JUST A LITTLE 'AWWWW' MOMENT

I just noticed a note on the top page of a scratch pad left by one of the Oompas.  It reads....

I ♥ U
MMMY

How sweet is that.

THE BEST LAID PLANS OF DUSTBUNNIES....

I think it is possible that I was maybe just a little too eager to get the Oompas out of the house.  Perhaps I showed a wee bit too much enthusiasm.  I might have brayed too loudly.  When Dickidoo offered to fill my tank up so I could come up on Saturday (and bring some stuff for them) I accepted because for one... I love the event and really did want to camp out, and two... I'd still have Sunday and Monday to myself.

Becca had the cooties. 

And now I have the cooties.  Thanks Bec.

At first I thought my throat was sore because I was singing at the top of my lungs on the 1 hour trip up the mountain.  John Denver and Pavarotti have that effect on me.  By Sunday morning it was painfully obvious that these aches and pains were not caused by my Rocky Mountain caroling.

I have the fricken flu! 

And one of the things I had to take up on Saturday... the turkeys for deep frying?  Well, guess where they were on Sunday morning.  Yep, on the floor of Big Red, thawing quite happily 1 hour east from where they were supposed to be.  Grrrrrrrrr²!

That was the absolute end to any plans I had made for my little mini vacation.  I went back up the mountain after work on Sunday.  I felt like kaa kaa but it was worth the trip.  Florence Mountain Park is beautiful this time of year, and the people we camp with are some of the most wonderful people on earth.  And my she-devil daughters seem to have temporarily bonded.   I found evidence on my camera after I kidnapped it back of them touching in a manner that does not inflict pain.  This one's a keeper, it may never happen again.  As for the round-trip turkey, well deep fried turkey is just awesome, thats all there is to it but deep fried turkey in the mountains is positively heavenly.  Must be the moutain air that just makes people nicer and food tastier.  We should all live in the mountains.

My hectic schedule really did a number on my already cootie infested body.  I feel like road kill.  I probably look like road kill but at this point I really don't care.  Walking hurts.  Breathing hurts.  My chest hurts, my throat hurts, my muscles hurt.  Even the roots of my hair hurts.  I worked a full day today, but only because if I had called in sick I would have lost the 7.44 hours of holiday pay I got for today.  Fortunately the day passed fast.

I must be sicker than I realized.  While sitting on the pot I realized that I had put my undies on inside out after my shower this morning.   I'm feeling a lot better after some flu medicine and a nice nap, but my Hanes For Her are still inside out.  It can wait.

So now I'm just waiting for the return of the Oompas.  The house still looks like it should be declared a State of Emergency.  I had planned on straightening up but now I'm thinking... why bother when the gang is due to arrive back from camp any moment now and will no doubt drop everything on the floor as they unload the Hemi.

The silence in this big old house is almost deafening.  Can it be that I am actually looking forward to the sounds of Oompas?  Nah... probably not.  At any rate Dickidoo just called.  They'll be home in about an hour and he wants me to pick up something for supper... and BEER!  I must be feeling better because beer sure sounds good right now.  But for now I'm scalding my throat with Folgers.

I hope they bring home some left over turkey.

HURRICANE LOOMPA

I have been cooking like a crazy woman these past 3 days.   Ghostrider Chili (chicken and green chili), hominy with smoked turkey, and elk stew... I've been washing clothes, packing bags, makings lists and checking them twice.  I even emptied my debit account to get the last minute supplies. 

It was 2:45 before they were finally on the road.  They called twice before they were out of town.  I hope I didn't seem to eager to see them off. 

And now, finally, silence through out the 2100 sq. ft. dwelling except for the occasional 'Woo Hoo!'  The place looks like the aftermath of a hurricane but I don't mind.

I ate supper early... some of the left overs from my cooking spree.  Then I showered, a nice long uninterrupted shower.  I lounged on the sofa and watched the O'Reilly Factor without anyone switching channels on me.  Even now I sit in front of the computer in just a camisole and my undies (not trying to be enticing here... trust me, there's nothing enticing about this scene!) smelling like cucumber and melon shower gel, and Aussie shampoo.   I am footloose and carefree.

I look like Medusa.

The Oompas have taken every single hair brush with them to the camp out.

I am procrastinating but I will eventually have to break out the Diamond brand super heavy duty plastic disposable fork and do my hair.

I should have known better.  Grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr!

Written with a heavy sigh.......

Tomorrow is the last day of school.  It's only a half day, as was today, so for all practical purposes my vacation is already over.

Here comes summer... hurrah.

Actually I have a short reprieve.  The family is going to the annual Colorado Springs Muzzleloaders Memorial Day Shoot this weekend.  Being as this is also one of the biggest weekends for the store I won't be going with them to the camp out.  The camp out has always been a highlight of the year for us and naturally I was disappointed at first, but then I got to thinking... after work I would have the house to myself!  HURRAH!

The hot tub is busted, the pool has 1 inch of muddy swamp water under 2 inches of leaves, the trampoline has a hole on one side, my bike (which I have never ridden) has a flat.  No Dickidoo and no Oompas for 4 days and 3 nights.  No one to cook for, no one to chauffer around.  No one to fight over the remote with, no one to share my food with.  No one to distract me from my blogging.  No one to steal my cell phone or shoes.  What ever shall I do with myself?  WOO HOO!

90 days until school starts.

ACCIDENTAL BLING

I'm positively dazzling, and nobody can tell.

I bought a container of Mary Kate and Ashley cosmetic glitter for the girls last year to enhance their costuming for last year's Renaissance Festival.  A little bit goes a long way, and the girls have lousy aim.

Yesterday when I went to the bathroom I found the powder fine glitter coating almost every surface.

When I left the bathroom there was still powder fine glitter coating almost every surface...

Except for the toilet seat.

The powder fine glitter that once coated the toilet seat coated my hiney.

Positively dazzling.

Positively wasted.

Well, not entirely.  Naturally I had to admire my sparkling buns in the mirror first.

24 carat moons! 

THE SCENT OF MOTHER'S DAY

Memories are funny things.  Mine are mostly based on my senses.   My childhood memories of Mother's Day, for instance, is almost completely comprised of fragrances...  Of burnt pancakes for breakfast, and a bouquet of roses, Mama's favorite flower.  It smelled like paper paste and magic markers on construction paper cards, laden down heavily with glitter.  But mostly it smelled like Mama's hugs, Chanel No. 5 and Love That Red lipstick.

I've been a mother for 23 years now.  Funny how little the aroma of Mother's Day has changed over the years.  Now it smells like burnt pancakes and a bottomless cup of coffee extra sweetened with hazelnut creamer.  It smells Elmers glue and gel pens on printing paper cards, or beautiful Hallmarks whose sentimental prose pales in comparison to the individual messages added by the kids.  It smells of of silk flowers and dandilions.  But mostly it smells like Oompas hugs... like hair spray and hair gel, like toothpaste and soap. 

Mother's Day always did, still does, and I hope always will smell like the love between mother and child.  And you can't bottle that!

SOME QUESTIONS ARE BEST LEFT UNANSWERED

I walked into the restroom yesterday and was greeted by a floater.  I am no longer surprised by unflushed commodes but yesterday I was flabbergasted.

Not only was there a floater in the unflushed toilet, but the toilet seat was up...

I think what a person does behind the closed latrine door is completely personal.  There is no real right or wrong way.  There are no instruction manuals or users guides that comes with a shiny new Kohler.  You won't find "Hi, whats your favorite way to drop a load?" on the list of 1,000,000 Most Popular Conversation Starters.

So what really happened there?  My mind reels at the possibility and yet there can only be one explanation. 

Why was the toilet seat up? 

Did someone actually raise the seat and dump standing up?

RANDOMOUS PART 2 (nope, its still not a word)

Coffee Mate has a new flavor of creamer out.  Its called Blueberry Cobbler.  It smells luscious.  It tastes luscious straight out of the container.

The quickest way to ruin a perfectly good cup of Folgers is to put a couple of scoops of Coffee Mate Blueberry Cobbler creamer in it.  Dang!  There's got to be something that stuff would be good in/on... it smells and tastes soooooooo good!  (just not in coffee!)

Something wicked this way comes.

Something wicked came to my drain at work and died, and now I'm stuck with the smell.  I spent the morning blaming it on various truckers and vendors.  The gassy ones are embarrassed because they really think it might be them.  The innocent ones are embarrassed because they think everyone thinks its them.  I know its the drain, but its more fun this way.  Have you ever seen a grown man blush?  Have you ever seen 5 grown men blush all on the same day?

It really does smell like an overdue Pamper.  I may have to arrange a meeting with the Rotorooter man.  I hope he's as fun as the Orkin man whom I call 'Ratman' and sing the 'Batman' jingle to every time he pays us a visit.  (Poor guy, I think he dreads coming to my store.  Hehehehe.)

I did the unthinkable this morning.  I couldn't find any socks in the dark so I went to work with out any.  As I sit here typing my nose is positively freaking out.  With socks, Becca says my feet smell like nachos after a full day of work.  Without socks they smell like my drain at work. Phewwwwwwwww!

I wonder if Coffee Mate Blueberry Cobbler creamer tastes good on vanilla ice cream.

I ROCK

I know I rock because the Oompas tell me so.  I rock at work as well, just ask my vendors and co-workers.

But rockdom has a cost, a price that must be paid... a subscription fee of sorts.

I rock at home because sometimes I get up early on my days off and make biscuits for breakfast.   Sometimes its as easy as fresh brewed iced tea or homemade mashed potatoes with extra pepper.  Sometimes I rock because I let an Oompa stay out later than the designated curfew.  Sometimes I'll drop them off or pick them up from their friends house.  Sometimes I rock because I let them tag along with me when I go shopping.  Rockdom almost always breaks my budget then.

I rock at work when the invoices go through automatically and don't have to be individually checked in.  I rock when I offer to throw away someone's trash.  I rock when I take bottled water  up to the thirsty cashiers and cart pushers a couple of hours into their shift.

The fastest way to lose rockdom I have discovered is by the use of that little bitty, teenie tiny word 'NO'.  All I have to do is say 'NO' when all they want to hear is 'YES'.

Poof!  All gone!  No more rocking!

But I rock this morning... Lemon scones hot from the oven.  Oh yeah!

Dickidoo didn't get any scones.  He left before I could make them.  I'm still on his list, but its not the 'rock' list.  Sometimes even not rocking has a price.

BLOG CRAWL 4, Sibling Rivalry

This picture was taken in 1970 by the shore of the River Clyde in Dunoon Scotland.  This wasn't the best shot of the day.  In fact there was a much better one of the three older sisters in which I was sitting quite angelically and had my tongue in my mouth rather than wagging as in this one.  I felt this picture better exemplified the personalities of my brother, sisters and myself at the time. 

George, my only brother, was my partner in crime.  The little one on Mama's lap is our baby sister whom we called 'Beanie' following an incident that involved a pinto bean and a particular orifice on her face.  I call her 'Beanie' to this day.  Beanie was more often than not our victim.  If you were to ask us though we would have a million and one reasons why our actions were justified as 'self defense' and not just plain orneriness.  Beanie was a brat, a spoiled rotten brat.  And worst of all, Beanie was cute!  She was tiny and everyone adored her.  She was like a walking, talking doll and my older sisters doted on her like a princess.  I despised dolls and therefore I despised Beanie.

Looking back I see that I was perhaps a little jealous of my baby sister, however at the time I felt my actions were justified by her devious ways.  I also felt that I was in fact doing her a favor by educating her.  One such lesson was when I attempted to introduce her to a ghost that resided in a large wooden wardrobe in the spare room at the back of the house in Scotland.  Little Beanie was skeptical but I knew for a fact that the closet was haunted, because I said so.  I dared her to climb in and look for the ghost, emphasizing thatshe had to be completely silent so as not to scare the specter away.  As soon as she was in the wardrobe, I shut the great mirrored door and locked it, to maximize the darkness which was a key element in ghost sightings (because I said so).  Unfortunately Beanie, who was afraid of the dark, immediately began to scream at the top of her lungs.  Mama made me (and George, because we were inseparable back then) let Beanie out, and even though Beanie wanted to meet the ghost and I was merely fulfilling her wishes, I got in trouble.  She would have seen the ghost if she had been quiet as I had instructed.  Hmmmmph!

Another memorable incident happened shortly after our move to Hawaii.  We were visiting our grandparents on the Big Island, and a bunch of cousins were going to go hiking through the sugar cane field behind the house.  Naturally Beanie wanted to tag along.  Naturally I protested.  Naturally Mama insisted that I take her along.  Naturally I was not happy.  About 20 yards into the field, with the lush green stalks high above our heads, I stooped down to examine the thick moss growing around the base of the cane.  Ever inquisitive, Beanie asked what it was.

"Pig pee"  I said in all seriousness, then jumped up and yelled for everyone to run for their lives.  Everyone started screaming and the cousins scattered in a million directions like roaches.  When we all stopped running and met back up, Beanie was no where to be seen.  In fact I wouldn't see her again until we eventually emerged from the cane field a couple of hours later.  I saw Mama with her.  Mama was not amused.

Today Beanie is a wife and mother of 4.  She is a valuable longtime employee at a major retailer in the islands, she is an awesome cook, and has an infectious smile.  She survived childhood without any ill effects.  I'm surprised she hasn't got a million phobias because of me.  She described me as her hero whenmy children asked how it was growing up with me.  Perhaps later, when she was a teenager, but definitely not when she was a youngster.  Maybe she is suffering from repressed memories.  Or maybe she is just a very forgiving person.  At any rate, she is a wonderful soul... and I am glad to have played a major role in her development.  (still trying to justify the whole thing).

Love you Beanie!

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

* Carpe Diem by princesssaurora:  Pumpkin vs. Fuzzy, officiated by Mom  Final score...TBA.

* Just Mary by frankandmary:  Meet Cricket, a precocious teenager who even has me believing that its not her... its everyone else!

* In My Opinion by pixiedustnme: Sibling rivalry takes on a whole new appearance when the rivaling siblings are your children!

Tags: Blog Crawl, Sibling Rivalry