Aaaahhhh, Monday

I am using today, Monday, as a day to recuperate from an over booked weekend of errands, trivia, 3am field trip pick-up, piano recital, event meetings, field hockey game, house cleaning...

Strange how going to work can actually become a way to relax--but that is exactly what work will be for me today. When I get there I will change the dry erase board's count down to the last day of school and summon the rain God's. The oak pollen is so thick around here you can cut it with a knife and scoop it with a shovel...a good hard rain will do us all some good!

Look! Look!

I had told myself I would do this more often--post pics of M's creations. Well I have not been so faithful to my intention.


Anyhow, her is a little something she whipped up, in 20 minutes, when she had nothing in her closest to wear.

The Yellow School Bus is Always the Best Option--For Me

If you know me like my kids know me then you know I hate driving the kids to school. I loathe the car pool lanes, I despise parents who can't follow the drop off rules and at the high school I dread contact with the kid who has little parking lot driving experience but had the $60 to buy a parking permit. No matter how much I profess that my tax dollars need to be worked each day by riding the bus or that riding the bus builds character-- every kid needs to learn a delightful limerick of "there once was a man from Havana"; I still get the whiny "come on mom can't you please drive us we hate the bus and our scary bus driver. You know he once was a drug dealer." I do not budge. At 6:50am to the bus stop they go.

Today, yes today I HAD to do the middle school drive. When having to drive one to school means equal treatment is required so I picked up the neighbors and did the high school run too. Mom plays fair. Or at least tries.

You see D (and the eighth grade choir) is leaving for Kansas City this afternoon for a Music in Parks competition. I love Worlds of Fun so I wish I could have chaperoned--unfortunately I used all my time off to have an organ sucked from my inners. I told D, I am gonna piss off all the parents behind me when you have to open the trunk to get your many bags. D was nothing short of a gypsy--carry-on bag, rolling suitcase, backpack, lunch sack, pillow with blanket stuffed in the pillow case... Thankfully the car line was busier than usual since there was a hundred or so other gypsies exiting cars.

Then to the high school.

It was going smooth, trolling right alone. Then in an odd spot the car in front of me stopped to let out teens. As each kid exited M would say hey that's Brian, and Brendan, hey that's Megan, hey that's Kylie. Megan caught glimpse of M and Megan in her usual happy self waved and smiled to M. Then Megan got this startled look of crap I am forgetting something. She looked at M, put her pointer finger to her lip motioning a Sssshhhhh. With that Megan walked to the back of the car opened the hatch to reveal a curled in a fetal position Chelsea, who instantly stretched her legs and popped out of the trunk. All the while Megan kept looking at M with her Sssshhhh. Away they walked in the school and they driver of the car zipped off.

Now I'm wondering, does Chelsea ride like this everyday to school, do they rotate who gets the trunk or was Chelsea an emergency last minute add-in to the high school morning run?

Whatever it is I started my morning with a good laugh paying no attention to the parents who failed to move properly through the drop off lane or even the teen who shouldn't be driving.

With that said, I say TGIF!

How to Tell A BWF That You Are Thinking of Her

My BWF, my daily project partner is in the hospital. When I talked to her this morning she was still in pain. When I talked to her this afternoon she expressed how the toilet paper in her hospital room lavatory was like sand paper. I told her not only is it sand paper but probably runs $50 a square on the bill. For a gal with a blocked bowel, a gal who seems to be doing nothing more than drinking liquid that makes her pee out her hind end all day (with no relief to the real issue)...good toilet paper is a must. My BWF said she felt like she was wiping with 20 grit sand paper.

So what's a girl to do for her BWF? Visit her at the hospital, coming armed with a brown lunch sack filled with a roll of Cottonelle toilet tissue. Flowers say I am thinking of you, but toilet paper--good toilet paper-- that says I love girl friend.

After two enemas and another round of you-gotta-poo cocktail I may have to dart across the street to the hospital with an emergency back-up roll.

Get well BWF, I miss laughing with you all day. ;-)

Come On Blues Do it for the Givens'

Little Miss Abby has been my playground mate all week. Her arms wrapped firmly around my waist as she tells me how she misses her dad--a high school classmate of mine, who I had to scan the yearbook to recall.

Last night Saint Louis got a taste of this dad, his love for his family and the Blues.

This morning the office stood still and somber as they watched the rebroadcast that can't help but to put a lump in your throat.

So if you happen to be decked out in your Blues jersey, stretched out on the couch enjoying the game...feel free to scream up to heaven to one of STL's biggest hockey fans to ask God for just one more chance at the big prize.

Now Blues--don't choke!

"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.