I took Jordan to the dentist this morning.
Nick came too since we don’t know anyone here in Indy who could watch him before the school bus came.
I also don’t have anyone listed for their schools to contact in case of an emergency.
It’s a very disconcerting feeling.
I miss my friends and family, especially our Grandma’s.
None of us had time for breakfast this morning.
Once we left the dentist’s office we had 15 minutes until McDonalds stopped serving breakfast.
Jordan was tending to the drool dribbling down her chin from the Novocain,
Nick was drooling over the prospects of a hot juicy McGriddle,
and I was contemplating on whether to get anything at all besides a cup of Joe.
I opted for a Sausage and Egg McMuffin.
The woman who took our money at the Drive-Through window was an older lady, 60’s I’d say, pleasant and efficient.
The woman who handed us our food…she was a “Grandma”. She had to be well into her 70’s, had little jack-o-lantern earrings dangling from her earlobes and she wanted to take care of our every need.
“Do you need a straw for the chocolate milk dear, cream and sugar for your coffee? Here are some napkins in case the kids have a spill. Her kindness was mesmerizing. As we pulled away, she warned me of a bee flying around my open window, “Be careful of that bee Hon…we don’t want you to get stung.”
We were nearly to school and I was done with my breakfast sandwich when I announced to the kids, “I think that is the best Sausage and Egg McMuffin I have ever had!”
“Of course it was Mom”, Jordan declared without a doubt. “It was made with Grandma Love. There is nothing better than Grandma Love.”
So to Grammie, Gammy and Grandma Dee, and all you other Grammies out there…Thank you for your never-ending, unconditional “Grandma Love”. We love you too.
Monday, October 31, 2005
Sunday, October 30, 2005
Does anyone really know what DAY it is?
I do, I do…pick me!
It’s Sunday, October 30th, the day BEFORE Halloween.
Halloween is tomorrow …Trick or Treating is tomorrow night!
Not here in India-No-Place.
I just found out that the city of Greenwood, (mine), has declared tonight as the night for Trick or Treating.
Say it with me folks…Huh???
I have never been too enamored with rules, there are just too many of them. But this place has NONE. It does whatever it friggin wants. (Refer to rant on Daylight Savings Time) Mayhem I tell you.
Some things in life are sacred. A Martini shaken, not stirred. Reading the Sunday paper ON Sunday morning. Colored lights on the Christmas Tree and yes…trick or treating on Halloween night!
“Ding-Dong”…there’s one of the calendar-challenged little shits now…he’d better not show his Darth Vader ass back up here tomorrow night, that’s all I’ve got to say about it.
Boo (hoo!)
It’s Sunday, October 30th, the day BEFORE Halloween.
Halloween is tomorrow …Trick or Treating is tomorrow night!
Not here in India-No-Place.
I just found out that the city of Greenwood, (mine), has declared tonight as the night for Trick or Treating.
Say it with me folks…Huh???
I have never been too enamored with rules, there are just too many of them. But this place has NONE. It does whatever it friggin wants. (Refer to rant on Daylight Savings Time) Mayhem I tell you.
Some things in life are sacred. A Martini shaken, not stirred. Reading the Sunday paper ON Sunday morning. Colored lights on the Christmas Tree and yes…trick or treating on Halloween night!
“Ding-Dong”…there’s one of the calendar-challenged little shits now…he’d better not show his Darth Vader ass back up here tomorrow night, that’s all I’ve got to say about it.
Boo (hoo!)
Thursday, October 27, 2005
Does anyone REALLY know what time it is???
Does anybody really care? (Chicago III, 1971)
Well I do Damnit!!!
You would too if you didn’t know what time it was!
Do I sound pissed? Do I sound confused? I AM!
A little background first. Most of you know that Mike and I moved to Indianapolis with the kids in August. (Well, Mike moved to Kentucky but let’s not get into all that here!)
I distinctly remember the move. Mike had the kids, two dogs and a U-haul. The Moving-Gods were smiling down on me that day…I was alone in the Landcruiser, rockin-out to 70’s music all the way. My only responsibility that day was to “beat” the movers to the new house. Their “ETA”; (trying to impress my Military family) was 3p.m. That fact alone is why I am so adamant that I “do” know what time it is. I kept checking the clock. It was 2p.m. when I arrived. It was 4p.m. when Mike got here with the gang. It was 9p.m. when I fell into bed and 9a.m. when I got up the next morning. My point here is that it was still Central Time.
Recent headlines in the Indy Star: “Indy considering switch to Central Time Zone”
HUH???
As is my nature…I let this go the first time I heard it. They must be smoking something…we ARE on Central Time. A few days go by.
Lead-off story on the Eleven O’clock News, (that should have been a hint, why does the news come on so late here?) “Some Indy Counties to vote for time zone change”
HUH???
Alright…now I spring into action, (note to self: Do Not Fall Back). I look at the clock on the microwave; it is 10:25a.m. The coffee pot? 10:25a.m. The computer will know, yep…10:25a.m. I’m not crazy, it’s still Central Time. I know without a shadow of a doubt that I never changed the big hand on my Cartier watch!
If you could step into my challenged brain for a short time, you would comprehend the HELL that I’ve been through; back and forth, back and forth between “knowing without a doubt” what time it is, and complete and utter self doubt!
News Flash: “Johnson County (mine) votes to follow Marion County’s lead and stay on Eastern Time Zone”
HUH??? WTF!!!
Now I’m pissed, dazed and confused. What the hell time is it?
Every phone call is now my secret path back to sanity. Mom in Kansas calls, “Hey Mom…fine, fine, everything’s good, yeah, hey…what time is it there?”
Hello Dad? (New York)…just checking in, how goes things? Good, good, yeah everything is fine here…say, what time is it there?
Every chance I had, I worked the time of day into the conversation, and guess what? I was right every single time! What are those KOOKS on the news talking about? If we’re on Eastern Time, like they keep insisting we are, then why aren’t I late for every friggin thing I do? Why are the kids not late for school? Why I ask …why?
I figured it out today, Yay for me. Indianapolis is indeed on Eastern Standard Time. But here’s the hitch; they don’t “participate” in Daylight Savings Time”.
HUH???
“Participate?” We can choose to “participate” in Daylight Savings Time? WTF!!! Where am I, how did I get here and when do I get to go home?!? Holy Crap.
I guess the point to my rant is this…come Sunday…don’t call me after 8p.m. unless you live (and know that you live) in the Eastern Time Zone. Apparently it’s going to be 9p.m. here (then), 8p.m. by you if you live in Central, assuming you “know” what time zone you live in. So when you and the rest of the country “fall back” Sunday morning, I won’t be. I’ll be going to bed in India-No-Place, praying that when I wake up Monday morning, the kids will get to school on time and all will be right with the world.
Now if I can only figure out what time Grey’s Anatomy will be on…
Well I do Damnit!!!
You would too if you didn’t know what time it was!
Do I sound pissed? Do I sound confused? I AM!
A little background first. Most of you know that Mike and I moved to Indianapolis with the kids in August. (Well, Mike moved to Kentucky but let’s not get into all that here!)
I distinctly remember the move. Mike had the kids, two dogs and a U-haul. The Moving-Gods were smiling down on me that day…I was alone in the Landcruiser, rockin-out to 70’s music all the way. My only responsibility that day was to “beat” the movers to the new house. Their “ETA”; (trying to impress my Military family) was 3p.m. That fact alone is why I am so adamant that I “do” know what time it is. I kept checking the clock. It was 2p.m. when I arrived. It was 4p.m. when Mike got here with the gang. It was 9p.m. when I fell into bed and 9a.m. when I got up the next morning. My point here is that it was still Central Time.
Recent headlines in the Indy Star: “Indy considering switch to Central Time Zone”
HUH???
As is my nature…I let this go the first time I heard it. They must be smoking something…we ARE on Central Time. A few days go by.
Lead-off story on the Eleven O’clock News, (that should have been a hint, why does the news come on so late here?) “Some Indy Counties to vote for time zone change”
HUH???
Alright…now I spring into action, (note to self: Do Not Fall Back). I look at the clock on the microwave; it is 10:25a.m. The coffee pot? 10:25a.m. The computer will know, yep…10:25a.m. I’m not crazy, it’s still Central Time. I know without a shadow of a doubt that I never changed the big hand on my Cartier watch!
If you could step into my challenged brain for a short time, you would comprehend the HELL that I’ve been through; back and forth, back and forth between “knowing without a doubt” what time it is, and complete and utter self doubt!
News Flash: “Johnson County (mine) votes to follow Marion County’s lead and stay on Eastern Time Zone”
HUH??? WTF!!!
Now I’m pissed, dazed and confused. What the hell time is it?
Every phone call is now my secret path back to sanity. Mom in Kansas calls, “Hey Mom…fine, fine, everything’s good, yeah, hey…what time is it there?”
Hello Dad? (New York)…just checking in, how goes things? Good, good, yeah everything is fine here…say, what time is it there?
Every chance I had, I worked the time of day into the conversation, and guess what? I was right every single time! What are those KOOKS on the news talking about? If we’re on Eastern Time, like they keep insisting we are, then why aren’t I late for every friggin thing I do? Why are the kids not late for school? Why I ask …why?
I figured it out today, Yay for me. Indianapolis is indeed on Eastern Standard Time. But here’s the hitch; they don’t “participate” in Daylight Savings Time”.
HUH???
“Participate?” We can choose to “participate” in Daylight Savings Time? WTF!!! Where am I, how did I get here and when do I get to go home?!? Holy Crap.
I guess the point to my rant is this…come Sunday…don’t call me after 8p.m. unless you live (and know that you live) in the Eastern Time Zone. Apparently it’s going to be 9p.m. here (then), 8p.m. by you if you live in Central, assuming you “know” what time zone you live in. So when you and the rest of the country “fall back” Sunday morning, I won’t be. I’ll be going to bed in India-No-Place, praying that when I wake up Monday morning, the kids will get to school on time and all will be right with the world.
Now if I can only figure out what time Grey’s Anatomy will be on…
Who Died???
I can’t imagine the last time I had on a pair of pantyhose.
I’m at that “in-between age” where I don’t go to many weddings; my friends and I are too old (or smart) to get married (again) and our kids too young…
So it only stands to reason that the last time I maneuvered into a pair of these bad boys, it had to be a funeral. That all changed today, but that’s a story in itself.
Putting on pantyhose could be considered the next Olympic sport. Much like those weight lifters we watch with amazement as they will their bodies to lift 350 lbs, I too take a few minutes to psyche myself out for the task at hand.
A background in Yoga proves most helpful when slipping into…ok, ok…pouring into a pair of pantyhose. Yoga promotes the control of body and mind. I however depend on Control Top to control my body. My mind… I still have no control over.
After a short halftime break, I engineer the “panty” part of the hose over my ass…which has by the way, grown exponentially since the start of the journey. Much like a pressure cooker, as I maneuver them upward, my fat is displaced, always remaining just above the hose themselves until finally, it’s show time. “Up and Over” I call it.
This is when I’m reminded of the great tennis player Monica Seles. You recall she was the “grunter”. At the moment the tennis ball impacted her racquet, she would let out this man-like grunt…very husky and determined. It was her way of willing the ball over the net. I grunt at the moment of “Up and Over”…then I prance around my bedroom much like a professional football player celebrating in the end zone.
So no, I didn’t snicker at some young lovebirds today, entering in to the “Institution” of marriage, nor did I mourn the passing of a friend. But when I lay my head down on my pillow tonight, I will do so knowing that I can achieve even the seemingly impossible by shear (ultra shear is my preference!) “will, control and determination”. SCORE!!!
By the way, it’s official…I am a Queen.
My pantyhose say so!
I’m at that “in-between age” where I don’t go to many weddings; my friends and I are too old (or smart) to get married (again) and our kids too young…
So it only stands to reason that the last time I maneuvered into a pair of these bad boys, it had to be a funeral. That all changed today, but that’s a story in itself.
Putting on pantyhose could be considered the next Olympic sport. Much like those weight lifters we watch with amazement as they will their bodies to lift 350 lbs, I too take a few minutes to psyche myself out for the task at hand.
A background in Yoga proves most helpful when slipping into…ok, ok…pouring into a pair of pantyhose. Yoga promotes the control of body and mind. I however depend on Control Top to control my body. My mind… I still have no control over.
After a short halftime break, I engineer the “panty” part of the hose over my ass…which has by the way, grown exponentially since the start of the journey. Much like a pressure cooker, as I maneuver them upward, my fat is displaced, always remaining just above the hose themselves until finally, it’s show time. “Up and Over” I call it.
This is when I’m reminded of the great tennis player Monica Seles. You recall she was the “grunter”. At the moment the tennis ball impacted her racquet, she would let out this man-like grunt…very husky and determined. It was her way of willing the ball over the net. I grunt at the moment of “Up and Over”…then I prance around my bedroom much like a professional football player celebrating in the end zone.
So no, I didn’t snicker at some young lovebirds today, entering in to the “Institution” of marriage, nor did I mourn the passing of a friend. But when I lay my head down on my pillow tonight, I will do so knowing that I can achieve even the seemingly impossible by shear (ultra shear is my preference!) “will, control and determination”. SCORE!!!
By the way, it’s official…I am a Queen.
My pantyhose say so!
Wednesday, October 26, 2005
Beddy-bye is for Chumps
That’s what Nick told me last night as I scurried him down the hall to his own bed.
Truth be told, I love Bedtime. Theirs!!!
From the time the darlings pounce through the front door after school, Jordie at 3, Nicholas at 4, it’s “Go Time” around here. Sometimes I’m in control, but rarely.
“Hey Mom…we have to go to Hobby Lobby…I need a display board for science class tomorrow:
“Mom…we have to go back to the store, the snack you bought for the school party has peanuts in it…Kyle has a peanut allergy”
“Pleeeeeze Mom…play one more game of Sequence with us”
When 9 O’clock rolls around…I am so ready for bed…theirs and mine. Their bedtime consists of actually going to sleep for the night. Mine is a bit different.
I crawl in under the warm, fluffy, inviting covers and turn on the TV. Since the ingenious invention of Tivo…the television is rarely on in this house until 9p.m. The problem with that logic is it rarely goes off before midnight. Desperate Housewives, Grey’s Anatomy, Oprah and yes I’ll even come clean…a daytime “story” or two is a new adventure when you are non-committal. Tivo allows that, it puts the viewer back in control… and let’s face it…I control so little in my life anymore!
So at 9p.m. I’m all happy, happy. Ten rolls around and it’s guilty pleasure, by Eleven…a definite discomfort is setting in. With the stroke of Midnight comes full blown guilt, followed by outright dread at 1a.m. The alarm clock is a mere 5 hours away and I’ve not even popped my Ambien yet…why do I do this to myself I wonder aloud most nights.
But not tonight, I’ve got it on good authority…Beddy-bye time is for chumps!
Truth be told, I love Bedtime. Theirs!!!
From the time the darlings pounce through the front door after school, Jordie at 3, Nicholas at 4, it’s “Go Time” around here. Sometimes I’m in control, but rarely.
“Hey Mom…we have to go to Hobby Lobby…I need a display board for science class tomorrow:
“Mom…we have to go back to the store, the snack you bought for the school party has peanuts in it…Kyle has a peanut allergy”
“Pleeeeeze Mom…play one more game of Sequence with us”
When 9 O’clock rolls around…I am so ready for bed…theirs and mine. Their bedtime consists of actually going to sleep for the night. Mine is a bit different.
I crawl in under the warm, fluffy, inviting covers and turn on the TV. Since the ingenious invention of Tivo…the television is rarely on in this house until 9p.m. The problem with that logic is it rarely goes off before midnight. Desperate Housewives, Grey’s Anatomy, Oprah and yes I’ll even come clean…a daytime “story” or two is a new adventure when you are non-committal. Tivo allows that, it puts the viewer back in control… and let’s face it…I control so little in my life anymore!
So at 9p.m. I’m all happy, happy. Ten rolls around and it’s guilty pleasure, by Eleven…a definite discomfort is setting in. With the stroke of Midnight comes full blown guilt, followed by outright dread at 1a.m. The alarm clock is a mere 5 hours away and I’ve not even popped my Ambien yet…why do I do this to myself I wonder aloud most nights.
But not tonight, I’ve got it on good authority…Beddy-bye time is for chumps!
Saturday, October 1, 2005
And he SCORES!!!
Nicky scored his first soccer goal of the season this morning.
It’s a wonder he hasn’t scored one sooner with all the creative and heartfelt coaching he’s received.
“Heads up Nick, it’s coming your way!”
"Nick…there’s a GAME going on!”
“Be aggressive!!!”
There are rules in soccer. For the most part I don’t know what they are, nor do I care. I don’t know the difference between a Right Forward and a Left Wing, (or is it a West Wing…now that I would know about). The one rule I do understand and would never question is this one:
“All spectators must sit on the opposite side of the field from the team.”
Yes parents, there are several reasons for this gem:
1) The Coach (and your kids) can’t hear your obnoxious attempt to Coach Over (better than) him.
2) You can’t hear the Coach tell your kid what a boner play he just made.
3) It helps alleviate parents being escorted off the soccer fields for poor sportsmanship.
“BOOT the ball Nick!”
“Shake it off, shake it off”…follows a near bone breaking collision.
“PUT IT IN THE NET!!!” (duh?)
So there we sit, Red Team parents amongst our Blue Team, on the opposite side of the field from our kids. Painfully we are reminded of our lack of couth when we scream with delight at a successful goal, only to hear a lone parental voice in the crowd shout, “Good try Kyle, you’ll stop it next time.” We cringe only for a moment; this game waits for no one.
“Run Forest (Nick), run”…
It’s a wonder he hasn’t scored one sooner with all the creative and heartfelt coaching he’s received.
“Heads up Nick, it’s coming your way!”
"Nick…there’s a GAME going on!”
“Be aggressive!!!”
There are rules in soccer. For the most part I don’t know what they are, nor do I care. I don’t know the difference between a Right Forward and a Left Wing, (or is it a West Wing…now that I would know about). The one rule I do understand and would never question is this one:
“All spectators must sit on the opposite side of the field from the team.”
Yes parents, there are several reasons for this gem:
1) The Coach (and your kids) can’t hear your obnoxious attempt to Coach Over (better than) him.
2) You can’t hear the Coach tell your kid what a boner play he just made.
3) It helps alleviate parents being escorted off the soccer fields for poor sportsmanship.
“BOOT the ball Nick!”
“Shake it off, shake it off”…follows a near bone breaking collision.
“PUT IT IN THE NET!!!” (duh?)
So there we sit, Red Team parents amongst our Blue Team, on the opposite side of the field from our kids. Painfully we are reminded of our lack of couth when we scream with delight at a successful goal, only to hear a lone parental voice in the crowd shout, “Good try Kyle, you’ll stop it next time.” We cringe only for a moment; this game waits for no one.
“Run Forest (Nick), run”…
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