took such a threat seriously. The next day Hamas said they would NOT exact revenge against the USA. It doesn’t take much to see why. Al Qaida took out two buildings in New York City. In response we knocked over two COUNTRIES. Dubya has made it clear to them, mess with us and we will hurt you more than you hurt us.
If Hamas starts revenge bombings it won’ t be until Dubya is out of office. God help us if we get an appeaser in the oval office. It won’t help to say “we’re sorry. Surely you only did that for valid reasons. We must have deserved it. What would make you happy?”. They’ll perceive it as a sign of weakness, and it will be. The madmen will run riot. The bombings won’t end.
I don’t grieve the death of a monster anymore than I grieve a monster being deposed. Want peace in the Middle East? It’s fairly easy. Tell the surrounding Islamic countries that continued assaults on our ally Israel will not be tolerated. None of their governments want to be the next Iraq. Somehow, I’m sure support for the Palestinian terrorists would dry up.
The Super Wife and I were discussing a few matters when we heard Ms. Pikachu let loose a cry of “Moooooom!” Only moments later Trainboy came running in and breathlessly declared, “Don’t believe a word she says. She’s lying.” Only six years-old and he’s already figured out you have to beat the bad news with spin. Maybe we should have named him Calvin.
In other news, Ms. Pikachu has informed her mother that this is the last year she wants to take flute. Ahem, that wouldn’t be the flute the Super Mom bought and paid for because the precocious child said she didn’t want to continue with piano lesson, but did want to take flute lessons, would it? Ladies and gentlemen let’s get ready to rumble!
In this corner- at 5 foot even, blonde haired, blue eyed, the poster child for ADHD, and puts the capital M in Mania- Ms. Pikachu!
And in this corner, standing at five foot and loose change, brunette, blue eyed and pinching pennies so tight Abe Lincoln screams “I surrender!”- Super Mom!
The bout will be refereed by Dad, from outside the ring, because Dad is a weenie.
Its going to be a good fight but the smart money will be on Super Mom.
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In other news, Ms. Pikachu has informed her mother that this is the last year she wants to take flute. Ahem, that wouldn’t be the flute the Super Mom bought and paid for because the precocious child said she didn’t want to continue with piano lesson, but did want to take flute lessons, would it? Ladies and gentlemen let’s get ready to rumble!
In this corner- at 5 foot even, blonde haired, blue eyed, the poster child for ADHD, and puts the capital M in Mania- Ms. Pikachu!
And in this corner, standing at five foot and loose change, brunette, blue eyed and pinching pennies so tight Abe Lincoln screams “I surrender!”- Super Mom!
The bout will be refereed by Dad, from outside the ring, because Dad is a weenie.
Its going to be a good fight but the smart money will be on Super Mom.
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Whine at me: publicserf@yahoo.com
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Tuesday, March 23, 2004
I haven’t done anything political in quite a while, so here goes. Let me restate that I’m a political independent, so it’s with no ax to grind when I ask, What in the world is going on with the Democratic Party?
They had nine candidates and after all the bloodletting the man left standing is J. F. Kerry? I don’t get it.
I realize that after Dubya kicked terrorist butt in Afghanistan, overthrew a truly evil dictator, and landed on an aircraft carrier the Democrats felt a need to come up with a candidate with some military credentials of his own. At first that seemed like Wesley Clark, but then his role in Waco came out, his decision making in Bosnia, and he kept sticking his foot in his mouth like he was craving a chew toy. Exit brass hat Clark.
But they had eight more to choose from. Most seemed to self-destruct, or just had a campaign life that wasn’t viable outside a smoke-filled room. While the candidates tried to gut each other they tried to smear Bush over his service in the Guard. They didn’t have the success they wanted so they still needed a war hero anyway to offset Dubya’s successes against the terrorists.
“Did you know I served in Viet Nam?” Kerry rose to the top. If Kerry actually wins the nomination it would have to be the Republican’s dream. Vets groups will savage him over his service in Viet Nam. His questionable war stories, his turncoat war protests will be explored with the same vigor they tried to smear Bush. What was supposed to be his biggest asset will turn into a terrific liability. Then it will all come down to, after all his lies about his record, after his inability to maintain a stand on any issue, is this really the guy you want in the oval office prosecuting the war on terrorism? Are you willing to turn over the fate of this country to a guy who’d bend to the will of the corrupt USA haters in the UN? An organization that puts a terrorist nation in charge of anti-terrorism efforts? A supposedly benevolent organization that runs programs like “Oil for Food” that are so corrupt no one knows where the money has gone?
This is my nightmare. That Kerry closes in on the nomination and then becomes an unviable candidate. The party will be in a dither, what to do, what to do? On the national stage without a candidate to clinch the nomination- they’ll be fearful that they look ineffectual and are losing their chance against Dubya. Out of the wings will step the Party’s Salvation- Hillary. Sure she has no war record, but at least she has no bad one, and half the voters are women, and there’s lots of minority voters that will go with any Democrat, and the South will vote for her since she’s Southern.
If I was certified paranoid I’d figure all this is being orchestrated by Bill Clinton, a guy who wants more White House time and can’t get enough interns. Go ahead, reserve the rubber room.
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Whine at me: publicserf@yahoo.com
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They had nine candidates and after all the bloodletting the man left standing is J. F. Kerry? I don’t get it.
I realize that after Dubya kicked terrorist butt in Afghanistan, overthrew a truly evil dictator, and landed on an aircraft carrier the Democrats felt a need to come up with a candidate with some military credentials of his own. At first that seemed like Wesley Clark, but then his role in Waco came out, his decision making in Bosnia, and he kept sticking his foot in his mouth like he was craving a chew toy. Exit brass hat Clark.
But they had eight more to choose from. Most seemed to self-destruct, or just had a campaign life that wasn’t viable outside a smoke-filled room. While the candidates tried to gut each other they tried to smear Bush over his service in the Guard. They didn’t have the success they wanted so they still needed a war hero anyway to offset Dubya’s successes against the terrorists.
“Did you know I served in Viet Nam?” Kerry rose to the top. If Kerry actually wins the nomination it would have to be the Republican’s dream. Vets groups will savage him over his service in Viet Nam. His questionable war stories, his turncoat war protests will be explored with the same vigor they tried to smear Bush. What was supposed to be his biggest asset will turn into a terrific liability. Then it will all come down to, after all his lies about his record, after his inability to maintain a stand on any issue, is this really the guy you want in the oval office prosecuting the war on terrorism? Are you willing to turn over the fate of this country to a guy who’d bend to the will of the corrupt USA haters in the UN? An organization that puts a terrorist nation in charge of anti-terrorism efforts? A supposedly benevolent organization that runs programs like “Oil for Food” that are so corrupt no one knows where the money has gone?
This is my nightmare. That Kerry closes in on the nomination and then becomes an unviable candidate. The party will be in a dither, what to do, what to do? On the national stage without a candidate to clinch the nomination- they’ll be fearful that they look ineffectual and are losing their chance against Dubya. Out of the wings will step the Party’s Salvation- Hillary. Sure she has no war record, but at least she has no bad one, and half the voters are women, and there’s lots of minority voters that will go with any Democrat, and the South will vote for her since she’s Southern.
If I was certified paranoid I’d figure all this is being orchestrated by Bill Clinton, a guy who wants more White House time and can’t get enough interns. Go ahead, reserve the rubber room.
http://publicserf.blogspot.com
Whine at me: publicserf@yahoo.com
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10/08/03
Mother has been wallpapering the dining room while she visits. The old stuff was an eyesore that looked like cross-hatched bamboo. The new stuff looks like green leaves and big pink flowers with a metallic sheen. It looks quite lovely.
After calling it quits for the day we went out to eat at Ryans. Of course we were all stuffed by the time we left. The day’s routine plot took an unexpected twist when we got back to the van. We hadn’t even gotten into the van when a woman came out of the restaurant and started yelling at us that we’d hit her car.
That was news to me. When I pulled in I certainly hadn’t hit any other vehicle. We waited for her to cross the parking lot with her group. She claimed she’d seen us hit her daughter’s car that was parked next to us. I was sure I hadn’t hit the car. She clarified, she’d seen a passenger get out of my van and door her daughter’s car.
This still made no sense. I listen and watch to see if anybody is careless in opening a door, and there’s only one to pay attention to. I don’t door anyone. The slide door can’t door anyone, and that leaves only one other door. I was sure we hadn’t doored that car, but didn’t say anything. She was sure she needed the name of our insurance agent. She was very aggressive, so much for all Iowans being nice.
I told her I didn’t think it happened. She insisted she’d witnessed it. I told her I wanted to see the damage. She showed me a mark on the door caused by being doored. Alright, there was a dent. But the dent on her car was in front to the leading edge of the van door. This made no sense. The woman continued to rant while I slowly opened the door. The door stopped a good foot short of the dent. No way did anyone in my van dent that car.
That shut her up, for a second. Then she turned to her daughter and said, “I’m sorry honey, I tried.” Tried what? A false insurance claim? Perjury? She thought that maybe it was the vehicle parked in the spot before us after all. Well that explains everything. Thanks a lot and have a good night. We got in the van and left.
Encounters like that really bother me. There's the stress of the encounter. There's replaying it over and over in your head, wondering how it should have been handled better. There's wishing I could have been as aggressive right back at her because, in a way, she tried to lie about my liability and when it was over she got to walk away from it with nothing more than an oh sorry. It just drives me nuts.
On the upside, the kids got to see their father deal with a stressful situation in a controlled, logical manner. So it's just as well I didn't explode. It's just as well I didn't get nasty. Weenies uber alles!
Mother has been wallpapering the dining room while she visits. The old stuff was an eyesore that looked like cross-hatched bamboo. The new stuff looks like green leaves and big pink flowers with a metallic sheen. It looks quite lovely.
After calling it quits for the day we went out to eat at Ryans. Of course we were all stuffed by the time we left. The day’s routine plot took an unexpected twist when we got back to the van. We hadn’t even gotten into the van when a woman came out of the restaurant and started yelling at us that we’d hit her car.
That was news to me. When I pulled in I certainly hadn’t hit any other vehicle. We waited for her to cross the parking lot with her group. She claimed she’d seen us hit her daughter’s car that was parked next to us. I was sure I hadn’t hit the car. She clarified, she’d seen a passenger get out of my van and door her daughter’s car.
This still made no sense. I listen and watch to see if anybody is careless in opening a door, and there’s only one to pay attention to. I don’t door anyone. The slide door can’t door anyone, and that leaves only one other door. I was sure we hadn’t doored that car, but didn’t say anything. She was sure she needed the name of our insurance agent. She was very aggressive, so much for all Iowans being nice.
I told her I didn’t think it happened. She insisted she’d witnessed it. I told her I wanted to see the damage. She showed me a mark on the door caused by being doored. Alright, there was a dent. But the dent on her car was in front to the leading edge of the van door. This made no sense. The woman continued to rant while I slowly opened the door. The door stopped a good foot short of the dent. No way did anyone in my van dent that car.
That shut her up, for a second. Then she turned to her daughter and said, “I’m sorry honey, I tried.” Tried what? A false insurance claim? Perjury? She thought that maybe it was the vehicle parked in the spot before us after all. Well that explains everything. Thanks a lot and have a good night. We got in the van and left.
Encounters like that really bother me. There's the stress of the encounter. There's replaying it over and over in your head, wondering how it should have been handled better. There's wishing I could have been as aggressive right back at her because, in a way, she tried to lie about my liability and when it was over she got to walk away from it with nothing more than an oh sorry. It just drives me nuts.
On the upside, the kids got to see their father deal with a stressful situation in a controlled, logical manner. So it's just as well I didn't explode. It's just as well I didn't get nasty. Weenies uber alles!
3/22/04
Took the day off. Slept in. On the one hand sleeping in is a terrible waste of free time. On the other hand, I like it a lot. I feel downright… rested.
Didn’t do a thing. We ate lunch at Ryan’s. Ms. Pikachu hollowed out a dinner roll through a hole she made on an edge. Then she held it up to her lips and blew in and out. It expanded and contracted and the diagonal crease on it made it look like a pumping heart. That kid is just nuts, and never dull.
Ms. Pikachu had what I can only describe as a gymnastics class recital. Trainboy wanted to stay home so I stayed home with him. The Super Mom reports Ms. Pikachu did her best yet. Even Ms. Pikachu was happy.
The evening was pizza for everyone. The wife and I watched -The Talk of the Town It was made in 1942 and starred Cary Grant, Jean Arthur, and Ronald Colman. Even though he was third on the billing I liked Ronald Colman the most. There’s a reason Cary Grant was a huge star, but personally, I find his suaveness a little too affected. Ronald Colman came across as sophisticated yet genuine. Watching this movie I’d have expected Colman would be the bigger star. Obviously he wasn’t, and life isn’t fair. Maybe dying in 1958 had something to do with it.
It was a good movie- nominated for seven Academy Awards. The jacket calls it madcap and zany, I’d call it broad or light. Not that it matters. Cary Grant plays Dilg, a fellow accused of being a rabble-rouser, and falsely accused of being an arsonist that burned down the local factory. He doesn’t limit himself to facts; he goes by feelings. He’s a liberal. Colman plays a visiting law professor who has a strict “everything by the facts, everything by the rules” interpretation of the law. He’s obviously a conservative.
Eventually they both come to respect the other, justice is served, and one of them gets the girl, and only one. Because even though the professor respects the liberal position he is not a liberal. Near the end the professor makes an impassioned plea on behalf of our legal system and the need for everyone to do their part. That might seem corny if done today, but in 1942 it must have looked like the axis of Germany and Japan were closing in on all sides and people were in need of a little cheerleading.
It was a nice enough movie. But there are better ones to watch. It does make me want to check out movies by Ronald Colman (Academy Award winner 1948 for ‘A Double Life’)
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Took the day off. Slept in. On the one hand sleeping in is a terrible waste of free time. On the other hand, I like it a lot. I feel downright… rested.
Didn’t do a thing. We ate lunch at Ryan’s. Ms. Pikachu hollowed out a dinner roll through a hole she made on an edge. Then she held it up to her lips and blew in and out. It expanded and contracted and the diagonal crease on it made it look like a pumping heart. That kid is just nuts, and never dull.
Ms. Pikachu had what I can only describe as a gymnastics class recital. Trainboy wanted to stay home so I stayed home with him. The Super Mom reports Ms. Pikachu did her best yet. Even Ms. Pikachu was happy.
The evening was pizza for everyone. The wife and I watched -The Talk of the Town It was made in 1942 and starred Cary Grant, Jean Arthur, and Ronald Colman. Even though he was third on the billing I liked Ronald Colman the most. There’s a reason Cary Grant was a huge star, but personally, I find his suaveness a little too affected. Ronald Colman came across as sophisticated yet genuine. Watching this movie I’d have expected Colman would be the bigger star. Obviously he wasn’t, and life isn’t fair. Maybe dying in 1958 had something to do with it.
It was a good movie- nominated for seven Academy Awards. The jacket calls it madcap and zany, I’d call it broad or light. Not that it matters. Cary Grant plays Dilg, a fellow accused of being a rabble-rouser, and falsely accused of being an arsonist that burned down the local factory. He doesn’t limit himself to facts; he goes by feelings. He’s a liberal. Colman plays a visiting law professor who has a strict “everything by the facts, everything by the rules” interpretation of the law. He’s obviously a conservative.
Eventually they both come to respect the other, justice is served, and one of them gets the girl, and only one. Because even though the professor respects the liberal position he is not a liberal. Near the end the professor makes an impassioned plea on behalf of our legal system and the need for everyone to do their part. That might seem corny if done today, but in 1942 it must have looked like the axis of Germany and Japan were closing in on all sides and people were in need of a little cheerleading.
It was a nice enough movie. But there are better ones to watch. It does make me want to check out movies by Ronald Colman (Academy Award winner 1948 for ‘A Double Life’)
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Sunday, March 21, 2004
3/21/04
We went to church, of course.
Afterwards there was disagreement over where we’d eat lunch. Ms. Pikachu wanted Hy-Vee. Trainboy wanted Italian. Somehow the compromise was KFC. Don’t ask me how that happens; I just say “alrighty.”
Ms. Pikachu expressed concern that there would be nothing for me to eat since I don’t eat poultry. Dear child. I told her I could do just fine on the side orders of baked beans, cole slaw, and potato salad. So we pulled into KFC.
Lo and behold, proof that God still loves me, they were selling chicken potpies- the exception to my ‘no poultry’ rule. This may seem odd, and indeed it is, especially after I explain.
I’ve been queasy about eating chicken since I was a kid. Because as a kid I pulled some meat off a leg and right there were veins, arteries, ligaments- a whole freaking biology class. It made me queasy indeed.
And then I was watching 60 Minutes and they did an expose on poultry processing. They showed chicken processing conditions weren’t very nice. In fact, to pick up water weight chicken carcasses were soaked in what amounted to “fecal soup.” So much for chicken for me. I don’t think I’ve eaten a piece of chicken since. Only cheeseburgers and meatloaf have kept me from vegetarianism.
Don’t ask me why, but I can still eat chicken potpie. It is the exception to the rule, and a silly one at that. Because if anything looks like chicken in fecal soup it’s chicken potpie. It makes no sense. I can’t explain it. All I can say is that I like it. But I don’t eat the chicken.
3/21 Part II
The SuperWife is at work so I ask the kids what they’d like to eat for supper. Trainboy wants chicken nuggets- big surprise. So I tell Ms. Pikachu I’m getting food from Wendys and what does she want. Not surprisingly she says a cheeseburger. I asked her if she’d like a chili also. She smiles and says, “I don’t want A chili, I want YOUR chili.” Men are from Mars, women are from the IRS. Not that I can really complain. When I get them their kids’ meals I exercise a fry tax. They don’t know it. But while I’m on the way home they pay it. Which just goes to show that if you have your fries deducted before you get them it doesn't even hurt, it's just like the old savings bond commercial. The difference being they're saved in my gut, they don't draw interest, and you don't want them back. Other than that it's just like it.
http://publicserf.blogspot.com
Whine at me: publicserf@yahoo.com
-
We went to church, of course.
Afterwards there was disagreement over where we’d eat lunch. Ms. Pikachu wanted Hy-Vee. Trainboy wanted Italian. Somehow the compromise was KFC. Don’t ask me how that happens; I just say “alrighty.”
Ms. Pikachu expressed concern that there would be nothing for me to eat since I don’t eat poultry. Dear child. I told her I could do just fine on the side orders of baked beans, cole slaw, and potato salad. So we pulled into KFC.
Lo and behold, proof that God still loves me, they were selling chicken potpies- the exception to my ‘no poultry’ rule. This may seem odd, and indeed it is, especially after I explain.
I’ve been queasy about eating chicken since I was a kid. Because as a kid I pulled some meat off a leg and right there were veins, arteries, ligaments- a whole freaking biology class. It made me queasy indeed.
And then I was watching 60 Minutes and they did an expose on poultry processing. They showed chicken processing conditions weren’t very nice. In fact, to pick up water weight chicken carcasses were soaked in what amounted to “fecal soup.” So much for chicken for me. I don’t think I’ve eaten a piece of chicken since. Only cheeseburgers and meatloaf have kept me from vegetarianism.
Don’t ask me why, but I can still eat chicken potpie. It is the exception to the rule, and a silly one at that. Because if anything looks like chicken in fecal soup it’s chicken potpie. It makes no sense. I can’t explain it. All I can say is that I like it. But I don’t eat the chicken.
3/21 Part II
The SuperWife is at work so I ask the kids what they’d like to eat for supper. Trainboy wants chicken nuggets- big surprise. So I tell Ms. Pikachu I’m getting food from Wendys and what does she want. Not surprisingly she says a cheeseburger. I asked her if she’d like a chili also. She smiles and says, “I don’t want A chili, I want YOUR chili.” Men are from Mars, women are from the IRS. Not that I can really complain. When I get them their kids’ meals I exercise a fry tax. They don’t know it. But while I’m on the way home they pay it. Which just goes to show that if you have your fries deducted before you get them it doesn't even hurt, it's just like the old savings bond commercial. The difference being they're saved in my gut, they don't draw interest, and you don't want them back. Other than that it's just like it.
http://publicserf.blogspot.com
Whine at me: publicserf@yahoo.com
-
Saturday, March 20, 2004
3/19/04
Journey to the Center of the Earth…bitch, kinda.
If you haven’t seen it- reading the following will probably ruin it for you.
The wife has another stack of DVD’s she checked out from the library. When she left for work my assignment, should I choose to accept it, was to watch ‘Journey to the Center of the Earth.’ I told her that I’d seen it as a kid and thought it was stupid. As a KID it was stupid. Admittedly, all I remembered about it was that there was a sky down there and it made no sense. If the pressures allowed any spaces they’d be small ones- it would be claustrophobic spelunking if you could spelunk at all. So having a sky would be stupid. Don’t argue with me, it would be stupid.
Being a good husband I agreed to watch it anyway. Having at least a small measure of integrity I did. Fortunately it had James Mason. I like James Mason, but what he was doing in this mystified me. It seems a cynical, yet safe, assumption the check was much better than the script.
The movie starts with a golly, gee whiz, Pat Boone giving his beloved professor a rock for a gift. No mention was made of his origin that I recall, but I suspect Pat was from Iowa, because he was so nice. On the other hand, there was that time he was seen wearing a kilt so maybe he was a Scot without an accent. Maybe I should have just turned up the sound. I dunno. Nor is it relevant. Let us move on with our (echoing) Journey to the Center of the Earth.
From the scribbling on a rock within his rock the professor discerns the way to the center of the earth is near a volcano in Iceland. Right there you know that whatever the university is paying him isn’t enough and society would be better served if he was in criminology. Except he isn’t bright enough to pick up that his daughter and Pat Boone like each other ‘real strong’ so maybe he isn’t another Sherlock after all.
The trusting, because he’s a pure Man of Science, professor sends his findings to another professor for confirmation. It isn’t long before skullduggery and plot developments are afoot. And if I may digress about that, at no time does Pat Boone wear white shoes, but he does sing. Now let us continue with our (over excitedly) Journey to the Center of the Earth.
Realizing they are being skullduggered by the other professor they head for Iceland as quickly as they can, because, (reverently) as long as there are questions Man must find the answers. Since the other professor is heading for The Answer and it’s causing panic we can safely assume that more important than the answer is getting there first. Pat Boone leaves his woman (Diane Baker) behind, go figure.
In Iceland there is more, yes more, skullduggery. This results in their picking up a local Icelandic guy for a beast of burden/guide, and if I may digress again, he’s a hunky blonde for the women in the audience. Because the movie producers knew that while men would heed the trailer’s siren call to answer the questions like men must, they could sell two tickets if they gave the women some eye candy. However, the women may be disappointed that Blonde Hunk is in deep like with his duck, or maybe not. They also pick up the wife of the other now-dead professor, because men have eyes too and what’s fair is fair. But now (In Cinemascope!) back to Journey to the Center of the Earth.
There are more skullduggeries that I don’t care to remember. There is more stupidity than I care to relate. They get to the (In Technicolor!) Center of the Earth. There are freaking dinosaurs. Huge things. It’s a little disappointing that the astute James Mason, Man of Science, doesn’t wonder aloud something like, “The bigger you are the more food you need to stay alive, where are these monsters getting their food?” And there’s a sea with the bright, aforementioned, sky.
Then they stumble onto Atlantis. Oh sure, right where I’d left it. They’re in the middle of Atlantis, now there are some questions to be asked demanding answers, but suddenly they’re in a rush to get out. Suddenly, they are set upon by the chameleon with the (widescreen!) twenty-foot tongue! Lava starts boiling in and the chameleon chamels! Well blind me with science.
Escape is managed by jumping into a blue cup-shaped pagan altarpiece that is then shot upwards through a chimney by a plume of red-hot lava. There is a shot from above of everybody laying back and kind of, uh, enjoying the ride. Anybody in the audience who wasn’t overwhelmed by the wonders they’d just experienced had to be suppressing a laugh, if they could. It’s almost disappointing you don’t get to seem them being, uh, ejected, from the volcano. Apparently that would have been too much Bad Science.
We then see that Pat Boone landed in a tree near a convent. Rather than be seen naked by the nuns he covers himself with a sheep, the smallest one at that, and runs away. There will be no shepherd jokes here. But he had been underground for a long time.
Scientifically, it’s a stupid movie. There are plot twists that defy logic. There are holes bigger than the caverns. The whole time they’re Journeying to the Center of the Earth, they’re following the trail of a guy who never got out. Unless he was carrying his own Guide Duck, don’t ask, wouldn’t he have had to do some backtracking. Wouldn’t he have needed a woman along to point out he was a stupid, sexist, man? Not that I care. It was a stupid movie made in 1959. And maybe that explains a little more about it.
Maybe the movie was a technological advance, a visual extravaganza. Maybe it was a “big effects movie” slyly intended as social and sexual commentary. There is a “bourgeiousie” exchange with a corrupt aristocrat. The professor accepts the widow as equipment. She makes him jettison some social conventions, and then he frees her of her corset, even if as a purely practical matter. The duck waddles off with the corset.
Pat Boone and the Icelander run around topless most of the time- that was probably pretty racy then. The working class Icelander was willing to kill the aristocrat over his beloved duck. Pat Boone and the aforementioned sheep and nuns. At the end the masses applaud their achievements because they believe too
. I am NOT going to watch it again to try to decipher it. I don’t care, even if I am suddenly a little curious. The wife wanted me to watch it. I watched it. I wrote this, now you won’t have to watch it yourself, unless you’re curious. Don’t thank me; I did it to answer the questions of future generations. Too bad I have no answers.
On the other hand- if you go -hereyou’ll see lots of reviews by people who liked it. Maybe I just didn’t get it. Maybe the problem was I just refused to suspend disbelief. Maybe I’m just too right-brained to to ignore crappy science. Maybe I'm just too spoiled by Lucas and Spielberg to understand how it was all supposed to work.
If you do watch it, and the duck makes sense, tell me about it. I want to know the answers.
http://publicserf.blogspot.com
Whine at me: publicserf@yahoo.com
Journey to the Center of the Earth…bitch, kinda.
If you haven’t seen it- reading the following will probably ruin it for you.
The wife has another stack of DVD’s she checked out from the library. When she left for work my assignment, should I choose to accept it, was to watch ‘Journey to the Center of the Earth.’ I told her that I’d seen it as a kid and thought it was stupid. As a KID it was stupid. Admittedly, all I remembered about it was that there was a sky down there and it made no sense. If the pressures allowed any spaces they’d be small ones- it would be claustrophobic spelunking if you could spelunk at all. So having a sky would be stupid. Don’t argue with me, it would be stupid.
Being a good husband I agreed to watch it anyway. Having at least a small measure of integrity I did. Fortunately it had James Mason. I like James Mason, but what he was doing in this mystified me. It seems a cynical, yet safe, assumption the check was much better than the script.
The movie starts with a golly, gee whiz, Pat Boone giving his beloved professor a rock for a gift. No mention was made of his origin that I recall, but I suspect Pat was from Iowa, because he was so nice. On the other hand, there was that time he was seen wearing a kilt so maybe he was a Scot without an accent. Maybe I should have just turned up the sound. I dunno. Nor is it relevant. Let us move on with our (echoing) Journey to the Center of the Earth.
From the scribbling on a rock within his rock the professor discerns the way to the center of the earth is near a volcano in Iceland. Right there you know that whatever the university is paying him isn’t enough and society would be better served if he was in criminology. Except he isn’t bright enough to pick up that his daughter and Pat Boone like each other ‘real strong’ so maybe he isn’t another Sherlock after all.
The trusting, because he’s a pure Man of Science, professor sends his findings to another professor for confirmation. It isn’t long before skullduggery and plot developments are afoot. And if I may digress about that, at no time does Pat Boone wear white shoes, but he does sing. Now let us continue with our (over excitedly) Journey to the Center of the Earth.
Realizing they are being skullduggered by the other professor they head for Iceland as quickly as they can, because, (reverently) as long as there are questions Man must find the answers. Since the other professor is heading for The Answer and it’s causing panic we can safely assume that more important than the answer is getting there first. Pat Boone leaves his woman (Diane Baker) behind, go figure.
In Iceland there is more, yes more, skullduggery. This results in their picking up a local Icelandic guy for a beast of burden/guide, and if I may digress again, he’s a hunky blonde for the women in the audience. Because the movie producers knew that while men would heed the trailer’s siren call to answer the questions like men must, they could sell two tickets if they gave the women some eye candy. However, the women may be disappointed that Blonde Hunk is in deep like with his duck, or maybe not. They also pick up the wife of the other now-dead professor, because men have eyes too and what’s fair is fair. But now (In Cinemascope!) back to Journey to the Center of the Earth.
There are more skullduggeries that I don’t care to remember. There is more stupidity than I care to relate. They get to the (In Technicolor!) Center of the Earth. There are freaking dinosaurs. Huge things. It’s a little disappointing that the astute James Mason, Man of Science, doesn’t wonder aloud something like, “The bigger you are the more food you need to stay alive, where are these monsters getting their food?” And there’s a sea with the bright, aforementioned, sky.
Then they stumble onto Atlantis. Oh sure, right where I’d left it. They’re in the middle of Atlantis, now there are some questions to be asked demanding answers, but suddenly they’re in a rush to get out. Suddenly, they are set upon by the chameleon with the (widescreen!) twenty-foot tongue! Lava starts boiling in and the chameleon chamels! Well blind me with science.
Escape is managed by jumping into a blue cup-shaped pagan altarpiece that is then shot upwards through a chimney by a plume of red-hot lava. There is a shot from above of everybody laying back and kind of, uh, enjoying the ride. Anybody in the audience who wasn’t overwhelmed by the wonders they’d just experienced had to be suppressing a laugh, if they could. It’s almost disappointing you don’t get to seem them being, uh, ejected, from the volcano. Apparently that would have been too much Bad Science.
We then see that Pat Boone landed in a tree near a convent. Rather than be seen naked by the nuns he covers himself with a sheep, the smallest one at that, and runs away. There will be no shepherd jokes here. But he had been underground for a long time.
Scientifically, it’s a stupid movie. There are plot twists that defy logic. There are holes bigger than the caverns. The whole time they’re Journeying to the Center of the Earth, they’re following the trail of a guy who never got out. Unless he was carrying his own Guide Duck, don’t ask, wouldn’t he have had to do some backtracking. Wouldn’t he have needed a woman along to point out he was a stupid, sexist, man? Not that I care. It was a stupid movie made in 1959. And maybe that explains a little more about it.
Maybe the movie was a technological advance, a visual extravaganza. Maybe it was a “big effects movie” slyly intended as social and sexual commentary. There is a “bourgeiousie” exchange with a corrupt aristocrat. The professor accepts the widow as equipment. She makes him jettison some social conventions, and then he frees her of her corset, even if as a purely practical matter. The duck waddles off with the corset.
Pat Boone and the Icelander run around topless most of the time- that was probably pretty racy then. The working class Icelander was willing to kill the aristocrat over his beloved duck. Pat Boone and the aforementioned sheep and nuns. At the end the masses applaud their achievements because they believe too
. I am NOT going to watch it again to try to decipher it. I don’t care, even if I am suddenly a little curious. The wife wanted me to watch it. I watched it. I wrote this, now you won’t have to watch it yourself, unless you’re curious. Don’t thank me; I did it to answer the questions of future generations. Too bad I have no answers.
On the other hand- if you go -hereyou’ll see lots of reviews by people who liked it. Maybe I just didn’t get it. Maybe the problem was I just refused to suspend disbelief. Maybe I’m just too right-brained to to ignore crappy science. Maybe I'm just too spoiled by Lucas and Spielberg to understand how it was all supposed to work.
If you do watch it, and the duck makes sense, tell me about it. I want to know the answers.
http://publicserf.blogspot.com
Whine at me: publicserf@yahoo.com
Friday, March 19, 2004
3/13/04
We try to visit my older brother’s on Saturdays, but it’s a 70 minute drive. Sometimes I’m just not up to it though. Trainboy wanted to visit his cousins so we loaded our stuff in the car and away we went. We went to the end of the block.
As soon as I tried to drive my right eye started to twitch. As if being cross-eyed wasn’t bad enough, having an eye twitch back and forth made driving impossible. Trainboy was not happy, I could tell. Ms. Pikachu is all for not getting killed at a young age so she thought turning around was a good idea.
Part of the usual journey is a stop at a fast-food place. We then eat it while sitting through a car wash, or I just pull into a parking lot, because driving cross-eyed is bad enough, but having an attack of pain due to eating is even worse. The kids never complain about making sure I can drive safely.
So the trip was off, but everybody was still hungry. Very carefully, I drove over to Wendys. The kids got their usuals, I got my usual plus chili. When we got home we prayed first. We always thank the Lord for what we’re about to eat, and we always pray for Mommy at work. It’s our routine and we’re comfortable with it.
The kids ate their food, and I ate mine. I have to eat more slowly so by the time I was done with my burger the kids were already about finished. Next came my chili, and as it was removed from the bag Ms. Pikachu got excited. “Chili! You ordered chili? I want the chili!” She’s usually better mannered than that. Normally she only gets that excited around chocolate. Irregardless, I could not reward such…. Childish behavior. I said, “No, the chili is mine. If you wanted some you could have ordered some.”
She would not take “no” for an answer. She’ll probably find that useful if she has a career in sales, but it was not going to get her my chili. She reached, I held it away. She got up, I stepped away. And so the great Chili Race of 3/13 was started.
Ms. Pikachu chased me around the downstairs a few times, backed me into a corner once, all the while yelling, “Give me the chil!” It’s hard to run when you’re laughing though. Eventually I made a break for the upstairs. I hadn’t made more than a few steps when she grabbed my back pocket and pulled. Off balance, going off balance, so I backed down the steps. I told her pulling 200 pounds backwards really wasn’t a good idea. As she processed that little instruction I took off again, chili held out like an Olympian torch bearer.
Once more around the downstairs and another bolt for the stairs- this time success. I don’t move too badly for an old man. Then into this room and closed the door. Leaning against the door it was hard to believe how childish we were acting, but it was amusing. Due to my aforementioned weight she could not get in. But she tried, all the while yelling, “Give me the chili!”
This WAS childish, so I decided to try something a little more adult. I offered to split the chili with her. She would have none of it. There is no reasoning with a manic blonde. Eventually her mania gave way to tantrum. She informed me she had barricaded me into the room. The door opens inward- she is blonde to the bone.
I tired of it. I guzzled the chili.
A rather abrupt ending, but I have to get to work for a staff meeting.
http://publicserf.blogspot.com
Whine at me: publicserf@yahoo.com
-
We try to visit my older brother’s on Saturdays, but it’s a 70 minute drive. Sometimes I’m just not up to it though. Trainboy wanted to visit his cousins so we loaded our stuff in the car and away we went. We went to the end of the block.
As soon as I tried to drive my right eye started to twitch. As if being cross-eyed wasn’t bad enough, having an eye twitch back and forth made driving impossible. Trainboy was not happy, I could tell. Ms. Pikachu is all for not getting killed at a young age so she thought turning around was a good idea.
Part of the usual journey is a stop at a fast-food place. We then eat it while sitting through a car wash, or I just pull into a parking lot, because driving cross-eyed is bad enough, but having an attack of pain due to eating is even worse. The kids never complain about making sure I can drive safely.
So the trip was off, but everybody was still hungry. Very carefully, I drove over to Wendys. The kids got their usuals, I got my usual plus chili. When we got home we prayed first. We always thank the Lord for what we’re about to eat, and we always pray for Mommy at work. It’s our routine and we’re comfortable with it.
The kids ate their food, and I ate mine. I have to eat more slowly so by the time I was done with my burger the kids were already about finished. Next came my chili, and as it was removed from the bag Ms. Pikachu got excited. “Chili! You ordered chili? I want the chili!” She’s usually better mannered than that. Normally she only gets that excited around chocolate. Irregardless, I could not reward such…. Childish behavior. I said, “No, the chili is mine. If you wanted some you could have ordered some.”
She would not take “no” for an answer. She’ll probably find that useful if she has a career in sales, but it was not going to get her my chili. She reached, I held it away. She got up, I stepped away. And so the great Chili Race of 3/13 was started.
Ms. Pikachu chased me around the downstairs a few times, backed me into a corner once, all the while yelling, “Give me the chil!” It’s hard to run when you’re laughing though. Eventually I made a break for the upstairs. I hadn’t made more than a few steps when she grabbed my back pocket and pulled. Off balance, going off balance, so I backed down the steps. I told her pulling 200 pounds backwards really wasn’t a good idea. As she processed that little instruction I took off again, chili held out like an Olympian torch bearer.
Once more around the downstairs and another bolt for the stairs- this time success. I don’t move too badly for an old man. Then into this room and closed the door. Leaning against the door it was hard to believe how childish we were acting, but it was amusing. Due to my aforementioned weight she could not get in. But she tried, all the while yelling, “Give me the chili!”
This WAS childish, so I decided to try something a little more adult. I offered to split the chili with her. She would have none of it. There is no reasoning with a manic blonde. Eventually her mania gave way to tantrum. She informed me she had barricaded me into the room. The door opens inward- she is blonde to the bone.
I tired of it. I guzzled the chili.
A rather abrupt ending, but I have to get to work for a staff meeting.
http://publicserf.blogspot.com
Whine at me: publicserf@yahoo.com
-