3:30 IN THE MORNING...

This morning started like any other morning at o'dark hundred.  I slapped the alarm clock to quiet the static and closed my eyes for a minute.  10 minutes later I rolled out of bed and made my way down the hall to the dark kitchen where the best part of waking up was waiting for me.

Not really, it would be another 5 minutes before I held a welcoming cup of coffee in my hands.  I set up the Bunn-Omatic Brew-Omatic with robotic automation, got dressed and by the time I pulled the mismatched socks on my feet the java was ready.  I was really looking forward to this cup since we had run out of creamer two days ago and yesterday's coffee was lacking. 

At 3:30 am I can follow directions.  In fact, at 3:30 am I can ONLY follow directions.  Without the jump start I get from my coffee I can not think independently.  Even though past experience has taught me that it is a very bad idea to shake a  new bottle of coffee creamer before peeling back its foil safety seal, when I read the label on the creamer that instructs me to 'shake before using', I shake before using.

What it should instruct is to 'remove inner seal, replace cap and shake well before using.'

Because it does not, and I cannot think intelligently on my own at 3:30 am, this morning as on many other mornings I shook my brand new bottle of creamer, peeled back the foil safety seal and got a face full of creamer as the pressure was suddenly released and it's luscious, creamy contents spewed out at me.

I made my cup of coffee and took a long swig before cleaning off my glasses.  Okay, I admit its disgusting but at 3:30 in the morning, yes, I licked the creamer off my glasses before rinsing them off under the faucet.

What? 

Hey, come on, at 3:30 in the morning my mind is not yet capable of intelligent thought.  In fact there is no thought process at all, it is all pure instinct and reaction.  And while the caffeine in coffee begins to take effect within 5 minutes, it really doesn't kick in until half an hour later.

That means that I am not capable of intelligent, independent thought until at least 4 am.

So, to Nestle USA, makers of Coffee Mate hazelnut creamer, please fix your label to read 'Remove inner seal, replace lid and THEN shake before using'.

I'm tired of licking hazelnut creamer off of my glasses at 3:30 in the morning.

8 MONTH WINTER, 4 MONTH SUMMER (or Lucky you live in the Rockies!)

There are only two Oompas in the house at the moment, so why is it so noisy?  Art is in Oklahoma at the Melee Spring Equinox and Becca is at the movies with her boyfriend and his family.  That leaves Zack and Rocky, who have decided that Will Smith's 'I Am Legend' must be watched with the volume cranked to the max.  I used to think Will Smith had a sexy voice.  Not any more.

Its still winter here.  I had to chisel a thick sheet of ice from my windshield this morning, making me 4 minutes late for work.  I've been living here the Rockies for 14 years now and still have not gotten used to having only 2 seasons in the year... winter and summer.  Summer begins two days after the last snow fall, when ever that is.  Winter begins with the first frost.  That gives us about 4 hot scorching summer months, then BOOM!  Winter!

March is almost over, can you believe it?  In like a lion, out like a lamb.  Yeah, well, have you noticed that the lamb has a very thick warm coat of wool?  I am not inspired!

By the way, FYI:

271 Days Until Christmas.
Ho Ho Ho!  Ha Ha Ha!

p.s.  I take it back, Will Smith still has a very sexy voice.

DUST BUNNY BOOK OF THE MONTH... (or year, or what ever)

I picked up a book the day before yesterday.  I used to be quite an avid reader, and a very fast one as well, back when there were fewer important things to procrastinate over.  Now days I'm too busy trying to find a way out of doing things which really need to be done to really have time to enjoy the time I'm saving by not doing what I should be doing.

Yeah, so any way I picked up a book the day before yesterday, a novel by Nelson Demille.  The jacket said he was a "#1 NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLING AUTHOR".  That doesn't really mean much to me since I have even less time to read the New York Times than I do for reading novels.  The title caught my eye though.  "NIGHT FALL", along with a picture of a passenger jet airliner that separated the author's name from the book's title. 

The price was kind of nice too, $1.99 at the Goodwill New Arrivals book rack.  I bought the book on pay day.  That was my splurge on myself along with a handful of paper backs, a hodge podge of fiction, most with worn and discolored pages, musty smelling and aged.  This particular book stood out from the others on the shelf with its dust cover still immaculately in tact.  Seeing hardly a mark on the practically brand new book cover I quickly determined that it was probably a boring book since it obviously hadn't been read.  My favorite books are easily recognized by scars they bear from being dragged around the house, in and out of the car, to the bathroom, and the kitchen.  This book with its glossy blue and black cover was in pristine condition.

There was no cheat sheet on the back cover, no synopsis of the story, just a bunch of testimonials from other authors and papers remarking what a great piece of work it was.  I cracked the book open and began to read.  It started out average enough, though hardly Book of the Month Club stuff.  That was what I was thinking as I turned to page 2.  I don't remember when I stopped skimming and actually started reading, but before I realized it I was completely engrossed with the story.

I was sincerely upset yesterday morning at work when I realized that I had left the book on Henry the Goldfish's tank instead of taking it into the car to read during my lunch break.  I just knew the spiteful fish was spitting water at the previously unblemished book cover.  When I finally retrieved the book after work I was relieved to see not a single water spot on the glossy paper.  I shook my finger at the gaping big eyed feeder fish before rushing upstairs to pick up where I left off.

It was almost grudgingly that I set the book down to take care of some previously arranged business, a trip to Kimmie's to pick her up for dinner, staying to play with the grand babies when their Mama admitted that she wasn't feeling well and passed on our dinner date, a trip to pick up dinner for her instead, more play time with the grand babies, and then home to fix supper for my own babies.  Finally I was able to return to the novel, with a firm determination to finish it before I set it down again. 

I didn't exactly 'set it down' per se.  It kind of 'fell down' on its own during an extended blink.  I finally gave in to my body's demand for sleep and sank into my pillow and blankets.  Next thing I knew it was daybreak.  Without even bothering to get up and take care of my morning routine the 485 page novel, now sans its immaculate dust cover, was back in my hands.  Becca made a pot of coffee and brought me a perfectly flavored cup.  Becca never makes coffee, she hates coffee, but she made a pot for me this morning.

"I thought you were going to finish that last night." she teased as I sat the book aside for a second to accept the steaming mug she offered.  What can I say, blinks happen.

I read the first 52 chapters with childlike eagerness.  In person I might have been tempted to interrupt but I didn't want to miss a single word, not one letter or punctuation.  There was no skipping or browsing ahead.  I read the story word for word, syllable by syllable without guessing or hypothesizing.  I wanted to read the story, the whole story and nothing but the story exactly as the author had written it. 

Nothing prepared me for the last chapter.  I was honestly completely blown away.

The dust cover is no longer immaculate.  It bears evidence of the few times I actually set it down.  I have decided that my method of judging a book by the condition of its dust cover is flawed.  I'm pretty sure that the reason the novel ended up in a thrift store used book shelf in such pristine condition was because the original owner didn't set it down until he or she had finished reading the entire book from cover to cover. I'll bet that reader was just as blown away by the ending as I was.

Becca has started the novel.  Art is next in line.  Rocky after him.  Our tastes in literature differ grately.  The majority of their books include highly colored drawings or glossy pictures.  They don't often see me reading and I suppose their curiosity was peaked when they realized how into this novel I really was.  I won't tell them what its about other than a plane crash and some detectives who investigate it 5 years later. 

"Night Fall" by Nelson Demille is by far the best mystery, suspense, thriller, detective love story I have ever read.  Ever!  If you come across a copy of "Night Fall", treat yourself and read it.  Do it on your day off, take the phone off the hook, keep the TV off and don't answer the door bell.  And don't blink!

Tags: Nelson Demille, Night Fall

HAPPY EASTER

Have you ever heard the song "I'm Dreaming of a White Easter"?  No, probably not because there is no song about dreaming of a white Easter.  Why?  Because nobody wants a white Easter, that's why.

Or at least I don't want one.

The Southern Oompas had to leave this morning because their parents needed to get home to deal with an unexpected emergency back home.  I guess it was just as well since I ended up working late to deal with the recent cantaloupe recall at the store and would not have been able to drive up to Denver until after 2, not giving me much time to visit.   Dickidoo told me later that he saw skid marks running off the road and cars stranded along the interstate where I would have traveled last night so it was a good thing I hadn't tried to make the trip in the snow.  I feel better now knowing that but last night and this morning I felt really bad and almost cowardly for not chancing it.  Being as Art would have been with me I'm glad I didn't.

On the bright side, there is tentative talk of a summer vacation out here when school lets out for the Southern Oompas, this time with Mama and Baby.  Woo Hoo!  The more the merrier.  The Grand Oompas will have lots of buddies to play with!

I hope everyone had a wonderful day whether or not they celebrate Easter.  Now that the gang is home safe from Denver we shall begin enjoying the occasion.

Slight oversight on my part.... no colored hard boiled Easter eggs.  I'm going to fix that right now.  Its just not Easter in Loompa-land  without colored hard boiled Easter eggs dipped in maple syrup.  (yucky! )

Dorn~

Tags: Southern Oompas, Easter

I WISH I WERE IN DENVER...

The Southern Oompas are in Colorado!  Dickidoo, Zack and the girls drove up to meet them and attend the Denver March Pow Wow last night where they were all going to be staying in the same hotel.  I had to work and Art had prior commitments so we planned to leave this afternoon.

Before I left to pick up Art and head up to Denver I was rushing around the house looking for something to wear.  Optimistically, but totally unrealistically, I glanced in Becca's closet.  One glance at the waist band on her teenie tiny pants sent me scurrying out of her room and back into mine.

All of my fat-jeans were dirty so I grabbed a pair of skinny jeans.  The first pair wouldn't even make it past my thighs.  The next pair got as far as my hips.  The third went on but there was no way I was going to get that zipper up.  By that time I was working up a sweat.  Hmmmm, a couple hours of this and I might just sweat off enough to get one of those jeans on!

I settled for a pair of stretchy skinny pants, added a buccaneer's blouse, black leather vest and I was dressed to meet my beloved Southern Oompas....

Or not.

Springtime has retreated into hibernation as winter takes over the foothills of Colorado, covering it in a fluffy blanket of snow yet again.  Normally I would enjoy the beauty of the unexpected weather, but not today.  Old Man Winter came calling and I don't dare drive the little Tracer up north in the snow.  I am holding on to the hopes that the snow will clear and the roads will be better tomorrow morning.  Got my fingers crossed, and toes, my legs and my eyes crossed too.

So close and yet so far away!  Grrr!  I miss my Southern Oompas! 

Tags: Southern Oompas

ANOTHER DUST BUNNY ANNIVERSARY

 Dust Bunny Club of
 North America . . .
 4th Anniversary!

Yesterday marked the fourth year this journal has been cluttering up the blogasphere.  In celebration I am giving all of my wonderful friends FREE dust bunnies!  In fact, I've already delivered them to your homes.  Just look under your beds and couches, in the corners of your closets and cupboards, and yes, even in your undies drawer!

Thank you all for being a part of my day and allowing me to be a part of yours.  Thanks Mr. Takara, Beginning Typing WHS 1977, for teaching me how to type well enough to be able to work a keyboard when I got my first computer decades later.  Thank you Mama for teaching me to choose my words carefully, and Daddy for the lessons in patience.  A very special thanks to Dickidoo and the Oompas for all the memories that have filled these entries over the past 4 years.

Now, go eat cake!  And don't step on the dust bunnies.

Dorn~

Tags: Dust Bunny Anniversary, blogplugs

GREEN BEER AND WEINERS?

HAPPY SAINT

PATRICK'S DAY!

Quick, Kiss Me!  I ain't Irish, but kiss me anyway.

We celebrated with a nice traditional bratwurst and sauerkraut dinner, complete with green beer... Rocky Mountain's finest (and a little squirt of green food coloring).

Yeah, I know, bratwurst isn't exactly Irish, but after last year's global warming explosion here at the House of Oompa I decided to that a little ethnic diversity as far as the menu went would be a pleasant change.  So bratwurst it was.  In keeping with the spirit of the occasion Rocky added an unhealthy amount of the green food coloring to the water the brats were cooked in.  They actually were quite delicious so long as you kept your eyes closed while eating the green weenies.

p.s. 282 Days Until Christmas! 

   Ho Ho Ho!  Ha Ha Ha!

Tags: Saint Patrick's Day, Christmas Countdown

PARENTING TEENS, the untold story.

I spent the last couple of days perusing the vast www for parenting blogs.  I have come to this conclusion.  The commercial spotlight on parenting dims way before puberty.  There are literally hundreds, nay, thousands of baby blogs, of Mommy and Daddy blogs with not only a massive public following but impressive commercial endorsements as well.  What I didn't see were highly acclaimed parenting for teen blogs.

Maybe I didn't look hard enough.

There are help and support sites for parents with troubled teens.  There are sites and foundations for parents with talented teens and teens with special needs.

Where are the blog rolls for parents of the average acne ravaged, 2.5 grade point average adolescent trying and failing drivers ed for the 3rd time in a row?  Where are all the Internet support groups for pre-pms because I could use one right now.  A Beginners Guide to Testosterone  would have been nice to pop up on my search bar at any time during my 3 sons' rite of passage into manhood. Blogs about clever ways to cope with the terrible twos are a dime a dozen.  What about the terrible teens?  Is society too gentile to stomach whimsical musing about training bras and shopping for athletic support cups?

I feel that mothers with older children have dropped off the scale in terms of needing advice and support.  Perhaps society feels that after raising ababy and infant that a parent already has several years of experience and has developed all of the parenting skills required to raise the child into young adulthood when the child can then leave the proverbial nest.

I beg to differ.  After raising 5 children, two of which are now in their early 20's, I am still baffled by secret society of teens, with their hot and cold mood swings that dulls the mood swings of menopause by 10 fold, their strange language that changes almost daily to prevent parental interpretation, and their logic that as a toddler was cute but is now almost oxy-moronic.

I think if society is going to blame its woes on the youth of today then perhaps there should be a little more emphasis on positive parenting for these average under aged citizens who will one day take inherit our world and blame everything on us.

In the mean time I shall continue my lonely, somewhat fruitless search for other parents of teen sites in the great abyss crowded with nursery rhyme e-cards, Hannah Montana theme party ideas, rainy day play dates and methods of training your toddler to recite Shakespeare. 

I want to raise my children right.  I want to instill a sense of responsibility, a strong sense of family values.  I want to feel at ease when I relinquish my reins on their lives and allow them to spread their wings, knowing that I have prepared them for the realities of life.  I want them to inherit my world... our world. 

I want to enjoy the thought that one day there will be a reversal of roles and that I can count on my children to change my diapers just as I did theirs. 

Tags: teenagers, parenting teens

PRE-SENIOR MOMENT

Being ill for an extended period of time has its benefits.  I stepped on my scale, you know... the one that I love so much even though its broken (or maybe because it is broken!) and I have managed to keep my weight down to 140 without any additional dieting or exercise.  Unfortunately the uncontrollable coughing spells had me investing a small fortune in the feminine napkin industry for the past month.  Being a pre-senior didn't help and I found myself being introduced to many other age related inconveniences and truths that I suppose I shall now have to get used to.

Pre-Senior.  Kind of like a pre-teen, only older.

When was the last time you took your measurements?  You know, chest, waist and hips?  I took mine a few weeks ago for custom fitting on a dress I purchased on ebay.

I am still traumatized.

Remember back in the day when a woman would proudly announce her measurements for anyone within ear shot... 36-24-36.   That was like the perfect hour glass figure.  I wasn't perfect when I was in my teens and early 20's.  I was pleasantly plump as my mother used to say so delicately (Love you Mama!)  I was more like 34- 29 - 38, more of a pear shape.  Yeah, yeah, I know, I had a big butt.

No I didn't!  I would LOVE to have a 38 inch butt now!  My chest sports a measurement that based on its sheer size alone would excite the average man if it were not for the fact that it is located much lower on my torso than before and is only pert and perky when its cold.  My waist has since blended in with my upper and lower body and is identifiable only by my navel.  It doesn't exactly cinch in like it used to.  Was I really only 29 inches once upon a time?  I think my figure would now be describes as... a melon.  A plump, lumpy, bumpy, over ripe melon.  You know the kind... pale and a little squishy on the bottom.

I find consolation by stepping on my worn out old scale.  It still reads 140 for me.  That's actually 1 pound lighter than I was when I got married 24 years ago.  There is much comfort in that knowledge.

No, I will not fix my scale.  You know what they say, "If it ain't broke,don't fix it, and if you like it better broken, don't fix it then either!"

Who would have thought that being a pre-senior would be just as stressful as being a pre-teen.  I'm getting too old for this junk! 

I wonder if that measuring tape stretches?

Tags: Pre-senior, blogplugs

SICK DAY... (don't mind me, I'm on drugggggsss!)

My miserably brief attempt at hypochondria is over.  I should have gotten a clue when I couldn't even spell the word let alone tell the difference between 'hypo-chondria' and hyper-chondria'.  For the record there is no such thing as 'hyper-chondria' although I would imagine it would be the opposite of hypochondria, the denial of having any ailment at all, or something to that effect.

My condition: a mild chest cold (cough, cough!) complicated by allergies (ahhhh-chooo!)  After a very rough night and morning without the TLC of either Dickidoo or Dr. Bones McCoy, I eventually recovered.  My survival is owed no doubt to an overdose of Mucinex and a gallon or more of ice water that came out almost as fast as it went in.

Rocky and the guys are at the Melee in the Park.  Becca is competing in the district strings competition.  I spent the day home being sick.  I always tell people and I quote: "You can't get well until you allow yourself to be sick."  Today, in a rare case that should probably be marked on some calendar somewhere, I took my own advice.  I called in off work in advance last night and slept in.  My face still feels like it was hit across the cheeks  by a 2x4, but for the most part I feel tons better.

I'll bet Art's Ghostrider Chili had a lot to do with it as well.  That's some gooooooooood stuff!

Not much on TV today.  I kind of surf the news, forensic and food channels.  Everything on the major stations have something to do with the presidential election.  All the mudslinging, flip-flopping and campaign promises (not to be confused with REAL promises) bore me.    The candidates sound more like beauty pagent contestants than presidential hopefuls.  I amuse myself by adding 'And if elected I promise to bring World Peace.' to the end of every speech. 

I'm thinking Barrak would win the bathingsuit competition but Hillary will take the talent competition by acting like she really likes her opponent.  McCain will have to settle for Mr Congeniality.  Huckabee who?  Isn't he that little blue hound dog from Hanna-Barbera?

Tags: Mucinex, politics