My Own Late Show

I am a woman who craves routine and rhythm in her life. Left alone, I believe I would rise around 7ish, immediately make a nice glass of iced tea, eat whatever breakfast I'm currently obsessing over, and get started with my day. There would be a 30 minute nap after lunch. Dinner would be around 6:30 with bed at 11:00 pm. Yes, that sounds about perfect.
Anyone who has ever cohabited with any other human can attest to the fact that our ideal daily rhythms and the ones we end up living are almost always two different creatures. I have finally learned to sleep through my husband getting up and going to work. Finally - but we've been married 24 years.
Those baby and early childhood years had me getting up far too early most days since babies and roosters are responsible for waking up the rest of the world. Later elementary years we slipped briefly into what I might consider more reasonable hours.

Now? Now I live in the world of the teenager. The scent of acne medication competes with my Yankee Candles. Cell phones buzz and vibrate and are constantly in use. We hang onto facebook statuses for dear life. And we stay up very, very late.Having two kids in college already makes it painfully obvious to me how few days I have left that we will all be living under one roof - even if only for breaks. I'm trying to soak up every precious minute I have with them. Even if that means I walk around in a bleary eyed state most days.Teenagers wake up late. I still wake up fairly early. Which suits me fine. I can have my morning iced tea, steal a few minutes online with you all, and have that calm time to plan out my day. Mid to late morning, I begin to hear the showers running. Tall, lanky people begin to appear in the den. I wouldn't exactly say they are awake and alert. No, more like clean but still half asleep and flopped on the den sofa.

But night time? Around 10 pm they suddenly start to come alive. One son started cleaning some fishing gear last night at 11:30. I can barely form coherent sentences at 11:30 pm. But I was up. If I hadn't been, I would have missed his enthusiasm for cleaning that gear he had just been given by his grandfather. I wouldn't have heard all the plans he has for it this year when he does go back to school. I wouldn't have seen that spark and pride he had in taking care of something that had been given to him.Oh sure, I might have been a little more alert this morning. And in a few more weeks when the oldest two go back to college, the other four of us will get back into a more regular routine with earlier bedtimes and much earlier mornings.

I'm really going to miss staying up late.

(Giveaway for a DVD here.)

What I Did Over Summer Break

Don't mind me. I'm just busy being completely overwhelmed.

My two youngest sons start back to school a week from today. Yes, August 2 is their first day back. I just can't believe summer break is over.I keep having these panic attack moments where I question whether I even remembered to feed them this summer. I know we went to the beach for a week but I can't remember anything else we did.
I think most mothers start every vacation from school with a glorious list of what we will accomplish:
*We'll do fun yet enriching things with our kids.
*We'll discover new interests.
*Take in the local sites we overlook.
*Find new hobbies.
*Deepen our relationships.
My kids start every vacation with the following list:
*Sleep as late as possible.
*Don't get dressed
*Play as many video games as possible
*Be in another room wearing earbuds whenever Mom says, "Take out the trash", "clean up the den", or "come do this fun, enriching activity with me".As far as I can tell, they achieved all of their goals. I suppose that means they would rate their summer break as a complete success. And since I'm their mother, I suppose that means I've been a complete success.

Whew, I narrowly escaped that one.

Here Birdie, Birdie, Birdie

Children are so gullible. You honestly can get them to believe anything. Oh sure, this sounds like a delightful game and quite fun to play, especially if you can borrow a friend's child and not have to mess up your own. Try to keep in mind that this is one area where you really can go over into the dark side. Dabble, but don't make a practice of it.

I realized this fact when my middle son was somewhere around 18 months. To go the the big city, which at that time was where I had to go to even shop at a Target (appalling, I know. But, we do have a Target now which has redeemed my lovely suburb), we have to drive down a very busy road. So busy that it often makes one of those lovely lists of most dangerous roads in America. On one side are numerous car dealerships and on the other side are fast food restaurants, real restaurants, and a large cemetery. Excellent city planning but we'll get into that another day.

For many months, one of the car dealerships had a large, inflatable dragon on the roof of its showroom. Now I don't know about you all, but if I suddenly find myself with an extra $30,000 in my pocket and decide to blow it on a new car, nothing will make me pick one dealership over another like seeing a large dragon, gorilla, or dinosaur perched on their lot somewhere. It just screams quality and dependable to me.It was also endlessly entertaining for my three munchkins. So every time we drove by, I would say, "Look - dragon" and point to the left. "Ooooohs" and "aaaaahs" could be heard emanating from the car seats strapped to within a inch of their lives in the back seats. I would smile my smug smile thinking what a great mother I was keeping them entertained without any electronic devices. All was good.

Until a few months later when we were driving through a more rural area of our town. Picturesque even with a view of the rolling hills and distant mountains. At about that time we passed a cemetery with better foresight on location."Dragon", my toddler proclaimed proudly.

After considerable confusion, I realized he thought the headstones were called dragons. My directionally challenged from the womb (hello, sunny side up) child had been looking to the right all those times we were all looking and pointing to the left. I was just relieved we corrected that little inaccuracy before I received some well-intentioned letter home from school stating, "Hello, Debbie. Your dear son seems to be under the impression that we all have dragons watching over us when we are dead. Also, senior class photos will be taken tomorrow." Thanks goodness we found out in time.Thinking of this reminded me of the joke they played on my generation when we were school age. I am of course referring to the lovely bomb drills we all participated in during the 60s whereby after the appropriate sounding alarm, we would all dive under our desks to protect us from the incoming nuclear bomb. Many a rousing spelling bee was interrupted for us to practice our bomb diving skills. There was just one problem with that scenario.
I'm no nuclear scientist but I'm fairly certain no standard elementary school desk would protect us from a nuclear bomb. But we were lead to believe it would. I can remember wishing I had one at home so I could be protected there as well.

My joke-playing father was fairly masterful at taking advantage of my childhood gullibility. He told me, with complete sincerity, the age-old tale that if I could sneak up on a bird and sprinkle salt on its tail, I could catch it and keep it. Oh, I wanted a bird. I spent many an hour creeping silently through my backyard with my white, spring-top Tupperware salt shaker in my hand, desperately trying to get close enough to a bird to salt its tail. I'm not sure how old I was when the light bulb finally went on about that one.
I guess it was just good luck a bird didn't fly into my school window during one of those bomb drills. I'm pretty sure I would have left the safety of my desk to try to salt that bird.

This is a Royal Mess

I was startled the other day to hear the news that the recession is even impacting Buckingham Palace. Actually, the news lead I heard teased us by saying that unless drastic changes occurred, the Queen would be broke by 2012.What happened? I thought just a few years ago she was up there at the top with Oprah. I have to tell you that I just googled the world's richest women and neither of those women were in the top 10. The top two had the familiar last name of Walton. Not a Queen in the bunch.

But back to the subject at hand, the woman that has so many British subjects. Times are tough in cloudy old England. According to the news sources, the Queen is delaying maintenance to the palace, jaunting around on fewer foreign trips, and has even put a For Sale By Owner sign in the windshield of the royal helicopter. But before you get all misty eyed and decide her budget should be increased from its current paltry $1 per English citizen, let's dig a little deeper.

I'm not feeling too sorry for her having to slash her budget for interior decorating from $607,080 down to $455,310. Have you taken a good, long look at the Queen lately? She looks the same, style wise, as she has for the past 50 years. What in the world could she need that much money in decorating for? I wouldn't think she would need that much money over her lifetime.How much does she spend for her summer garden parties? Well, let's look at the ones you and I throw. A few bucks for red Solo cups, a few 2 Liters and maybe a case of beer or so, chips, dip, something sweet. I bet I can put a nice spread on for well under $50. Not so much the Queen. Hers will cost $1.18 million this summer alone. Wonder what she serves.
Last year she and Prince Phillip (remember him?) went to Bermuda for 4 days and that trip cost the British taxpayers $550,000. For four days. But her royal spendress likes to spread the joy around. Her recent trip to New York was on the tab of those lovely northern neighbors of ours - the Canadians - because she is still officially their head of state. Bet they loved that bill.The part I loved the most were a few of the staff cuts that have been leaked to the media. Two positions that will no longer be funded are the Queen's royal piper who plays under her window every morning to gently rouse her from her royal slumber. The other is her official swan counter. No word on how we will ever know again how many swans there are.I truly feel sorry for those two folks. Here they are, at the peak of a horrible recession, having to update their resume. Imagine. I'm not sure even McDonald's would hire someone who lists as their lifetime job achievement, "I counted swans for the Queen" or as their special talent, "I can wake an old woman up with my melodic horn playing". No, those folks are destined to always be the employees of some government, somewhere. I hear our administration is always hiring.

Share and Share Alike

Today, a British financier bought all of Europe's cocoa beans.I know. It never occurred to me that someone could go and snatch up an entire continent's worth of some commodity either. Especially something as critical as cocoa beans. This is certainly not one of those disasters my mama warned me about. Come to think of it, I probably need to call my mama and break the bad news to her.This man, Anthony Ward, bought 241,ooo tons of cocoa beans. The cost? Around 1 billion dollars but that is not what is important. What we need to keep our eyes on here is that now, this man who is playing with our very existence, this man could cause the price of chocolate everywhere to rise. Why? He now owns 15% of the world's supply.Why do we allow this? Is nothing sacred? Oh sure, people, businesses and even countries have gobbled large quantities of commodities up throughout history and then used that as leverage to attempt to get what they wanted - money, power, Justin Bieber's hair. Whatever was important to them at the time.

They've stockpiled all sorts of things. Oil, diamonds, tea - whatever. But chocolate? This has gone too far.Chocolate is the drug of the masses. You know what I mean. There are times when you know that you need it and nothing, and I do mean nothing, will meet that need except that good old chocolate. Do you really expect me to believe that carob takes the edge off those rough days? What are we going to look like when the supply runs dry? I'll tell you what. We will all begin to feel just a wee bit bad for making fun of Lindsay Lohan all these years.Personally, I've got a plan of action. First, I'm going to put Mr. Anthony Ward at the top of my Christmas card list. He sounds like a man I want to keep on my good side. Secondly, I'm going to petition the UN or whoever to make an international, global law that no one can scoop up the chocolate. Or the cream cheese, Doritos or wine. I can never achieve my pursuit of happiness if people are taking all the good stuff for themselves.

Probably One of The Best Blog Posts of All Time!

My husband went to the library recently and returned home with two older VHS movies. He loves to watch some of the older things with the kids and they are usually pretty agreeable. Remember, these aren't your average teenagers. I'm not saying they are any better, or worse, than the average but they just aren't average. They think The Great Race and It's a Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad World are cutting edge comedies. So, they were up for their father's latest suggestion - Citizen Kane.Oh, I knew all about the famous Rosebud scene. I had not seen the movie and I really had no desire to. I asked him if he had seen it. He had not. I then asked why he was so keen to show it to the kids.

"Because it is on every list of best movies of all time."Spare me the lists. Any of you who have read me for any length of time know I don't have much patience for those "best" lists. I'm always suspicious of who came up with the list in the first place. Ever since I tried to read my way through one of those best books ever written list and found myself mired down in 100 Years of Solitude wishing for some bamboo to stick under my nails for a diversion, I haven't had much faith in those lists.

I really don't have any patience for anyone that makes bold proclamations about a singular work of media in general. For instance, I once chose a lovely seat at our high school in which to sit back and enjoy a local production of The Wizard of Oz. Seated next to me was a man I knew from the community and I also knew him to think fairly highly of his own intellect. Prior to the production he announces to me that he has always loved The Wizard of Oz since it is the perfect political commentary and how most people are too dumb to realize that fact. Count me in with those cerebrally challenged folks because I also thought it was an enjoyable and sometimes scary romp with a little life lesson on how we usually already have what we are busy looking for. Of course now that I think about it, those flying monkeys do remind me quite a bit of congress. But only in appearance.I'm sure he is right. But what does it matter? Do we really all have to to see and think the same things when we watch a play, read a book, or watch a movie?

I feel the same way when my kids come home from school with an assignment to read a novel and then write a paper. There is always an assigned topic for the paper such as "Elaborate on the symbolism the author used in the book and each symbol's importance in the underlying theme". Every time, the author of the book is deceased. I always wonder if they studied a living author and actually asked the author that question if he or she would respond, "Heck no, I didn't put any obvious symbols in the book. I wrote something I hoped folks would enjoy reading and recommend to their friends. Plus, rank highly on Amazon."

I don't like it when we all are told to feel the same way, think the same way, see the same things. You might want to put Twilight on your list of the top 100 books while I might stick a Dave Barry on there. I'd make fun of you behind your back while you would ridicule me without my knowledge but isn't that the way the world should work?

I'll Be Seeing You

I need new glasses.We'll pretend it is because I am getting some cutting edge technology lenses and not because I'm getting older and my eyesight is failing faster than a government stimulus plan.In an attempt to avoid any unnecessary histrionics on my part, I thought I would take this opportunity to get some new, fun frames. I have loved the glasses I've been wearing for two years. But everyone likes a new look. Right?

So off I went to the big city about 30 minutes from my house to one of those larger glasses shops. That was my first mistake. I am a chocolate, vanilla, and strawberry sort of gal. Even deciding between those three can make my head hurt. Once you add in the other 28 flavors, I'm likely to hold a line up for hours staring into the colorful tubs of ice cream down in the coolers.You do not want to know what happens to me in a place with hundreds and hundreds of glasses frames.I was frozen with indecision. Finally, I told the extremely understanding saleslady that I'd have to come back another day with someone related to me who could make me choose a frame.

A week later I did return. With my 19 year old son and daughter. I tried on many, many pairs of glasses. Finally, with their help and at their unanimous decree, I settled on one frame.

Here are my old glasses.Here are my new glasses.Not really. I'm still waiting on my new ones but they are so close to being identical to what I have now that I will have a hard time figuring out which ones to put on. According to the (again, very understanding) saleslady, this happens frequently when children are asked to help pick a parent's glasses. Apparently they don't like Mom or Dad to look very different from the way they've always looked.

Which explains why I'm spending hundreds of dollars for my glasses to look the same for the next two years while the face hiding behind it will continue to sag, wrinkle, develop age spots, and sprout hair from unimaginable places.But my glasses will still look young and fresh. Oh, thank goodness.