My head hurts.

Why, you ask?

I dropped a vacuum cleaner on it.

Uh huh, that was the response I got from the hubster when I casually mentioned dropping our vacuum cleaner on my head.

It went like this. There I was innocently vacuuming the stairs in the foyer when the damn thing came toppling down and landed on my head. I didn’t see it coming and it smacked me a good one.

I guess that’s just one of life’s little foibles.

Peace

There I was happily having a luverly discussion with one of my most favorite classes – and then it happened.

I glanced out the door and one of our secretaries was there with the guidance counselor and one of the interns working in our school. Behind them were four old guys wearing matching suits with bright red ties.

No, I hadn’t been zapped into the Twilight Zone.

The hub found a unique way to do something for me for Valentine’s Day. He sent a  barbershop quartet to sing to me. They were so much fun. They all traipsed in, handed me roses and a card, told me that my hub sent them and proceeded to start singing.

My class was stunned and more and more people started filtering into my room to see what was going on. To say it was different is an understatement. It was delightful!

Between songs, they gave me little messages from the hubster that were all pretty damn sweet. The kids were taking pics with their cell phones, the women in the room were crying. The guys were grinning, and me? I didn’t know what to say or do.

Nobody ever told me what the proper protocal is when being serenaded by four total strangers in front of a room full of people.

I’m pretty certain that I blushed. I know I got misty eyed.

It was sweet. To be honest, it was probably one of the most touching things he’s ever done for me on Valentine’s Day.

Peace

I truly do love my sophomores this year, but they sometimes drive me utterly and completely bonkers! I was warned. I can’t say I had no idea what to expect. Everyone, and I do mean everyone that taught these kiddos before they pranced into my room last September said the same thing – “great kids, very chatty, but low achievers”. It fits them perfectly.

Collectively, they are content to be proficient. There really isn’t a single one of them that puts any great effort into school. They want to be spoonfed and would rather have me give them a bunch of information to memorize than to put any real thought into how the world works, why things happened, how one event led to another, etc. It’s frustrating because I’m NOT a teacher that simply tosses dates and names at kids to memorize. I want them to “understand” the world around them. Argh!

A classic example was Friday. I was covering the end of WWI – it was time to mention the atomic bombs being dropped. Puleeze don’t turn this into a discussion about the right or wrong of it – no no no peeps, I just wanna tell you ’bout my class, not get all political here.

Sooooooooooooooooo………….

It went kind of like this (abbreviated for the sake of my purdy little sore fingers and my non-desire to type each word)

“On August 6, 1945 the United States dropped the first atomic bomb on the city of Hiroshima……. (yada yada yada)

” Then…

“The Japanese didn’t surrender, and three days later the United States dropped a second atomic bomb on the city of Nagasaki….. (yada yada yada)”

One of the total black and white thinker type boys interupts me to ask “Uh, what year was that bomb dropped?”

My look of utter exasperation must have shown because one of the kids who “gets it”, looked up, grinned at me, and muttered “that would have been 1946″.

I didn’t say anything, I just went on to explain the Japanese officially signed papers to surrender in September of 1945. The confused boy looked up with a rather dazed and confused expression on his face and said “Uh, that doesn’t make any sense!”

I asked why.

His reply?

“Well why would we have dropped a bomb on them in 1946, if they surrendered in 1945?”

*bangs head on desk*

Did you notice that I’d said “three days later”? Duh!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Sometimes I just want to stomp my feet and cry. Those feelings were intensified when the kids sitting around him said “uh, we have 1946 written down too!” I had to explain that sarcasm boy was just messing with their heads because they should have KNOWN the year when I said it was three days AFTER August 6 of 1945. Instead of saying “oh oh oh, I get it”, they said things like “well why did he SAY 1946???”

My head hurts.

Peace

Soooooooo I am really cool now. I have a new penpal. Okay, so he’s only written to me once. I see that as a start to a new and beautiful relationship full of dialog and the exchange of ideas.

*snork*

Yeah yeah, I am exagerating. Even so, it’s still kind of cool.

I write letters. I write to my congress dudes and dudettes. I write to my governor. I write when things bug the beejeebers out of me.

That’s how one of my missives ended up in Washington DC. That’s why my new penpal (that based on the fact that I got ONE letter back thus far) even knows I exist.

Yes, my new penpal is none other than Barrack Obama.

My own kids and my students were tickled pink to see the return address on the envelop and run their fingertips over the Presidential seal. Sure, it wasn’t personalized – even so – it came from the big house in DC. That said to all the teens in my life that they “do” make a difference. It said everyone can put in their two cents. They were amazed.

As for me? If my penpal and his wife decide to have us over for dinner, I shall wear my new sassy ensemble that I bought for the wedding. Just don’t tell ‘em it was on sale!

Peace

I’m a happy little camper; a happy camper yes I am.

(think melody to Yankee Doodle when reading that – I’m singing it in my head)

Yeah yeah, I’m feeling silly today but savings oodles of money can do that to a stingy Deej.

The wedding is in three weeks. I have been putting off finding a dress to wear to the big event. I just haven’t been anticipating the thought of digging through atrociously decorated with faux pearls and gawdy sequins type dressed. I hate that shit. I hate those “mother of the bride” type dresses.

Yesterday Babycub and I went shopping for all kids of gizmos and doo-dads. She suggested I find a dress and I shuddered. I opted to use the age old excuse many women use when confronted with this particular horror “Uh, I need to shave my legs”.

Perfect.

After all, who wants to try on dresses with less than smooth gams? Not, I – that’s for sure!

With that out of the way, we continued having a marvelous day poking through one store after another. Then it happened. Some odd force drew me into a cute little boutique that I’ve never ventured into before. I found myself being pulled toward a rack of clothes and right toward this luverly printed jackety thing.

I pulled it out and asked Babycub what she thought. We both loved it. Then my face fell. My jackety thing with the fitted tank under it came with pants NOT a skirt. I sighed mightily and Babycub suggested I call the bride – my oldest daughter. If she could live with her “mother of the bride” in pants, I most certainly would be happy to prance down the aisle in this outfit of outfits. It was perfection on a hanger!

She didn’t care. She knows I’m never going to be the 50s Throwback Family that she’s marrying into. I am me. My family is unique, and I love it. We don’t fit molds.

With glee, I scampered to the dressing room to try on my treasure. It fit like it was made for me. I flounced and preened in front of mirrors, Babycub, and the sales clerks. It was “me”. I was thrilled.

I didn’t look at the price.

I knew I’d be spending a few bucks to find the perfect ensemble for this wedding. I just figured this would be pricey and that was that.

There it was – the tag.

But wait!

It was marked down.

The mark down was crossed off and marked down again.

Wait!

The marked down mark down was also crossed off and marked down again.

But wait even again!

The dress was on clearance.

After all the markdowns, they were still discounting it by 75% of the last markdown.

To sum it all up – my perfect perfect luverly delightfully make me smile and feel purdy outfit cost me ….

*drumroll*

$14.00

Yes, that’s FOURTEEN dollars.

The gods of shopping were smiling on me yesterday!

Peace

And suddenly there are boobies.

Yes, the boobie fairy has sprinkled some kind of mammary dust on my wee little girl.

My little babycub has a chest and I’m not quite ready to see her this way! Last weekend she tossed on some sweater, walked out into the living room and said “omg, mom, my boobs look like the size of Texas in this!!!”

I had to laugh and promptly texted her older sister about this so we could harass the poor little Texan in tandem. After all, if your family doesn’t give you endless amounts of shit, what good are they?

We spent the day calling her Tex while she rolled her eyes at us in utter dismay.

When her bod first began to develop she was extremely self-conscious about the whole puberty/mother nature/hormone thing. She’s accepted the inevitable – she will get boobs, pimples, periods, body hair, and all that jazz.

My house has changed. The hub and I have adjusted to the Mancub having a deeper voice, a hint of whiskers, and littlemanuppityness. Now we are moving into the moody hormonal aspect of a teen girl. Both of them at once? Really?????

Years ago when these two were little,  someone repairman was at our house and seemed rather puzzled to see the gap in the ages of our kids. The hub looked at him and said “Yeah, they are all ours. God is punishing us for something to land us with two year olds in teenagers all at the same time.”

Some days I long for those old days, but time marches on and I wouldn’t change a thing about my cubs. Okay, well, maybe she could be a wee bit less chesty – she’s being ogled by teen boys and she’s only thirteen!

Peace

It still doesn’t seem quite real to me that Led isn’t going to be there for me the way he was for so very long.

For the first few days I cried every time I thought of him, but for the past two days I haven’t cried. I’m doing okay.

All kinds of odd things have gone through my mind.

I think we all have similar thoughts when we lose someone we love. We fret over things left unsaid. We moan over things we wish we hadn’t said or done. Shit, the last word I actually texted to him was “die”. Go figure! Granted, I wasn’t telling him to die; I simply texted “crap, my battery is about to die” – even so, the irony of it all didn’t escape me.

I’ve been angry with him. He promised he’d always be there. He isn’t. I know this because I call his cell each day just to hear his voice. Perhaps the finality of it all will sink in when the phone is disconnected and I get a recording saying the number is no more. Until then, I shall call just to have that bit of connection.

I’ve come to realize that I’m being incredibly selfish. I’m thinking of his death in terms of “what will I do without him in my life?” Sheesh, I have made this all about me. The reality of the situation is  that I should be sad for him and not for me. I think grief tends to be that way for most people though. We are sad for ourselves because losing that someone takes them away from us. It’s the survivors that are feeling lonely – it’s not the one that’s gone.

Even though I hadn’t talked to him right before he died, he knew I loved him. I know he did. I believe that deep in my heart.

I also believe he didn’t know or sense how close he was to dying. I’ve heard over and over from people how their loved one just “knew”. I really think he just went to sleep that night and didn’t wake up in the morning. I don’t think he felt shitty and suspected that was his last night or that the end was nearing. I believe he’d have called me to say good-bye if that were the case. He wouldn’t have just bailed from this planet on me.

I do believe his spirit, his presence, or whatever is here and always will be around me. He may not physically be here to kick my ass when I act like an idiot, but the essence of him is here. I can hear his voice in my head giving me encouragement.

I’m still finding the hardest part is that I can’t just pick up the phone any time I want to talk to him. I think that will bother me for a very long time.

In the meantime, I am finding myself smiling when those memories of him hit me by surprise. It’s okay. I miss him, but I will be okay. The world will keep spinning and as long as he’s in my heart, he’s going to be spinning on it with me.

Peace

I know, I know, it has been a while.

My urge to sit down and write simply flew out the window one day and the damn thing wouldn’t come back. I’ve since found a small replacement mojo and decided to scamper in here to say hello to mostest favorite blogger peeps.

Overall, life has been good for me and mine. My biggest complaint is the cold weather that has moved in and grabbed my corner of the world by the testicles. The weather dudes have promised we will actually see temps getting into the 20s next week. Perhaps, I shall thaw out by then.

I’m adding a new baby to the family soon – well sorta soon. In March or April I’ll be bringing home the little bundle of joy. It will be a girl. We haven’t completely decided on a name yet. We’re getting a Newfie! Gotcha – ha! It’s a pupster!

Once we decided to add to the fam, I began researching various breeds of dogs. Our lab is very old and won’t be with us much longer so I want another large dog. I decided to go all out and get a really really large dog.

Originally, I was going to get a Greater Swiss Mountain Dog, but their short life span made me change my mind. I’d actually found a breeder and was going to be getting one in June, but now – no. Swissies rarely live past eight years – that’s just not enough time!

The Newfi will be an adventure! I told the breeder I chose that I wanted a large dog. Somewhere in the midst of that sentence, he heard something like “gigantic” dog. Female Newfies average about 120 pounds and males about 150. My pup is going to be uh above average. The mother of my new baby is 150 and the daddy is 175! This should be interesting!

I hope you all had an awesome holiday season! I’ll bebop around here soon to catch up with you.

Until then…

Peace

Life can be funny. Sometimes just when you are feeling utterly cranky and ornery, something odd happens that makes you laugh and changes your mood in the blink of an eye.

Today’s entry was going to be a rant. Before I sat down to write, one of my best friends called and I wandered out to my upper deck to rant to her while sucking down a cup of coffee. Our lab was doing her usual wander about the yard to check out the chipmunks, I was muttering to “S” on the phone, and suddenly I heard a huge thundering noise.

I ran to the edge of the deck to see if a giant herd of deer was about to invade. There were no deer. There were two rather giant horses coming at full gallop. I blinked, I blinked twice, I said to “S” – “Uh, there are horses in my yard now.”

The kids came running as well. They were in the family room when they heard the pounding of running horses. Mancub said “Mom, I think we have horses.”

I hung up the phone and we watched as the horses galloped down to our pond, ran around the lower part of the yard, then came flying back toward the house. The lab was freaking out and we quickly realized we needed to get her onto the deck with us. As we called her, the horses flew closer.

There is a narrow walkway between the upper deck and the woods and they charged toward that just as our dog was running toward us. Panic set in. I was worried my kids were about to see their beloved pooch pounded under the feet of frightened equines. Fortunately, the dog got to us before the horses got to her.

We watched as the horses continued running through our yard before they took off down the road.

There are a number of homes around here that keep horses and the kids knew exactly which one our latest visitors belonged to. We hopped into the car to let them know – they weren’t home. Their neighbors were, however, and they said they’d come horse hunting as soon as they grabbed whatever one needs to chase down a runaway horse or two.

It was a whole new experience. It was amazing to see those beautiful animals running about. I’m hoping nothing happened to them because they absolutely lightened my mood and brought a smile to my face.

Now – I’m just dreading the moment the hub sees the torn up yard that the giant critters left behind! He’ll mutter, but he has a yard roller – this will just give him an excuse to use it.

Peace

PS – Logis, I am beginning to think I live in a zoo!

When we bought this place, the hub was thrilled to have a giant detached garage where he could store his toys. The building is commonly called the “Man Cave”. In it he stores boats, 4-wheelers, the mower, snowmobiles, fishing gear, ski equipment, etc. What once looked like a giant, roomy outbuilding is fast becoming filled to the brim.

We also have a very small barn on our property. We cleaned the place out so we could use that to store patio furniture and gardening stuff – the barn is more “my” outside space. That said, I hate going in there – it’s musty, dusty, spidery, and buggy creepy – not my thing!

Our house has a two stall attached garage as well. The plan for this space (other than storing vehicles) was shelving for holiday stuff, a place to keep the trash and recycling bins, and stuff like that. Nowhere in our plan was “Mouse Condo” – yet, the little buggers have decided to make our home their home.

They have settled into the garage in alarming numbers. Mancub has become a master mouse trapper. He’s baiting, setting, and dumping the dead mice on a daily basis. It’s simply disgusting!

If that wasn’t bad enough, they little creatures discovered the closet in my sunroom! My house has three floors of living space – the sunroom and foyer are on a floor by themselves. The sunroom is one of my favorite rooms in this house – it has a lot of windows, skylights, a woodstove, our hot tub, and a gazillion plants. It’s a wonderful place to curl up in a cushy chair and read a book.

In one corner of the room is a large walk in storage closet. I keep all kinds of things in this space. This is where my mistake began – I put a small bag of bird seed in thei. The damn bag may have well been a neon sign saying “Hello Mice – The Buffet is OPEN”. Grrrrrrrrrrrrr!

Fortunately, the rest of the house is rodent free. We’ve set traps everywhere we could think of, and all of them have remained empty. But, between the storage closet and the attached garage, I’m utterly and completely disgusted, horrified, repulsed, and cruded out.

I cannot WAIT until they are gone. In the meantime, my mighty mouse trapping son will remain hard at work.

Yuk!

Peace