SCHOOL VIOLENCE - TOO CLOSE TO HOME

Last evening a text message was forwarded to area high school students just as quickly as a 'Help Little Johnny' email on the internet. Apparently a boy over heard another boy telling some other boys that he was going to shoot up the school. The boy told his mother, who went to the police. She then set up a phone recording verifying the information for concerned citizens and skeptics. What wasn't clear to the general population was which of the three area high schools was involved.

We played it safe. The Oompas stayed home today. In the mean time it was reported that the scare was legitimate and a 15 year old boy from our rival high school just a few miles south of here was arrested. I am relieved that it was not one of my kids classmates, but it very well could have been.

We are trying to baby proof the house for little Ryott's arrival. Funny how quickly a house can become un-baby-proof. We had my 18 month old nephew staying with us until the end of October. Here we are just one month later and there is so much to be done. Ah, but it's worth it! I have missed my little Ryott and can't wait to hug him again. And Gabe too!

We had a White Thanksgiving. And yesterday I had to shovel the snow out of Big Red before I could climb in and sit down. We've had White New Years, White Valentines, White Easters, and once it snowed up in the mountains on the 4th of July. Maybe, just maybe, we might have a White Christmas this year. I hope so.

Yeah, I say that now, but when it happens I'll be fussing and complaining about shoveling out Big Red, and how the heater doesn't work and the window won't shut, and about snotcicles...

Did I ever mention how much I hate winter? Brrrrrrr!

Pardon my French...

I say 'fricken' way too fricken much, I just realized that in my earlier post. I apologize. It could be worse, I could say the other 'f' word, but choose instead to say the fricken 'f' word. Actually I probably would say the other 'f' word more often but I can't afford the fricken quarter fine I would face every time I got caught using it within ear shot of any of the fricken Oompas. So I have to settle with the somewhat impotent fricken 'f' word. Again, I fricken apologize. It won't fricken happen again.

Until the next fricken time... (or I save up enough quarters to use the real fricken 'f' word!)

(14 fricken times in one post, wow, that's almost as fricken bad as Al Pacino in Scarface!)

Are people fricken crazy?

For the first time ever I was in a store when the sales began the day after Thanksgiving. Me and several thousand others... in my store alone. I was there because I was working. As for the others.... Are you fricken crazy? Seriously folks, are you crazy? I got pushed around and knocked around. I tolerated and took it, because I was being paid for it... but the others... yep, they were all just fricken crazy!

It started out years ago as a good time to kick off the holiday sales. It has since become an annual shopping frenzy that makes no sense at all. Retailers open their doors extra early and offer special limited time only specials to lure the customers in. And the customers come, in droves... and purchase items that they really don't want or need but can't seem to resist the special purchase price. And all those people they stood in line behind at the registers after standing in line to receive one of the limited mass produced quantities for, yep, they'll all be standing in line together again the day after Christmas to return or exchange the items they fought so hard to buy... because nobody really ever even wanted or needed them.

I heard that a fellow worker at another store, in another state, was killed during the shopping frenzy. I find the news appalling. Actually I find the whole idea behind Black Friday quite ridiculous. Under normal circumstances the average person would avoid crowds and long lines. So why this big fuss over Black Friday? If someone were to say on any other day of the year... 'Hey, everyone in America is going to go shopping at 5am tomorrow for stuff they don't want or need' most sane people would stay home. But not Black Friday.

And me... the one most likely to be considered crazy, does my shopping on any other day but Black Friday, because you know what? I'm not that fricken crazy!

I'm almost willing to bet that there was a greater turn out for Black Friday than there was for the Presidential Election. Perhaps they should have pushed the election back and set up the polls at all major shopping malls and retail outlets on Black Friday. There might have been a whole new outcome for President, and one of my fellow workers might still be alive.

The girls and I went to my favorite quaint little tourist town to get Dickidoo's presents. He is such a hard person to shop for. I don't know if he honestly forgets that he has been given a gift, if he purposely sets it to the side for safe keeping, or if he just doesn't like anything we get him, but unless it's food or drink, the gifts pretty much remain untouched. I used to joke that I only bought him things that I liked because I knew I would be the only one using it. Well, it's pretty much the truth. But this year I think... I hope... he'll actually be inspired to use the gifts we got him.

I'll get him a 6 pack of Coors just in case...

Gabe and Ryott will be here in 5 days! Woo hoo!

Thankful...

I woke up this morning tired and cross. Wait, scratch that. In order to wake up one must actually have been asleep, and I got no sleep last night. Dickidoo has the flu and he coughed and hacked like Felix Unger at his worst. It's going to be a long day at work.

But despite a little sleep deprivation, I can find so many things to be thankful for. Let's start with the fact that my son Gabe landed safely on American soil earlier this month. I have no idea what the future holds in store for him, but for now he is safe, and for that I am forever grateful.

With the exception of Dickidoo's current flu affliction and screwed up back, we are all pretty much in good health. For that I am thankful. I shall take the liberty of speaking for Dickidoo and say that he is thankful that he is not a horse, for if he was we probably would have put him down a long time ago. But he is not, and for that we are all thankful.

I am also somewhat thankful for the noise and chaos in my house, because it is in fact here in my house. I secretly dread the day when the sounds of sibling rivalry no longer echoes in the hallways of The House Of Oompa. It is only 8:30 am and already laughter fills the house. Yes, I think I shall miss this and will take the ruckus that comes with the package deal if it means I can experience the sounds of happiness just a little bit longer.

I'm thankful for Kellogg's for not discontinuing the production of it's tootie fruitie Fruit Loops, for over the years it's fragrance has had an instant calming effect on me when the pressures and stress of the present day becomes too over whelming. The brief mental escape into the carefree memories of yester-year have proven beneficial to me and, more importantly, to the entire family. They are more thankful than they realize for Kellogg's Fruit Loops.

And, as I always make sure to point this out, I am thankful to Al Gore for inventing the Internet, for without the internet I would not have met all the wonderful people I have over the years within the walls of The Dust Bunny Club Of North America.

Thank you all, and have a wonderful Thanksgiving Day!

Dorn~

It's all good...

And Apple Jacks too! (thanks for reminding me garnett) And lucky for Art too because the counter and sink were still stacked to the ceiling with dirty dishes when I got home from work this evening. Apparently he had enough time to make his girlfriend some muffins though. I saw the dirty pans on the counter, and the mini muffins packed away nicely in his girl friend's casserole dish that was sent over a while back bearing a gift of brownies, or cake or something equally fattening and delicious.


I think I'm jealous. I'm jealous because my son does more for his girlfriend and her mother than he does for me. It's not fair, dammit! I carried him for 9 months (which felt like 9 years!) I gave birth to his big fat head! I changed his crappy diapers.

And he makes THEM muffins! (didn't even leave one out for me.)

Yeah, okay, well, they can have him.

No wait, then who will make me coffee in the morning, with just enough hazelnut creamer to turn it a perfect shade of dark tan... and who will play Gir's 'monkey' sound bite when I get all bent out of shape. And who will call me 'jerk' a million times a day.

Hey yeah, that jerk! They can have him!



But only if I can have his pink haired girl friend cos she's adorable! And so is her mom. So... Art can go to their house and they can move in with me. I wonder if they do dishes? And make coffee... a perfect shade of dark tan with hazelnut creamer.



I think I need to go snort those Fruit Loops again.

so angry can't think...

Mothers raise their daughters to be the woman they always wanted to be but never had the opportunity to be. They raise their sons to be the man they wished they had married. Sometimes they just end up with a mini version of the man they did marry.

Sometimes it's even worse.

Art needs to hurry up and get married so he can make some other woman miserable.

So I'm stomping through the house like a rabid rhino, full of compressed anger (the object of my anger has left the building and his brother has decided that it would be safer in his room), and a teenie tiny blip of hope shines through. I'm a very sensual person. Not sexy sensual... Dickidoo has all but put me out to pasture in that respect. I get my pleasure now days through my senses... touch, sight, sound, taste... and scent! Yesterday while closing a half empty box of cereal left out on the table I got a whiff of the tootie fruitie goodness from within and I was instantly transported to the happy carefree days of my childhood.

That seemed like a good place to be right about now and the little strobe light of hope shone through the dark clouds of anger in my mind... follow the light... follow the light! Like a child in a trance I retraced my footsteps to the cupboard and pulled open the double doors. I could almost hear the sharp squealing sound effects of a knife slashing through the Bates motel shower curtain... The cupboard was bare. Not really, but there were no tootie fruitie flavored Fruity-O's.

But wait... the empty box must be in the trash can! Yes, I actually dug through the kitchen trash can. But that too was in vain. No box of cereal in the cupboard, no empty package on the table, not even in the trash. Where were the fricken Fruity-O's? I didn't want to eat them, I just wanted to sniff the stinkin' box! I NEED to sniff the stinkin' box before I totally pop a circuit!

Today is not looking too good for me. I pity the fool who tries to steal from me tonight cos that sucker is going down hard and without mercy.

Unless he has a box of tootie fruitie Fruity-O's in his loot.

I just wanted to sniff the box, just a little whiff. Is that too much to ask for? Just a little sniff! It instantly takes me to my happy place, cos when I'm not in my happy place, nobody is in their happy place!

Art better have a box of Fruit Loops waiting for me when I get home tonight if he knows whats good for him!

Craving...

I've been having some crazy craving lately. Today it's jelly filled doughnuts. Yesterday it was anything salty. The lasagna for dinner didn't satisfy me so this morning, after watching some kid chomp down on a powdered sugar coated raspberry jelly filled Dunkin' Doughnut that is all I can think about.

Well, not really. I've been doing a mental happy dance since the night before last. We made Gabe's flight reservations for next month. He and Little Ryott should be here on the 5th. Woo hoo! They will have to leave just before Christmas, but that's okay because we will obviously be celebrating early.

Winter is here. There has been snow on the mountains for a few weeks, and it even snowed for a few moments here in town but nothing really hung around until now. The temperature dips and stays down for days at a time now before shooting back up just to tease before dropping again. Driving Big Red really sucks now with the stuck window and broken heater. It beats walking 2.7 miles to work though. I'm looking forward to a new vehicle in the spring though. Something tells me it won't be a brand spanking new ride like I had hoped, but so long as it's not a mini van with a stuck window and a broken heater I'll be content.

Gracefully...

My co-worker lost her battle with cancer three days ago. Her funeral was today. I could not go. It is not that I was not allowed to go, most of the old timers like myself went. I just could not bear to go. For some people fortunate enough not to be touched by cancer, either directly or indirectly, cancer is merely a pastel colored ribbon on the car in front of them at the stop light. For me it is so much more, and I was not ready to face it.

My mother and sister are survivors. In a way so am I for cancer is not a spectator's disease. It affects everyone within reach. While loved ones endure seemingly endless tests and painful treatments, their family members suffer silent fear and antiseptic scented hope. I found myself hoping that God still remembered me well enough to grant a wish and answer a prayer. I cried tears of relief when He did.

The guilt was sobering when I realized that three days ago many other prayers went unanswered. But faith is a strong and wonderful light that is both bright and warm. Through my sadness I realized that the prayers were in fact answered.

My co-worker won her battle with cancer three days ago. Her funeral was today. She is at peace and at Home. Her prayers have been answered.

God speed sweet Brigitte. I shall miss you.

Noodles of fire! and yes... yet another blog!

My tongue is sore and swollen. It's all the Oompas fault. They didn't leave me any supper so I had to eat spicy udon when I got home from work. 'Spicy' was hardly the word for it. 'Positively flammable' was probably more appropriate. I'm still belching flames, and I don't dare fart... which is quite a challenge being as we had chorizo chili for lunch. (hmmm... I'm thinking my tongue probably won't be the only thing hurting come morning!)

I spent the evening roaming around the store, watching people. Tonight I saw a young boy, probably about 10 years old, alone in the toy department. He was sitting on the ground in front of a shelf, his elbows on his knees and his face in his hands, staring intently at a toy package. Suddenly he buried his face in his hands and sighed so deeply that you'd think the weight of the world was rested on his young shoulders. Then he straightened up and returned his gaze to the toy.

Oh, to be young again when the biggest worry on your mind was what to put on the top of the list in your letter to Santa.

As promised, here is the link for my guess blogger spot:

MA! motherhood with attitude » Guest Bloggers

I will only be posting there about once a week, and being as I am just a guest I shall have to keep my act somewhat clean. If you have time, check out the other blog-mothers. They have some pretty diverse and amazing stories, I feel so ... ordinary in their company. And sooooooooo old, and fluffy! I should have at least mowed my eye brows before I took my picture. Grrrrrrr!

When 'strong' is 'too strong', and a new gig.

I never thought I would ever say this, but boy oh boy was I glad to see the bottom of my coffee cup this morning! That was some of the nastiest, strongest coffee I have ever tasted! I don't know what Dickidoo did but the coffee was so black that an extra helping of creamer didn't even lighten it up.

Shhhhh.... listen, I think I can hear the hair on my chest growing!

I've got me a new gig. I'm a guest blogger at the MA- Motherhood with Attitude website. It's pretty cool because the focus is on real moms, not the Suzy Homemaker stereotype mom with 2.5 children, a cat, a dog and a white picket fence. Naturally I fit right in with my 5.0 children, pet crayfish, 6 inch cannibal goldfish with a taste for expensive tropical fish and bent and buckled chain link fence. The unveiling for the guest bloggers page should be some time next week, I'll post a link then.

Rocky finally got new panties. No more un-thongs for her. Now she has those cute little boy cut undies that kind of look like boxers. They even have a little fly. Not really sure why anyone would put a fly on a pair of panties but it's there just the same.

Do you like my new picture? I needed a photo for my guest blog deal and the best picture I could find was that 4 year old shot of me with a bottle of beer, which depicts me perfectly but probably isn't appropriate for the mommy website so I took some with a coffee cup instead. No, my mug isn't empty, I was sucking down java like crazy in between shots. Notice the un-natural way I am holding my cup? Usually I just grab the mug around the center and hold it like that but I was trying to hide the Maker's Mark logo on the front... Kentucky bourbon is probably even less appropriate on a Mommy site than beer!

SIBLING RIVALRY (or tattling to Santa)

Dear Jolly old Saint Nicholas,

Hello Jolly old Saint Nicholas. This is me, Rocky!
I may of done some naughty things, but Becca did the mother load of bad, mean, naughty things!

That was the first paragraph to a letter I found tucked away in the file cabinet. I had the Oompas write letters to Santa every year while they were in elementary school. This one was written in 2003 when Rocky had just turned 9. That was also the year that sibling rivalry finally reared its ugly head. It's funny how the boys never really went through it. When one was in trouble, they were all in trouble. There was no animosity between them. One would come up with a bad idea, the other two would agree it was a bad idea, and they would all do it!

The girls, on the other hand, would be the first to rat each other out. And this picture from that summer... see how sweet they look riding around together in the go-cart? Becca has that towel on her lap because her baby sister made a point of running over every single ant hill in the area, flinging hundreds of ants into the passenger seat... and anyone unfortunate enough to be sitting there at the time. Yeah, sugar and spice and every thing nice... that's what little girls are made of!

Sibling rivalry is still alive and well in The House of Oompa, but I've noticed a subtle yet obvious change. The girls still nit pick and nag. But they are fiercely protective about each other, especially when the heart is involved.

"Mommy, tell Becca to stop making death threats to my friends."

"She's only doing it because she loves you..." I explain. (oddly enough it's true)

"Mom, will you please tell Rocky to keep her nose out of my life!"

"She's your sister, it's her job." I explain, silently applauding her baby sister for once again running interference on misguided friendship.

My boys were and still are very close friends with each other. The girls, well, they don't realize it, nor will they admit to it, but they are just as loyal to each other. It's just not cool yet... That won't come until they're much older.

I don't think my sisters started liking me until they got married and moved away. Hmmm, with Becca being 17 and Rocky just having turned 14 it appears that there are still a few good fighting years ahead of us. Oh joy!

SILVER FRICKEN BELLS MY BUTT!

It's only the 10th of November and I'm already sick of Christmas songs. I hear them non stop at work, the same songs over and over and over and over.

And over and over and over and over....

And over and over and over and over....

One of the songs, a Celtic style melody, must be at least 24 hours long. I swear it was playing when I left the night before and it was still playing when I went back in to work the following day. It finally ended just before my shift was over. I'll bet it plays at least 2 times while I'm at the store tonight.

I can hardly wait. (add a heavy serving of sarcasm)

44 Days Until Christmas!

(Now for that I REALLY can't wait!)

GOT CHARMIN?

Nope.

There is absolutely no toilet paper in the house. Not one square. All of the discarded cardboard rolls have been picked clean. Liquid intake has been minimized because nobody wants to get caught on the pot without butt wipe, and nobody wants to make the run to the store to replenish supplies.

I am on my second cup of coffee... I wonder if I can make it until 2pm when I have to be at work. I really need that third cup of coffee though.

Maybe I'll just go in to work a little early today.

A visit from the Lullaby League, and peach fuzz

I woke this morning to the sound of singing... I think. It sounded like the Lullaby League had escaped from Oz and were arguing in my hallway... some what in harmony. I glanced at the clock... 8:49.

8:49! As in 8:49 am... as in 8:49 in the morning! That was the longest I have slept straight through in months! Then it dawned on me... Gabe was safe in the states. I smiled and snuggled deep into my pillows and blankets.

brrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr.........

I knew that sound, it was the sound of the hair clippers. It was the sound of someone getting a buzz cut. Dickidoo and my nephew should be out hunting, and my two sons at home both have long hair. Who was getting a buzz cut?

I heard the Lullaby League giggling and I sprang out of bed, tripping over the junk on the floor in an effort to stop them.

I was too late.

Becca was bent over Rocky's head with the electric hair clipper finishing up on a peach fuzz buzz cut. I could not make a sound, I just stood there gaping like Henry the Homicidal Goldfish.

"Feel it," Becca invited proudly. Her baby sister grinned from behind her angled bangs. I touched the back of her head, not able to believe that I was feeling my teenage daughter's hair. Finally I found my voice.

"Oh buddy, your daddy is gonna kill you both!"

But you know what? It's really kind of cute. Really! I can't wait till Becca turns 18 so I can put her through beauty school and get free hair cuts for the rest of my life. But until then I made her swear off any more buzz cuts on her baby sister.

psst... (edited 11/08/2008)

LETTERS TO GABE ← click here to visit Gabe's blog

Hey, would any of you folks like to sneak over to Gabe's blog and leave him a little welcome home letter? If you're interested, let me know and include your gmail email address so I can add you as an author and you can post an entry. I know he'll be tickled pink to read them.
Thanks so much for all your support over the past couple of years. It has been tough, and I've been a whiny cry baby at times, but it is finally over and my boy is safe in America once again.
Dorn~

NO TIME FOR COUNT-DOWNS

He's in the air and should be in Kentucky by 9 pm!

Here I was thinking he still had another 60 days in Iraq and Kimmie just called to give me the good news.

Are you there yet?

Are you there yet?

I wish I could be there when he steps off the plane, but I am so very thankful that he is in fact going to be stepping off the plane in just a few short hours, safe in America and so much closer to those who love him. It has been a hard wait for me, but nothing compares to the time he spent over there so I shall be happy just knowing... he's coming home!

Love you Gabe, always!

SAGGING, ROCKY STYLE

What is the opposite of 'thong', as in underwear thong? I ask because I think I saw one the other day, sticking out of Rocky's jeans.

"Hey, aren't those my panties?"

"Maybe..." she said and lifted her shirt, exposing an amazing amount of excess fabric sticking out over her waistband. Sharing undies is just icky to begin with, but how on earth did that pip-squeak of a child with an extra small hiney think she could ever fill my ample britches? My pink and blue striped 'Hanes Her Way' were hanging out everywhere. How could anyone be that desperate?

It was the exact opposite of a thong. It was the un-thong, the anti-thong.

It was quite disgusting and disturbing, and not a sight I would like to encounter ever again.

I'm buying that girl her own panties on payday.

6:04 am

"mrrrrrrrrrp"

Through the fog of sleep I fumble for my cell phone, always close by in case my son Gabe tries to call from Iraq. Blurry eyes struggle to focus on the tiny screen. The digital clock reads 6:04 am. A little envelope and phone icon indicates that I have a text message.

1-800-Oompa1: Hey Mom

I try to remember how to spell 'hey', and numb fingers trip over the miniature keypad. Through crossed eyes I miss the [send] button and click on [delete] instead. I cuss and Dickidoo snorts in his sleep beside me. Did he just say 'quarter'?

1-800-Oompa1: Are you awake?

1-800-MOM: No, I'm texting in my sleep.

1-800-Oompa1: What's for breakfast?

1-800-MOM: Fingernails, boogers and spit.

1-800-Oompa1: Can I have lunch money?

1-800-MOM: No, eat left-over breakfast.

At times technology has it's merits, but not at 6:04 am, and certainly not for breakfast and lunch money. I spend way too much money on multiple cell phones on the family plan so I can keep track of my little army of Oompas... and the culprit for their existence... their father! I rarely have to call them, but I can almost guarantee that when I do need to contact them via the cell phone, they will not answer.

Except at 6:04 am, when the breakfast menu is in question.

"mrrrrrrrrrp"

1-800-Oompa2: Psst.

1-800-MOM: snoring!

1-800-Oompa2: lol. You should give me a ride to school.

1-800-MOM: No,I should stay in bed and sleep in.

1-800-Oompa: I'll make you a cup of coffee, you can have the last of the hazelnut creamer.

1-800-MOM: Start the truck, I'll be right out.

Yeah, technology sucks at 6:04 am. Especially when I didn't get home from work and into bed until 12:35 am! The moment Micro-Soft comes up with a mobile, electronic Mom I'm signing up for one, I don't care what it costs if it means that I can actually get more than 5 hours of sleep at night.

"mrrrrrrrrrp"

1-800-Oompa3: Mommy, I don't feel good.

1-800-MOM: What's wrong?

1-800-Oompa3: My throat hurts and I feel like I'm going to hurl.

1-800-MOM: Drink some hot tea. You'll be fine.

1-800-Oompa3: What if I barf?

1-800-Mom: I'll buy you some ice cream.

(1 hour later)

1-800-Oompa3: Mommy, you owe me some ice cream.

CONFESSION

Question: Who is as bad as a rotten politician?

Answer: An uninformed voter.

I am embarrassed to admit that when I took my place at the voting booth, I was every bit as bad as the politicians and the rhetorical rubbish they have been spewing into the air with increasing density over the past months. I didn't do my homework. When I encountered the brief but confusing language of the ballot amendments I attempted a crash course in self-taught political ho-hum and started scribbling in each appropriate bubble...

0 Yeah

0 Oh Hell NO!

I was going to town with the 'Yeah' bubbles, dropping down for the occasional 'Oh Hell NO' when something didn't sound right.

Last night while waiting in one of the many lines I endure in the course of my day, I spoke with a gentleman who was directly affected by my winning 'Oh Hell NO' vote. He was a volunteer for a program that benefited mild to moderately mentally challenged adults. The extra taxation they were asking for would have provided much needed funding for the severely under budgeted and over populated programs and services provided.

I wish I had done my homework and read up on everything that was on the ballot. I wish I wasn't so susceptible to all that political rhetoric. Even not casting a vote for something would have been better than casting the wrong vote. I wish I had spoken to that gentleman even just 24 hours earlier. I couldn't even admit to him that I had voted against the increased taxes.

I feel so bad.

I feel like a rotten politician!

MY FIRST (and quite possibly my last) COURT APPEARANCE

With my new job I occasionally get subpoenaed to appear in court. Very exciting! Yesterday was once such time and I dressed appropriately. Upon my arrival the movie star gorgeous young prosecutor informed me that he probably wouldn't need to call on me after all but I should stick around just in case.


So I sat with my co-workers and the police officer who had responded to our call. We waited for our case to be called but the other attorney had been tied up in another court and was delayed. When he finally appeared, what little professionalism I had immediately evaporated. It was another movie star attorney.


Oh my God, he looked like that Vogon guy from The Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy!


I kid you not! This guy had scruffy white hair, he was broad shouldered and his arms hung down almost to the floor. I mentioned this to my co-workers who rolled their eyes at me. The defense attorney shuffled over to the table and cleared his throat.


Oh my God, he even sounded like that Vogon guy from The Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy!


Every time the poor man cleared his throat or finished a sentence he made a muffled 'humphing' kind of sound. By now even the police officer in the front row was snickering behind tight lips. The movie star prosecutor walked over and shook his head with an exasperated smile.


'I don't know if I should call any of you.' he said .


'We'll be okay,' I promised. 'Just don't let him read poetry!'


(Relax Dickidoo, court was in recess when the Vogon... er... defense attorney came in so I was not disrespectful in front of the judge.)