"I Do" Says My Brother

It was a long time coming--the wedding. The last of the grand kids to get married.

About six years ago I was on the phone with my little brother and I dared to ask him if he was gay. It had been so long since he had a date that I figured maybe. He assured me he was not and was waiting for the right girl to come along. Well, about two years after I asked "the question" she came along--Christine, a lovely woman. Now it didn't take long for little brother to realize he had found his soul mate. It just took a long time to get from the proposal acceptance to the alter. But they got there, finally, this past Saturday. Despite the rain--which is said to be of good fortune on a wedding day--everything was lovely.

The bride beautiful. The bridesmaids lovely...the flower girl stole the show. She thinks her aunt looks as much like a princess as she does. When King Ralph told her that he had a surprise for her (lip gloss and Tic Tacs) if she walked down the isle; she asked her aunt if she could ask King Ralph to call her princess. He obliged.

Jumping with joy. One because the nuptials were over and the rain was taking a brief intermission. When I say brief I mean brief.

Then little brother moved in to sweep his bride off her feet.

Then it was time to get the party started. With a toast,by King Ralph.

Which was followed by little brother pulling me in close to tell me-- "guess what sister, I'm not gay after all", and we both laughed.

We ate, great food. We drank, great booze. We danced--the night away, to fun music. My brother's soulful black neighbor, Rodney, told me I have the sister junk-in-the-trunk but I dance like I am white to the core. He was not as impressed with my "Stanky Leg" as the fifth graders at the school which employs me. I try people, I really do try.

The evening festivities were closed with a dance circle. Rodney got us going...go Rodney, go Rodney.
However, the best part was my eighty-six year old grandmother who sat comfortably still all evening was coaxed out of her chair to the dance circle's center--with a little assistance and her cane to dance for my brother and his bride.

So little brother your two older sisters, old hats at the marriage gig, have photographed there interpretation of marriage for you

And your sister, your favorite sister, and Auntie Loee toast you and Christine...may your marriage be as long and happy as ours have been and continue to be

(note the hand crafted, hand beaded wedding arm sling)

When the evening drew to a close I went home with this guy--not the father-of-the-bride, as the tuxedo shop gal referred to him, but my hubby--of a lot of years.

Babe now that tux cost a pretty penny go ahead and sleep in it.

Dear Blog

Dear Blog-
I will be back soon. Just to tired from the wedding last night to type a good story. Plus I have tons of pictures to upload, and Photoshop. But know a great time was had.

The Best Things are Served in a School Cafeteria

There is always one that warms your heart.

******

He stumbled trying to get his thought formed into proper English. As well as project his "second" language for its correctness.

"You got to need paper moneys to go up there or you got to have in your account?"

"Do you want buy something ****?"

He repeated himself again in his jumbled form about the understanding of how purchasing something from the snack rack works.

"**** do you have money in your account?" Knowing fully well when I said that he did not.

"Me got money, here." And he pulled a child's wallet from his front pocket, handed it to me, then continued rummaging around in his pocket. The wallet basically empty, except for a few coins floating loosely in the dollar bill section. He then handed me other coins he gathered from his pocket. Six coins in total.

"How much do you have?"

"Me got"

"No **** it's I've got"

"I got ninety and me want candy from the bottom"

"Let me see" I reached for the coins to count for myself. (The candy is actually fruit roll-ups.)

"**** you have sixty-two cents"

I took his small hand and we walked to the snack rack. Fruit roll-ups cost seventy-five cents, so I checked the balance in my own lunch account and there was plenty in there to buy lots of fruit roll-ups. So knowing this little guy who warms my heart last had a snack when I purchased him an ice cream at Christmas, got his fruit roll-up. Then I tucked his sixty-two cents back in the zippered coin section of the little pleather wallet and handed it back to him.

"What about moneys?"

"**** don't worry about the money, just enjoy the fruit roll-up, but eat your turkey sandwich all gone first."

Away he went to his seat.

The beauty of it all is ****'s 7 year old concept of money, like his English, isn't fully grasped enough to realize why he got to keep his money and still got that fruit roll-up. Just like at Christmas he never questioned how and why he got an ice cream on that cold December afternoon.

His innocence is the insulator of my heart. And that, that's what warms my heart.

Sometimes the best things served in the school cafeteria isn't Monday's chicken nuggets. It's the fruit roll-ups.

easter

What Makes A "Good Friday"

I have had my "June Clever" going since 6am. It feels oh-so-good.

So beside the obvious christian reason that makes this Good Friday-- having the day off work, my house smelling like Febreeze Mr. Clean and the dust bunnies caught and trapped-- making way for the bunny of the season that should be, D serenading me with the piano-- playing the sound track from Pride and Prejudice... I am feeling all good on this Friday.

So what's left? About thirty guest arriving at 6pm for everything fried and fattening-- fish, fries, hush puppies...

Mmmmm, I'm getting hungry already.

Now what do about the moonlight egg hunt. With all this rain it may be a swim meet for eggs.

Away From the Roll of the Sea of Poo-Poo

I was all TGIF! as I headed out the door in the morning. I had one of those never before had days at work were I performed tasks in motion with no emotion. I shuffled papers because I had to. I made copies, sent faxes because I had to. I did recess duty because I had too... All the while watching the clock tick.

The plan was a 30-minute nap when I got home and then I was going to begin a deep clean on the house--prepping for our upcoming Not-So-Annual Fish Fry. Instead I walked through the door and was greeted by the holler of D's voice alerting me to black stuff. To make whole "shitty" story short (mostly because it sickens me to think about it much more) the main sewer line was blocked and spilled...no spewed into the laundry room (my dirty little secret room of the house) like a geyser, then seeping under the walls into the family room and A's bedroom (the only carpeted room down there). Everyone man in the neighborhood morning shower, shave and shit was now in my house, my basement. The house smelt like an outhouse, cow pasture and anything else shitty one could image. There was so much methane building down there if we weren't so sick to our stomachs to strike a match the house would have blown--I am almost certain of this. In a race to preserve my furniture the girls and I scooped bucket after bucket and raced them up the stairs and outside for dumping. It was like an old fashion fire drill. Once MSD arrived and cleared the clogged line, King Ralph (now home) called the clean up company--compliments of MSD.

Now my dirty little secret room is getting cleaner than ever before. But the house smells like a musty old cellar.

You'll love this. M's biggest disappoint is that the Barbie house got wet. The thing the girls were saving for posterity. The item Princess A saved her money for from her four year old allowance to purchase (and then "quit her job" when she saved enough for the darn thing) became the reason of greatest concern. A three story Barbie house!? Go figure. Here I was thinking we were all chancing a risk at a head to toe case of ring worm and M is concerned the doll's house my have to be eighty-sixed. Oh to be young.

A situation of this magnitude called for a stiff drink and a pizza to go from IMO's...at 9pm. Five hours after the basement geyser was discovered. Then, finally 2.5 hours later we all crawled in bed--to the hum of 10 industrial air blowers and dehumidifiers. (I sense the electric meter is pulling a Clark Griswold).

As I was enjoying a solid night's rest and dreaming of...oh God I dreamt I weighed 160 pounds, gained it all at work eating all the poison that lie on the staff lounge tables--I had to wake at 6am.

This early morning wake up call, although not so much welcomed, was for an exciting reason-- D's Middle School Solo/Ensemble Festival performance. Now it is apparent I have a voodoo hex cast on me. First the sewer, then the 830am performance time. (Like who has yet coughed up their morning loogie on a Saturday at that hour to be able to sing?) D and her constant singing ensemble girl posy insisted this year on a difficult four part harmony; it was decided by the choir director the four perfectly blended voices should sing Away From the Roll of the Sea. I listened to the song practiced I don't know how many times through the vent in my bedroom. Always knowing it sounded like the most tranquil piece of music to flutter in the airs of this house. When I listened to the girls at their dress rehearsal, days earlier, I knew they were the best. And, that was not me being bias. So when then quartet took the floor, introduced themselves and named the title of their musical piece my mom heart started to beat. Then it beat faster and faster with each note they sang. The four of them have such a mature presence when they perform. Whatever nerves they have shaking about inside them they do not show, they just open mouth and music notes flow. We four moms all agreed it was a one rating performance--because after years and years of going to these festivals you become an untrained, but somehow a self-qualified critic. (I also love how these festivals are like a peaceful gang war, the band kids don't dare cross in the orchestra kids hood and the choir kids, well they fight for there right to a plot of any available hood space.) The thing I stress to the kids is that is not always about getting a one rating but about the courage it takes to stand up there and perform to be judged.

Then the eight of us left for a celebration breakfast at First Watch while waiting for the choir director to call with the rating. A ONE! Did we [moms] think it would be anything less? NO! D and I toasted a job well sung with two cups of "A Lot" of OJ. While happy-proud smiles graced the faces of four adorable well deserved fourteen-year-old girls.

This weekend so far has had its ups and downs. One more day to go. Please let it be an up day!

The Writing Prompt

Write about a special day you have had. That is what the writing prompt instructed.

As I sat in the silent room watching the pencils draw story webs, scribbling thoughts across lined paper...my mind wandered to its own place--my special day.

1990.

We decided on burritos for dinner. We must have loved the idea of cooking for two because we didn't simplify the dinner crave by passing through a drive-thru. Instead we strolled up and down the isles of our local grocery store grabbing cubes of ground beef, cans of refried beans, lettuce and tomatoes from the produce section. Sour Cream and grated cheddar. Flour tortillas. We even rented a movie.

Two more days we would say as we continued our count down with sheer excitement.

It was when we got home that I realized this dinner for two...well, it wouldn't much longer be just the two of us.

We still cooked those burritos. And, still I ate that burrito. It tasted better than ever.

We watched the movie; what I watched I cannot remember. I do remember pacing the floor, wearing a marked path in that recently laid carpet. I breathed. I panted. He timed. I moaned. Then we agreed, it was time.

I remember the moment we pulled into the hospital parking lot looking at one another and commenting we would walk in as a couple, but leave as a family. An amazing thought.

I labored 6 more hours and all the while he stood by my side-- holding my hand, rubbing my foot, feeding me ice chips. Then the miracle happened.

She burst into this world and made him cry. The only time I have ever seen tears braise his cheeks. The pride. The joy. The love. The miracle. New life.

I coddled that tiny swaddled being in my arms, unwrapping the soft blanket to count the toes. I grazed my pointer finger across her petite delicate lips, then kissed her cheeks--as if to say welcome to this world. My heart was filled with love. A kind of love.

She was mine. Ours. Ever so perfect.

We were now a family.

We planted her. I sprouted her. We have watered her. She has bloomed like a rose.

Happy Nineteenth Birthday Princess A. Love you!

Rubbing My Silver Medal

The Dan Strauss Team rested easy last night knowing they were the second place team-- with a score of 89-- at the Bill Clevlen Show Trivia tonight.

Dam Table #7 beat us by 2 points. (We should have not second guessed those two answers--Taylor Swift and 3 Mile Island...we even won the tie breaker question)

If you aren't busy on April 25 I know a dam good trivia you can attend. There I go pimping the trivia night I am part of hosting.

But Dan Strauss will be sitting at my sponsored table. If you are looking for a brush with STL radio personality fame.

Note to Self

When referring to an item that costs a lot of money (with intent of humor) do not make reference to Obama's Economic Recovery Plan--instead make reference to item as equal to an AIG executive bonus...this probably won't strike a nerve with "anonymous", who was hating on me.

No She Di'int

My little brother is getting married, finally. King Ralph is in the wedding, so we went today to get his tux fitted.

The gal at the Men's Warehouse was a trip! When I told her King Ralph needed to be fitted for a tux she motioned us to a desk in the back then preceded to ask if he was the father of the bride. I couldn't control myself, I laughed out loud, hard. I am still trying to decide if she thought I was King Ralph's daughter. If so, compliment to me dis to him. Then she sang Madonna 80's songs out loud while she typed in the information. I think that was to sooth us before she told us the cost of a tux nowadays is equal to Obama's economic recovery package. Excuse me while I sell a little blood plasma. Good thing the black-shiny-man-made-material-guaranteed-to-make-your-feet-sweat-shoes were part of the package, otherwise I would have had to sell off a kidney. (Oh better yet when I mentioned that type of material makes the feet sweat and smell she she obliged to mention her "man feet smell".) When I asked her if she was serious and she replied yes I said "I think I'm gonna crap my pants." I felt like screaming HELLO THE DUDE IS WEARING THE TUX FOR LIKE 8 HOURS. I am going to make him wear the tux to bed to get our money's worth.

Well I am awful tired I think I should crawl in bed--next to the "father of the bride".

The Break is Over

A weekend simply told with a few photos.

There was a night in the city.

A morning in the park.

Snapping pics of architecture.

To hang in the office.

Then to the burbs to hang with good friends.

Because, sometimes, luck has it, that your friend's kids become some your kid's best friends.

Watching the kids play ball games in the yard in the beautiful spring Frankfort air.

Men grill. Meat.

(pictures snapped by CoCo)

Now it's back to reality. School. Work.

14*, 29*, 23*, 31*, 35*

Top of the morning to you.

So I'm not Irish enough and neither is King Ralph to party it up. Last night we had his sister and her family over for dinner--a pre-Pat sort of celebration. Since the weather was fantabulous we sat on the deck munching on appetizers and sipping wine. For dinner we feasted on a St. Louis favorite, pork steaks, with green M & M's for dessert. That's as St. Pat's as we got.

We actually had a little something more exciting to celebrate yesterday than our impending fashion selections from our sparse choices of green.

After years of increasing and decreasing numbers, x-rays enough to make one glow, a marathon of waits in the Spine Center's holding area--which yesterday was so crowded and uncomfortable I could not find it in my body to read more than the forward in my new novel during the three hour wait--along with several parades of the good doctor's entourage... it was determined M's number will hold at 35*.

Okay, so 35* isn't exactly the number you want your kid to have attached as the description of their spine curvature, but she is skeletally mature, so there is goodness in that ugly number. She isn't going to get any worse. Those two years wearing that torture chamber of a hard plastic, sweat producing brace did its job. So for that I am thankful, we are thankful.

M will soon begin therapy for the chronic back pain she has had most of her teen life. She pretty much failed the questionnaire. Which in the end is okay, it means there is a method of relief waiting for her. We have never handed our girls crutches for the imperfections placed upon them and M will tell you she "sucks it up and just goes on". She pains through Color Guard, she pains through our backpacking trips, she pains through her sleep.... God knows she can handle it most of the time with a smile on her face (because she is immune to ibuprofen).

So you wonder what was the more exciting reason to celebrate yesterday? We can officially burn the brace. M has been waiting for the day they would tell her to plan her brace burning party. The plans are in the works. To add to the excitement the doctor told me not to see him for two years. TWO YEARS. You have no idea the joy I find in not having to block off five hours in a day every four months to sit in waiting rooms. M is thrilled not to have sit next to me in those waiting rooms dressed in her hospital frock.

I am going to put all my Girl Scout certified fire starter skills to the test and create one hell of a bon fire-- with a plastic body mold as the center of attention. This one thing is not needed to preserve for posterity!

Hasta la vista back brace!

Lazy Day

As of right now my spring break is being spent in the long underwear I went to bed in last night. I won't lie--I'm loving every second of it! Aside from brushing my teeth any regular daily hygiene has been purposely passed on. I rise only to retrieve food. A fuel source I need so my finger does not lose strength when channel surfing the TV--all TVs in the house, depending on the room I flop in when I decide to move.

I had a really stressful day at work yesterday. When most folks in the building left at noon I was there till past four o'clock--counting, numbering, recording, counting, numbering, recording....

When the phone rang just as I finished and the voice on the other end said let's go get a drink--I jumped at the invitation. A margarita and two pitchers later the stress in my shoulders and my crippled writing hand felt relaxed.

As we sat around the table at our usual watering cantina chatting about--toilet paper and how it always seems to run out...my friend returns from the bathroom and plunks a fresh roll she nabbed from the ladies room on the table in front of me. Was I mortified or did I laugh? I think both. Then I quickly stuffed the roll in King Ralph's jacket pocket; ever so thankful he decided to join us for our Friday-night-stress-reliever-spring-break-kick-off-fun.

My kids are wiping with that roll of stolen toilet paper. What is the penalty for this crime?

A Mysterious Dinner of Rajin' Cajun Fun

On my breaks from perfecting the Stanky Leg dance-- which by the way when I performed the little musical snack for my fifth grade lunch group of transfer students, my coolness level increased from a six to a ten-- I was whipping up a huge pot of gumbo.

The Rajin' Cajun Cafe Mystery Dinner was the top order of business for the weekend.

Friday we decorated. The kids left light headed from blowing balloons.

Saturday was devoted to cooking, gumbo, and putting on our show. This group of teens (along with Steve and I) are on a mission--to get to New Orleans for the ELCA Youth Gathering--Jesus, Justice, Jazz, in July.

The walk into the church's fellowship hall hit all with an aroma of Cajun spice that filled the air flavored by the sounds of Joe Lovano. Chef King Ralph proclaimed to all in attendance "it's gonnabe good, really really good" (although I cannot imatate his accent on this blog, that drew a huge crowd of laughter and me wanting to wet my pants). We dressed in costumes and recreated a Mardi Gras parade, pelting our guests with candy, between our three mysterious courses. Twelve picks, four choices for each of the three courses. Poor Pastor Tom had a delightful first course of: a mask, a string of beads, three chocolate coins and two Tums (I suppose he was hungry come course two and following our parade to "When the Saints Come Marching In.")

(Steve called this his costume of "gayity" and Chef)

Let's see what the menu really is:
1 GATOR Blue Gatorade
2 CRESCENT CITY Mississippi River Iced Tea
3 "WHAT’S FOR DESSERT?" 2 Tums
4 MARDI GRAS Layered Jello Salad
5 JAZZ IT UP! Red Beans & Rice
6 VIEUX CARRE’ (The French Quarter) Gold Chocolate Coin
7 BAYOU Gumbo
8 PARISH Bread Pudding with Bourbon Sauce
9 THE BIG EASY Cajun Chicken
10 FAIS-DO-DO (All night Cajun Street dance) Mask
11 ZYDECO ANYONE? (Upbeat Cajun Music) Hush Puppies
12 LAGNIAPPE (a "little extra" something or service for free) Colorful Beads


Sssshhhh! When we finished the third course the parents broke out the red wine in the kitchen to accompany our plates of leftover foods and celebrate a successful feast. It was a heck of a lot of food! And Janice's bread pudding with bourbon sauce...to die for!

Now when I die and go to heaven I want it to look like the Nordstrom's shoe department and have Paula Dean's bread pudding with bourbon sauce waiting for me. God, after five days in New Orleans with 36,000 teens, riding the bus to and from--which will probably smell like fart and man feet...I am not asking a lot, wishing for heaven to be what I dream of it to be. Am I?


I must leave you... I am exhausted. I need to rest my feet. I need sleep. And to prepare to pimp our next funding raiser--Trivia on April 25 (oops seems I started pimping it here already).

My New Dance

I plan on spending my spring break perfecting this dance to perform a little musical snack for my children. Laughter is optional.

Just a Few of Questions That I Have No Answers to

Why is it that I have all these questions and not an answer?

1. Why am I a reality TV junkie? It is a barrage of train wrecks I cannot turn away from--The Bachelor, The Biggest Loser, American Idol, Project Runway, America's Next Top Model...

2. Is The Bachelor, Jason Mesnick a schmuck or a man really following his heart? Or are TV producers finding naive beings who will be rating's puppets?

3. Why is it that when you have a closest full of clean clothes you still have nothing to wear?

4. Why can't anyone ever put the toilet paper on the roller...better yet why can't they just replace the toilet paper when they use the last square?

5. Why do my kids (and hubby) walk past the dish washer to place there dirty dishes in the sink instead of placing them in the dish washer?

6. Why does Mother Nature enjoy teasing us with a few warm, sunny, beautiful days only to then turn back the weather to bitter cold? Hey Mother Nature, I am tired of freezing my ass off on the play ground for duty!

7. Why can't I find a place on the beach to respite for a week? (I know, because I am lodging snob! And, I refuse to lower my standards after last years accidental Daytona hotel with a pig as a guest. I have good reason!)

8. Why is it that Girl Scout cookies come once a year and instead of savoring them one cookie at time, making them last for months...I open a box and inhale a whole sleeve in a matter of minutes?

9. Does my ass look fat-- like a sleeve of GS Trefoil cookies?

10. How do I cure King Ralph of snoring? (don't bother suggesting I roll him on his side, the dude keeps on snoring)

11. How much longer will I have to walk around with disposable stitches that have poked through my skin before they break off and fall away?

And, why is the only question that I do have an answer for is--when I am allowed to partake in a spirited beverage post surgery? The Answer is this weekend. I will certainly test my revamped system come Saturday night!

Fat Tuesday

What does Fat Tuesday mean to this Lutheran mom with a daughter in confirmation class-- it means pancakes! The annual Shrove Tuesday Pancake Dinner.

A whole lot of pancakes. And sausage links-- 300 hundred links.

And not the kind of pancakes we order and sit down in a booth at the Ihop to enjoy. No, it means going to church armed with an electric griddle while a confirmation class of 7th and 8th grade boys and girls mix batter and flip those flapjacks. What's your flavor--blueberry, chocolate chip, maybe plain? Well we served them all. How 'bout some homemade strawberry sauce and a big squirt of whipping cream on top of that half cup of maple syrup and two tablespoons of butter blanketing those flap jacks dusted with powder sugar?

In other words, if you were in the business of having a diabetic coma-- the Lutheran kids had the resources to serve it up.

If the pancakes weren't enough to get me crazy...we had dad's (King Ralph) washing dishes till there fingers shriveled up like raisins. You know they say there is nothing sexier than a man doing dishes. (Oh my gosh King Ralph never looked so sexy in all his life... hold me back ladies.)

I think I need to sleep all this sugar off and wake to 40 days of sacrifice.

I've decided to give up brussel sprouts.

The Post Without a Title

When the girls were little I made Oscar night a big deal. They would pull an old formal gown from the dress-up box-- a tug of war was sure to break out for the peach satin taffeta dress Brad Pitt touched in the wedding he and my sister were both attendants for. Then we would all plunk down in the family room around the TV watching who would grab a golden boy.

Some years ago we seemed to lose that old tradition. Every year the girls grew older. Those dresses began to actually fit. There lives got busier. They needed, we need to just watch in comfy pajamas-- prepared to dart to bed in time to grab a somewhat adequate amount of sleep before school [and work].

Tonight is no different. Our tug of war on this day was with the clock--getting the office painted just in time to throw on those comfy pajamas and catch a half hour of the fireworks of red carpet fashion.

And although the office is now a beautiful shade of "happiness" (and I must attest the color truly does exude happiness, for me), I miss the childlike excitement that comes with the night to celebrate not only movies, but fashion with my girls. (Them now knowing the "Brad Pitt" dress was so far from great fashion it was hardly worth the argument.)

But as luck would have it we had a red carpet, minus the red carpet, of our own...getting all dolled up last night as it was the high school winter dance--The Snow Ball. And, as luck would really have it a lite sprinkle of snow welcomed us to the morning (and probably the Snow Ball decorating crew)...luckier yet is that it melted as fast as it fell from the sky by the bright warmth of the sun.

Then M gathered with her gal pals for some pre-dance pictures. The "carpet" they walked was a cement deck and the air was a brisk 27*, far from the warmth of California-- suitable for an outdoor photo session with bare naked legs and exposed shoulders. Their excitement for Anna to experience an American high school dance and a Japenese style dinner at Sho-Gun warmed the air--as good friends do.

Now I nestle in my bed-- cloaked in my purse printed flannel pajamas (they seem fashionably appropriate)-- watching TV and prepare for a Monday with an Oscar hangover...suspecting someones speech will drag on and on making the show last longer and longer. However, I am loving this year's show so much I don't think I will mind one bit if it drags past its allotted time.

Jabber

I woke to the sound of nature's alarm clock--the chirping of a bird outside my window. Surely singing Brrrr! Brrrr! Birdie. As it is cold outside!

Then I turned on the news and see my friend's business was damaged by fire last night. Yikes!

M forgot her cell phone on the dining room table so I sprinted it down to the bus stop. Nothing like an impromptu track meet (me vs. bus) to get your blood going and your heart pumping.

I have so much work to do for all these fund raisers; the girl's youth group is hosting to earn funds for the youth gathering in New Orleans. Maybe I will pimp our trivia night here. We've got some great categories planned.

I am counting the hours till Friday arrives. I feel like I moved in slow motion all day.

We keep debating if or where to escape to for spring break. Open to suggestions.

I wonder if anyone has read the book The Shack? I stared at it in the book store last week--to buy or not to buy.

The Honeymoon is Over

This gall bladder removal; the relationship with the surgeon--feels kind of like a one night stand. We meet. We schedule surgery. I have surgery. I go in for post-op visit. We say good-bye, hopefully never to cross paths again.

Well the vacation [of sort] is over. Tonight I prepare. Tomorrow I re-enter the work world. Still bruised with dissolvable stitches that have emerged from my belly button. (I feel like a dog food bag, pull the thread to open the package.)

It sure doesn't take long to rather enjoy being forced to relax, read a book, watch bad movies and nap.

Then again I miss the hallway exchanges, from squeaky voices, of "Hi Mrs. Avery" and waist hugs from warm hearts of small people. I might, dare I say, miss syrup day in the cafeteria.

So in preparation for possible exhaustion I am preparing dinner for tomorrow (slow cooked pulled pork). All the while plotting my Tuesday nap outside D's piano teacher's house. Cold car, warm coat, hood pulled up and over my head covering my face--doubles as warmth and darkening mask. Thirty minutes of delightful rejuvenation. Even if I look like a dead person in a curb parked car.

I digress.

I just ate a Dove caramel filled milk chocolate candy, yummmmm! The wrapper message says "sleep under the stars tonight". Not exactly an option, or a smart choice--considering the outside temperature. So I take that as a suggestion to wash my sheets. Clean sheets must be the closest thing to sleeping under stars in the winter. Now I wait for the buzz of the dryer to summons me.

Its seems everyone in the house has dispersed to different rooms, different computers, different background noises--TV, dishwasher, iPod music... We are alone with ourselves, yet not alone. The warmth of family is still present. (As are a few dirty dishes in the sink.)

Until tomorrow...

Be Still My Heart It's February 14

How are you this evening my dear?

Very well. Only I wish you would not call me "my dear".

Why?

Cause it's what my father always calls my mother when he is cross about something.

What endearments am I allowed?

Well let me think...Lizzy for everyday. My Pearl for Sundays. Goddess Divine, but only on very special occasions.

And what should I call you when I am cross? Mrs. Darcy?

No. No. You may only call me Mrs. Darcy when you are completely and perfectly and incandescently happy.

Then how are you this evening, Mrs Darcy? Mrs. Darcy. Mrs. Darcy, Mrs. Darcy, Mrs. Darcy....

I ask -- can anyone ever have to much Pride and Prejudice? To much Jane Austin?

The answer is no! Not at our house. We must gather at least once a month to watch Keira Knightly present her portrayal of Elizabeth Bennet.

(Except Friday morning I watched alone. Happily.)

So on this Valentine's Day, the day in which King Ralph and I reflect on the day he asked and I accepted a marriage proposal... I hope he comes home from work and kisses me and says Mrs. Avery, Mrs. Avery, Mrs. Avery....

But I'll settle for "you're the cheese in my macaroni"

Happy Valentine's Day!

I Think My Dog Wants Me to be A Stripper

Story Set-up: Last Friday morning before surgery I did a load of laundry; basic reason was to secure clean undies for myself...threw in dryer and to the hospital I went.

Monday morning I hear a moan from M and these words followed--"the stupid dog, she chewed a hole in my favorite ten dollar underwear!"

First of all I am unaware we spend ten dollars on a pair underwear. For that price we must have silk Victoria Secret panties in the house and not the cotton four pairs for twenty-dollars. Then the next morning I hear another ugh. Another pair of new panties have fallen victim to the dog's snack attack.

What is it with our dog? Why does she love to eat underwear--girls,dirty underwear. The newer the pair the better. And why not King Ralph's?

It's not like her food bowl isn't brimming with Kibbles and Bits. Could it be her supply of fresh [vole] meat isn't awake and peeking from the ground teasing a game of catch and eat, turning the backyard into a scene of Baghdad.

Yesterday afternoon I took a shower and realized that the girls never emptied the dryer. In there moments of nursing me and setting clean clothes on the bathroom counter...they merely fetched a fresh pair of undies from the dryer each day. So I trudged down to the laundry room, reached in the dryer slipped on a pair of panties and decided...I think today I will accomplish a chore and tossed in a load of towels. Then grabbed some fresh jammies from on top the dryer, tossed my towel wrap in the wash machine and went back to the couch for more rest.

Hours later I needed to use the restroom. There I was astonished, as I sat on the toilet I noticed I was wearing crotchless panties. DAM DOG! She chewed a nice big hole for my yoowho to be all exposed. I could literally slip my hand in the chewed hole and wave a good-bye to this once pair of undies from my desperate pile. Thank God for that--the undies were from the desperates.

But still.

Why?

Why can't our dog like chew toys and learn to play fetch?

No, instead our dog wants all the girls in the house to wear crotchless panties.

The dog, I think, wants us to be strippers.

UGH!

Honey, for Valentines Day I could use new panties.

My Monday, My Tuesday

Usually my week is filled with the sound of young voices, phones ringing...

Not this week.

This week the sounds I hear are mine to chose, mine to fill my head. So, with the rare winter warm spell I have chosen to sit on the deck letting Mother Nature sprinkle her natural healing power upon me--sunshine. Monday. Tuesday.

As sit with a book in my hand and chicken noodle soup on the table; I let myself slip into sounds that surround. I watch my neighbor's magnolia tree sway in the breeze and whisper back--this weather is merely a tease. The song of a bird who must have forgotten to fly south. I hear the ambulances rushing in traffic to the hospital. I hear, oddly, the sound of a lawn mower...or is it a leaf blower? I hear Uli's dog friend, Penny, barking.

Now I hear my bed calling me for a nap.

Feel Goods On the Road to Recovery

Here is just a few things that have passed my time and make me feel like I am resting in the "recovery bed" for good reason:

1. Saturday's Movie Choices: Sarah, Plain and Tall, Skylark (but not Sarah,Plain and Tall:Winter's End), Copying Beethoven and Akeelah and the Bee.

2. Cheddar cheese and Towne House Crackers.

3. M serving me the cheese and crackers.

4. Vicoden with a Milk of Magnesia chaser.

5. An unexpected get well gift basket of yummies from my friend Lisa...a little touch of "Happy Hunt."

6. Ice packs.

7. Pillow surrounds, lots of pillows all around.

8. Naps.

9. Using the text on my cell phone like a service bell-- "ice, ice, ice."

10. Another unexpected-- Princess A walking through the door at midnight and kissing me on my cheek :-)

Now I am going read. To mix it up.

An Under Anestethic Conversation with Myself

While under [anesthetic] I had a bit of time to strike up a conversation with myself.

keeper: Hey Jo how you feeling

Jo: pretty relaxed

keeper: I know, the lengths we woman will go to get a good nap

Jo: I am not exactly sure this is the kind of nap I was looking for

keeper: are you still thinking about how the nurse who preregistered you suggested you bring along a copy of your Living Will

Jo: I know, freaky isn't it. But, you know when she said that since King Ralph was with me and he knows my wishes...I said I just want pink tulips on my casket. She laughed so she got my point with the nonsense I saw in all that. Humor, I back lashed with humor.

keeper: did you end up wearing a clip in your hair

Jo: Funny! Don't you remember after the nurse asked for my Living Will she told me if they needed to jump start my heart for any reason the clip would be a conductive and fry a hole in the top of my head.

keeper: Oh ya and then she asked if you wanted a hole in the top of your head. I do however see you broke the rule of no makeup.

Jo: Isn't it bad enough that I am laying here naked under this sheet having holes cut in my torso while my organ is sucked out and they stand around suggesting I should have a breast lift, a bikini wax and my eye brows could use a waxing too. Last thing I wanted was them commenting on my under eye bags. Besides that same nurse said when I asked if I shouldn't wear makeup today that she was having some surgery soon and she was going to wear makeup, but not to say she said so. I kept it light and natural.

keeper: sounds to me like since she has you near dead, she wants you like that Uncle of King Ralph's who comes to the family reunion picnics in his suit. Ya know looking good already just in case...

Jo: oh keeper, you are a funny one.

keeper: bikini wax...you should have...

Jo: Shut up. Can't you see you see I am having an organ removed.

keeper: wanna talk about that stimulus package. Say like $40million for condoms.

Jo: do you want them to jump start my heart?!

keeper: Tee-he. Hey girl, did you suggest a little lipo while they have the slits cut in your belly.

Jo: I did, weren't you listening? As I was slipping into this sleep I asked-- the doc said he didn't have those tools with him. I think. Who knows. This anesthetic has me jabbering nonsense I think. I think though ,maybe, I need my fat still to hang so it covers these scars I will have.

keeper: I think your sagging boob is what is going to do the trick for two of those scars.

Jo: keeper you are looking for a good ass kicking aren't you?

keeper: hey, wasn't it nice of Nikki to come down from her floor [above] to say hi-- not just once but twice.

Jo: I know. That's the love I get from my friend since high school who just happens to work at this hospital and loves me.

keeper: I don't want to be the one break it to you but they are filling you stomach with air so the scope can get in and when you wake you are gonna realize this air is a real "killer".

As I awoke it hit me--post-anesthetic nausea (I had to stay till 6pm instead of 3pm) and my stomach is distended with that gassy air in the abdomen--not the kind of gas you can pass with a hellacious fart. It just needs a day or two to dissipate. It is very uncomfortable. I only have three, not four cuts as expected... they told King Ralph it is because I am a small person (ha, who are they trying to kid). These three cuts feel like John Cena kicked my ass with one of those fancy unexpected WWE style full body slams.

The bedside service is great. I am ravenous, wanting everything I can get my hands on-- Ramon Noodle soup, strawberry ice cream, a sliver of a Poor Boy,a couple of Eggo's-- all to give base to the fabulous Vicodin I am popping every four hours. Pain killers can be a beautiful thing--for the right reasons, of course.

And, the Clapper-- the Clapper has turned out to be my God send. There has never been such joy in turning on my lamp as I have found today lounging in my bed--where I will remain most of the next week.

* I didn't eat all that food at one time. I ate, popped a pill, napped, ate, popped a pill, napped...

This is not a test...I've had them all already

This is a not a test. The blogger in voluntary cooperation with the doctors' recommendation is conducting a blogcation due to organ removal of a six percent functioning gall bladder.

Blogging will transmit once the blogger is done counting her stitches and staring at her battle scars.

The Day After

We almost had it. I know this because we all jumped from the couch as the score board turned 20-24. The dream did not progress as desired.

While it is hard to get up this morning and lick the wounds, I must, there is work to be done.

The family graded the evening and issued a report card. Maybe its time to do a little grading of your own.

One of our favorite TV spots was snow cone kid and it is not up for the vote.

Well I need to run I have a date to pencil in the calendar--free Grand Slam at Denny's, Tuesday February 3 6am-2pm (I'll be fighting all of America for a slice of bacon, eggs and a hot cake).

No Political Signs Please...Sports That's A Different Story

For a while St. Louis felt a little sour when you put football and Cardinals in the same equation. I believe all the Saint Louis Cardinals wear we owned was added to the mass burn pile in 1998 in protest of Bidwell's football exodus. We were a city left feeling angry and betrayed.

Time heals all wounds.

Then there was Kurt Warner.

Again, time heals all wounds.

And, so, I am making a public declaration of my family's allegiance to the Super Bowl team of our choice, in which we will cheer for to the end (win or lose)...and our quarterback. Who can't imagine a "comeback kid" dream story?

So while this family adheres to a rule of no political signs in the yard we break rule for our sports.

Here you have it...in winter's style.


Now, heat up the chili and grill the hot dogs. Football is the main course today!

Snow --One,Two-- Day 2009

Have I ever told you about my neighbor and his fricking snow blower.? Never fails (I think it may be a calculated move) every time I have the shovel in my hand, prepared to really work a sweat up, he comes out with his snow blower and clears his driveway in no time at all. To add insult to injury he blows the sidewalk in front of his house clear. He never looks in the direction of those of us shovel handed. I really love my neighbor but every time it snows I feeling like flipping him the bird.

I am not jealous. I am just dam envious. I can work this shovel and make the driveway look...as good as that snow blowed driveway.

How about if I tell you about what made me smile on this two day snow vacation.

There is the girls playing in the snow, celebrating the announcement of a second day off school, that seems to brighten the landscape in the darkness of the night.
Then the dog playing in the snow and the dents in the snow the girls left for there winter's night frolic that look like Clifford the Big Red Dog visited our front yard. I don't know maybe something real was stompinging through the yard?
How 'bout some sledding. Yes. Sledding with a friend, even better. Snow angels. Oh ya. We love sledding and making snow angels!



Now it's time to get back to reality. The snow has stopped falling, the roads are cleared and school/work beacons. Thanks Mother Nature for a few days of winter fun.

Grease Lightening

Last year's musical was so painfully long that my future sister-in-law left the theater saying something like, I would rather have my wisdom teeth pulled than sit through another Sperreng musical. Guess what, she got her wisdom teeth pulled yesterday and missed a good middle school musical. All kidding aside...

Sometimes it is time to say good-bye. To move on. But, before you do you have to have one last moment on the "big"stage. That is just what last night's closing performance was for D. Her last middle school musical--GREASE.

The Pink Ladies just before they sang "Freddy My Love"

D sang her heart out as "Jan". Sam-- or otherwise known for the night as "Roger"-- sang as well as any prepubescent boy can. Got to love those boys with there Peter Brady singing voice crackles. And, so, the two belt out the duet "Crooning"--Roger and Jan.

D got a big laugh with this line as Jan:

Doody- Hey, Crooner. You shouldn't be eatin' that cheeseburger. It's still Friday, y'know!

Roger- Ah, for cryin' out loud. What'dja remind me for? Now I gotta go to confession.

Jan- Well, I can eat anything. That's the nice thing about bein' a Lutheran.

I suppose the large group of Lutherans in the theater, me included, found it funny.

Costume change. Johnny Casino sing "Hand Jive Baby" and start the dance contest.

One last costume change with a rendition of "You're the One That I Want"

To end the night a final chorus of "We Go Together" as the cast takes the bow.... (Okay so the actual bow pictures didn't turn out)
before the eighth graders presented a thank you gift to there drama teacher

King Ralph came from work with a bouquet of roses for his "Pink Lady" as her devote fan club gathered round for a snap shot to say "GREAT JOB D!

This is all I have to say

I wake this morning, like all Americans to our country being guided by a new man. A man who says he is up for the challenge. (Let the fast track of aging begin). A man that some how has his name on more buttons, hats and T-shirts than any other president. Whose head is immortalized as a Chia Pet.

I am sickened in a time when our country and its people has such deep financial struggles that hundreds of millions of dollars where spent to produce such spectacle and grandeur. I wonder what our fore fathers would have thought. I guess I feel justified to say this because I am one of the few Americans with no credit card debt...actually the only debt my husband and I have is our mortgage and we have money in the bank for those emergencies (which have not yet arouse). Yesterday could have been a day to turn the leaf over and show transition with simplicity.

Yesterday I read a good post Lin logged and this was my response. This will be my only blogged political comment.

I keep repeating these words to people when they say how "historical" today's inauguration was-- We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty, and the Pursuit of Happiness.

If we Americans would believe "all men are created equal" then it wouldn't be about a "black" man becoming president it would be about a man becoming president; and that in itself made today's swearing in of the 44th USA President historical-- as was the first and the forty-third president's inauguration. Pointing out races or genders builds barriers of prejudice.

Now I watched the inauguration, everyone at work did from the five year olds to the...well us grown ups. I watched as I do every four years. I watched because I am an American. I watched because I believe it is just as important to say farewell to one as it is to say welcome and good wishes to the new man and his family.

Our country will only prosper and grow as we believe in our country's greatness together. We are a fractured nation. It was not the fault of one man, Bush. It is the fault of many--politicians and citizens. We will just have sit back and hope everything President Obama spoon fed those who desired change he can bring to fruition.

I say that with a great deal of trepidation.

I want nothing more than goodness for our nation, for our people.

Anatomony Lesson 101

Go figure the organ that causes my pain is the organ that is an ugly green color.

Come on, wouldn't you want to be sucked out if you were the only green thing living in a world of pretty pink and red.

Grease and the Gall Bladder

Or is it the gallbladder and grease?

I'll give the Reader's Digest version: felt like crap all week, sudden unexplained nausea on Sunday, some serious redneck belching, enough gas to fuel all of Ford Motor Co., and Chrysler, and GM's cars (just from consuming water)...then Thursday at work the WORST pain I have felt to date (okay second to childbirth, but at least there was a prize at the end of that pain; x3). The pain made me sweat. I read a book to my third classes and I can't even tell you what I read. I do remember telling myself not to let the kids know I was in pain so I concentrated on reading with affliction and pausing where there was a comma. Then I walked to the Guidance Office to grab work from my box, but before I could make it there I had to collapse in my co-worker's office and hold back my tears. "It's your gall bladder" my BWF says. Probably so. That was the doctor's speculation last July when I saw her for something similar...although I thought I probably just had a fart trapped in my chest. This was no trapped fart in the chest the pain was so sudden it had to be something bigger than gas. So after leaving work, heading to the doctor, then to the hospital for testing and blood draws this morning I await the verdict if I get to keep the organ or not.

If organs are exspellable why the hell do we have them to begin with? It could have spared myself a great deal of pain.

Then being the supportive mom I am I made my way over to the middle school to see D perform as Jan in the school's adaptation of Grease. Thankfully this week's performances are just dress rehearsals--a little tweaking is needed (not to mention line memorization).

THE LATEST
The doctor called me at work to say yep seems I am in need of lightening my organ load. I have tucked in my pocket the name of a surgeon.

Just when I thought I was going to go down in history as one of the few humans to keep every body part--I will soon lose on that claim.

In the mean time I am fearful of eating anything good, fatty and greasy; like a single square of pizza (the culprit of my extreme pain episode). So if you see me grazing in the yard on dried up grass and drinking from the hose--you'll understand.

House of Estrogen

M has a new line she enjoys, in her sassy playful manner, spieling out to King Ralph when he does something or says something so male that it irritates me.

"Go put your sweater vest on and go sit in the corner."

It must be hell living in the House of Estrogen. I feel sorry for King Ralph for about...well not for much time at all. It was his genetics that bestowed all this estrogen into his castle.

Besides, I am of the belief he looks dashing in a sweater vest.

This House Has Its CrAzY On

The girls are crazed with sister silliness. Princess A and M have bestowed each other with new nicknames--"Teacake" and "Chili Dog". So all we seem to hear echoing through the house is screams of "TEEEEEACAKE" responded with a "CHILLLLLI-DOG!"

They are sisters re-bonding--soon to be torn apart.

Then I have D being the harassing little sister chasing Teacake and Childog around the house with her smelly socks. The green knee socks can only be said to be fit for a bio hazard container. I will launder them first fitted with a pair of rubber gloves.

I think the three of them forgot to read the memo I sent out about my new flat screen TV (recessed in the wall of my bedroom ornamented with a King Ralph hand crafted oak picture frame); no one watches my TV lounged on my bed expect the top royalty--Keeper and the King.

So I find the three of them sprawled upon my bed watching one of those Hollywood award shows and messing with me...I tell you messing with me and my Clapper. I clap my hands to turn on my light and the three of them start clapping in a crazy pattern to create the epic Clapper failure. They did it again and again till I blew my stack. I just wanted light and a moment to stretch out on the bed, MY BED, and relax. Now the Clapper's mojo is off--the dam thing turns off randomly. THERE IT GOES AGAIN TURNING OFF. The Clapper is male. I swear nothing female would screw with you this much.

When I finally chased two-thirds out only to find myself once again surrounded by the whole gang of offspring as they help D practice her school musical lines. Before you know it they break out in a chorus of Summer Loving and Sandra D.

Then they return to helping D practice scene two.

All the while the Hollywood award show plays on the flat screen...Rascal Flats comes on and they all begin singing together, life is a highway I'm gonna ride it all night long (and the Clapper turns off again and one of them claps to light us up again). They are driving me nuts, mad. However, it's sweet. So sisterly.

Before you know it I am no longer annoyed that I am not relaxing in my bedroom all alone.

This company, my girls, is totally warming my heart. Every giggle. Every soured note sang.

I must part--a trio of Beauty School Dropout is on stage...and the lights have lowered, unprompted, for the occasion.

DAM CLAPPER!

What's Your Flava

I can be found in my bed--on this last day of Christmas break-- curled up with my new book. My little brother gifted me with the book 501 Must-Drink Cocktails.

If I study hard enough and perfect the "lab requirements" I may be able to be the resident bartender in my brother's backyard cabana bar; he built (with a bit of King Ralph's help) this past fall. I'll need one of those Bartender Institute certificates as proof I am worthy.

I think I should I pop in a Beatles CD and mix myself an Abbey Road. Or, maybe, I should connect with the spirit of Audrey Hepburn and mix myself a Fair Lady. So many choices. So may drinks.

So I ask what's your flava?

Good-Bye 2008, Hello 2009

I am going to take a hiatus now from party hosting. As Princess A puts it; cleaning the house to white glove standard every other day (or at least this is how it feels) is growing old. My mind and body are equally weary.

So my resolution: to refrain from hosting anything at the abode till the Good Friday Fish Fry and Moonlight Egg Hunt. This should be an easy resolution to keep.

Since I went to bed at 2am, way-way past my normal and usual bedtime I will simply tell the story of the New Year's Eve Black and White Sweet Sixteen Party with pictures.

Enjoy!

There was dancing...

and more dancing. There was presents...

and cake...

with 16 candles to blow.

Family and friends being silly...

Finally, the ringing in of the New Year-- with confetti and fire crackers...

champagne and sparkling cider toasts

All this fun made these two high school friends feel sixteen all over again Remembering that 16 years ago we crawled in bed at 2am for a different reason...but for the same great girl.
Here's wishing everyone a wonderful 2009 filled with as many great memories as 2008 held.