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

Psst........

I almost forgot to remember, Its Blog Crawl time!  This month's theme is 'Sibling Rivalry', which is kind of fun looking back at but can be heck going through (from both a sibling and now a parental point of view!)

So, here's what you do, if you have a story, a picture, a poem, a favorite quote, or anything that depicts sibling rivalry and you'd like to share it with others, just drop off the link here and I'll include it with the list of participants.  It doesn't even have to be a new entry, it can be something you posted last year.

And for the record.... I was NEVER as bad as my own children are now!

RANDOMOUS (relax, its not a real word)

Its raining.  Rain is good, we need the moisture.  Besides, it sounds so soothing against the roof top.  AND... it is washing that dang pollen away.

The rain has made me feel all melancholy so I've been poking through old files and pictures.  Can't believe how much weight I've put on in the past 12 years.  Ugh!  This isn't the most I've ever weighed, but I'm not pregnant now so that thought offers little comfort. 

And my hair... my once thick, rich brown hair with glints of copper and bronze... now hangs limp and dark streaked at an alarming occurrence by thick wiry white hair.  Why couldn't it be gray hair?  Lots of people get gray hair.  Isn't it supposed to go from dark to gray and then to white... gradually?  What happened here?  I went straight to white.  And those suckers are fricken LONG!  Its as if I go to bed and overnight 20 more fully grown hairs turn pure white...poof! Just like that!  No little tiny hair that gradually grows in, giving me time to get used to it.  Nope, POOF!  There it is!  White!  At this rate I shall be looking like Rip Van Winkle in about  6 months.

Miss Clairol, take me away! 

What do you think, maybe auburn?  Or blonde!  I hear they have more fun.

Wait, if I dye my hair am I supposed to do my eye brows as well so that they match?  Yes, I have whites in them too, grrrrr!  Heck, I'd probably see white hair growing out of my ears if I could see in there!  Isn't growing old fun?

Actually yes, to answer my own question, growing old IS fun!  Except for maybe the first few minutes in the morning when I first wake up and my body rebels because hey, its 46 years old!  But a quick purge and deflation, a splash of cold water on my face, a swish of Crest and a shot of Folgers and I'm ready to go!

Did you know that if you eat breakfast every day you better your odds of living to the rip old age of 100 years!  I think I'm going to have to start leaving some breakfast out for Dickidoo each morning.  What fun it would be to harass his ass for 54 more years!  

HAVE I TOLD YOU LATELY THAT I LOVE YOU?

I have been riding an emotional roller coaster all month long, and its been a rough ride.  I'm ready to get off, except the operator doesn't seem too eager to end the ride.  Its out of my hands so I must just hold on and hang on.

Up:  Gabe is going to be a daddy again... which means I'm going to be a granny again.  Down:  Gabe is going back to Iraq soon.  My heart is already aching.

Up:  Mom's spot behind her eye doesn't seem to be anything to worry about.  Down:  an increasing pain in the stomach and abdomen region has her going back to see her doctor.

Up:  Blondepennie is back online.  Down:  Walt from The Diatom Project is in a Hospice and Demandnlilchit has a new hot spot.

Up:  My co-worker Peggy is okay after a mysterious but serious illness.  Down:  My co-workers Bridgette and Martin both have been diagnosed with Stage 4 cancer.

Times like this, occasions like these give my hum drum piddly problems a new perspective.  Suddenly money problems just don't seem that big.  Those mountains that grew out of mole hills have become insignificant again.  I feel petty and selfish.

On the verge of wonderful break throughs, and on the eve of potential heartache I am reminded of a time when I dared to break tradition by appreciating a wonderful and supportive woman from my husband's unit at a formal function.  After a traumatic illness in my family in which I almost lost a child, this woman whom I barely knew provided emotional and physical support for me and I wanted to honor her at the unit ball.  I was told that it was against protocol, appreciation was rewarded only when the person was leaving the unit.  That made no sense to me.  To truly appreciate someone you should do so at the time, not later, long after the fact.  So I bought a dozen roses and had them presented to this woman who had made such an impact in my life and that of my family, because I wanted her to know that I appreciated her NOW, not just as an after thought when she was leaving.

And so, now, with so much good in our life, and so much sadness, I challenge you all to go to those you appreciate and let them know NOW, how much they mean to you and how much you appreciate them.  Don't wait until it's too late.  Don't wait to pay tribute to a person until they are gone and no longer able to hear you.  Tell them NOW so that they know NOW how important they are to you. 

And it you are reading this then YOU are important to ME!  Thank you!

Sometimes it is possible to win more by accepting defeat...

Its been a bad past few days and all I can do is sit here and hope that its passed and all behind me now.

Without airing my issues and boring you all to tears, let me just say....

Grrrrr³!

(thats Grrrrr x Grrrrr x Grrrrr, it was that bad!)

So here I sit, wired on two pots of coffee and self pity with only one positive thought on my mind...

Gabe has asked me and the family to help name his unborn son.  How cool is that!?  I'm thinking a nice biblical/ patriotic name like Abraham (big Zack was almost Abraham  but Abe  sounded too close to Gabe ) or maybe Nolan, after our dear friend.  Or Maverick or Mitchell... Morgan, Pierce (I don't know why but I love that name) or Quinton or Barnabas (okay, you all know why I like those names... Dark Shadows.. sexy!) Or Samual... I love that name, its so simple yet so strong.

Or maybe another Gabriel?  (scary! Hahahaha! )

So, anyhow... as I sit here, wired on 2 pots of coffee, self pity... and HOPE... hope for the future,  I also hope that all the bad times from the past few days are now behind me because...

This fart's for you T-Mobile! 

Nope, that ain't no left over Easter Eggs, that's flatus baby!  Can you hear me now?

Can you SMELL me now?  Hahahaha!

THE 4 LETTER WORD

Yesterday the weather man said a 4 letter word... s-n-o-w.  I'm really not liking that word any more.  But even more than that I don't like the word b-l-i-z-z-a-r-d,  because b-l-i-z-z-a-r-d  means LOTS of s-n-o-w !  And wouldn't you know, the darn weather man said the 8 letter word right along side the 4 letter word in the same forecast for the area.  I woke to about 5 inches of snow on Big Red.  Fortunately it brushed right off.  No s-n-o-w  day today for the Oompas!  We got more of the white stuff during the day, but it melted almost before it landed.  The b-l-i-z-z-a-r-d  had passed us by.

My allergies have cleared up without medical intervention.... probably because the snow has frozen all of the pollen to the plants from which they came from.  No itchy eyes, no sneezing, no stuffy nose and headaches.  Hmmm, there might be something to these 'early springs' after all.  (I'm still chucking that dang lying groundhog into the stew pot if I ever see him!)

I found a bottle of Pumpkin Spice coffee creamer in the fridge yesterday.  Now, just the flavor alone should have set off all kinds of red flags but I was too excited by my find that I never made the connection.  Pumpkin Spice is a seasonal flavor, seasonal like Thanksgiving and Christmas.  While it was still wintry outside, it is after all the middle of April.  I completely ignored the bells and whistles and poured a generous amount of the creamer in my coffee mug.

Do you know what Pumpkin Spice creamer from November tastes like in the middle of April?  Well, its kind of sweet and sour, with a hint of pepper.  That is a taste I never want to experience again for the rest of my life.  What a waste of a cup of coffee!

Its trying to snow again.  The night sky is over cast and the temperature is dropping like a rock in a pond.  The snow already on the ground glows softly in the failing light.

I think I just remembered how beautiful snow can be.

THE FLUFFY FRIENDLY DIET and a call from Gabe.

There is yet another diet book in bookstores now. Its called 'The Bonus Years Diet'.  This isn't your standard 'get thin quick' book, no exercise regiments or recipes on 'how to cook appetite suppressing fat-free water in 20 minutes or less'.  This is a special diet.  Its a diet that allegedly can lengthen your life by 4 to 6 years.  In other words, you won't actually lose weight, you gain years.

The secret to this age enhancing diet is 7 very special foods:  fruits, vegetables, dark chocolate, red wine, nuts, fish and garlic.  What this diet does is to lessen your risk of  heart disease, stroke, and kidney problems.  By lessen we're talking 14 to 34%.  Live longer just by feasting on fruit, vegetables, garlic, CHOCOLATE!, fish, nuts and washing it all down with a glass of red wine... Yeah!  I can live with that.  In fact, I can live 4 to 6 years longer with that! Throw in some anti oxidant rich coffee with nutty hazelnut creamer and you have the perfect diet.

Here's to many MANY years of happy fluffiness!

Gabe called yesterday.  He's going to be a daddy again.  Do you know what that means?  That means that I'm going to be a 'grandma' again!  Woo Hoo!  No, its not the same girl (although his ex is still very much a part of his life), but I have spoken to her a couple of times and she sounds like a really wonderful young woman.  She already has 2 children from a previous relationship, and those little ones have adopted Gabe as a sort of 2nd father already.  I'm still waiting to meet Little Zachary, but I can't help but feel sooooooooo excited about this new little one.  Woo Hoo Hoo!

His deployment date is getting closer.  I try not to think of that, but he's ready to go out and get it behind him so he can finally get down to business of being a daddy.  (and maybe 'husband?'   hint hint Gabe!)

Tags: Bonus Years Diet, fluffy

LOOK! Its the Easter Dust Bunny!

"I'm dreaming of a white Easter..."

Not!

Somehow it just doesn't seem right, being spring and all, to have snow on the ground.  Yep, that groundhog Punxsutawney Phil is toast if I ever see him!

At any rate, I hope you all had a nice warm Easter, surrounded by the ones you love... unlike some  of us who are surrounded by SNOW! 

Happy Easter!

BLOG CRAWL 4, Sibling Rivalry

I've got a lot of queries about what exactly a 'blog crawl' is so I'm going to cheat by cutting and pasting my original crawl introduction:

What exactly is a 'blog crawl'?

Well, it can be a way of searching for and through blogs. I think that is the technical definition but I'm not into technicalities.  I want simplicity, so in this case lets just say that a 'blog crawl' is when a group of bloggers all visit a predetermined group of blogs.  And lets liven it up by having the participating bloggers do a specific entry for the 'crawl' with a common theme.  Its kind of like a blog carnival, a journal jar, and round robin all smashed into one.  One established blog crawl specifies that the bloggers attain a certain level of intoxication for added effect before blogging but I will leave that optional.  I would like to keep the entries light though, for a 'bar crawl', from which the idea is derived, is a group of friends traveling from one bar to another and having a good time along the way.

How it works:  Participating bloggers write an entry based on the theme, which is entirely open to individual interpretation, and add the link to the comment section for the specific crawl entry here.  You can even use an older entry if you happen to have already blogged about the theme in the past, just make sure you use the entry specific address so we can link up to the correct entry.  Entries can be but are not limited to: fact or fiction essays, photos, video or graphic designs.  On the day of the Blog Crawl I will post all of the participating blogswith their entry addresses, and readers can visit them at their leisure, leaving comments if they so desire. 

Rules:  hey, I said I wanted simplicity!  For the bloggers, keep it clean, that's about it as far as rules go.  Stick to the TOS.  Not an AOL blog?  That's cool too, link 'em up.  Just keep in mind that you might not get as many comments if your blog host requires commenters to have an account.  I personally won't sign up for another blog account, I can't even keep track of the ones I already have!  For the Crawlers, same rules... be nice.  If you don't have anything nice to say, don't say anything at all (my mom used that on me a million times so now I can't help but repeat it myself... a million times!)

Interested?

April's Theme:  Sibling Rivalry.

A woman I met some years back gave me probably the best and yet at the same time the worst example of sibling rivalry I'd ever heard of.  Her baby brother was born when she was about 6 years old.  Up until then she had been the only child and she was not about to share the attention.  By the time her sibling was 9 months old she'd had enough.  She got her baby brother, put him in a large trash bag and threw the bag in the back yard next to the garbage cans.

Fortunately she had not yet mastered knot tying and when her frantic mother found the baby, the child was a little dazed but otherwise unharmed.  The sister would grow into one of the most attentive mothers I would ever.  I don't recall how her relationship with her brother ended out, but I'm willing to bet they are very close to this day. 

(That gives me hope for my Oompas.)

No reservations required, just link back here by Thursday, April 26, then watch for the entry featuring all of the participating entries, and start crawling!

Tags: Blog crawl, sibling rivalry

REAL MOMS...

A real mom knows the birth date of all of her children.  She knows all of their allergies, their likes and dislikes.  She knows the date of every major illness or injury ever sustained by each child.  Real moms know their child's height and weight, shoe size, and even shirt and pant sizes according to individual manufacturer's sizing.  Real moms know their children's dreams and aspirations, she knows their fears and phobias.  She knows what upsets each child, and she knows how to calm each one down.  She can recognize her child's voice shouting 'Mom'  in a crowded room full of moms.  Real moms can keep track of dates for all of the ball games and band concerts and coordinate it with her own work and household schedules.

Real moms know the names  of the family doctor and dentist.  She knows which child gets how much medicine at what time.  She knows all the names, addresses and phone numbers for all of her children's friends, as well as their parents names and work numbers.

But real moms don't know their own children's names.

"Mom~ I'm Zack, not Gabe"

"How many times have I told you not to argue with me?  If I say you're Gabe then dang it, you're Gabe!"

I have 5 children.  Most times I have to go through the entire roll-call before I get the right name.  And those little stinkers will ignore me until I use their name, even if they know exactly who I mean.

But this real mom has a real solution.

Name tags!

Thanks Stephanie from Home in the Heartland for tagging me on this fun little project. 

Tags: Real Moms

HAUNTED?

Something strang is going on in the House of Oompa.  Whole bags of cookies disappear, empty soda cans appear out of nowhere.  Boxes of chocolate covered Macadamia nuts are found empty and yet nobody will confess to devouring the luscious and expensive confections.  Where did they go?  Dirty dishes lay scattered around the house, accumulating over time, and yet the Oompas insist they didn't use them.  Where did they come from?

Odors that can only be described as 'something dead' steal as silently as shadows into rooms, leaving the occupants gagging for air but nobody lays claim to the eye watering flatulence. 

Day after day, time after time; the questions fly through the house at increasing regularity.  "Who took this?" or "Who did that?", and as predicted there is no living human who steps forward to claim responsibility. 

For lack of any other logical explanation, I can only conclude that The House of Oompa is haunted by a cookie and chocolate loving, messy, gassy ghost. 

Casper, is that you?