The Locusts In My Home

It’s no secret that growing boys eat a lot of food.  Grown boys eat even more.  For years, when I came home with a car full of groceries, the boys would swarm around me like I was Santa bearing gifts.  They would even help me put the stuff away — all in the hopes, I suspect, of getting first dibs on the newly arrived goodies.

From late August through November, Big Daddy and I actually had leftovers sitting around the house.  I didn’t have to buy double packages of everything to make a meal.  I would buy a quart of skim milk or a gallon of my favorite green tea sweetened with ginseng and honey and sometimes not get it all used up before the expiration date.

Then Oldest Son came home from Iraq.  He must be dry as the desert over there because he leaves a trail of glasses throughout the house, emptied of their contents.  For some reason, he never uses a glass more than once.  And not only do I have to buy 2 gallons of the sweetened tea every time I hit the store, I’ve become a virtual iced tea factory, brewing a new 3-quart pot of the unsweetened stuff every single day!  Oh, and he asked if we could buy more juice since we never have anything to drink around here.  He also makes frequent Wal-Mart runs and buys bottles of Vitamin water.  I even bought him a case as one of his Christmas presents.

Big Daddy has this tradition of buying a couple of boxes of candy canes every year and hanging them on the Christmas tree on Christmas Eve.  The 24 candy canes provided the finishing touch on my beautiful artificial Martha Stewart tree.  The night after Christmas, while we were sprawled out watching TV, Youngest Son asked me how many candy canes I had eaten.  “Zero,” I replied.  Then he asked Big Daddy.

“Two or three,” he said.

Indignant, Youngest Son said that was about all he had gotten, too.  Oldest Son had stripped the tree bare of all the remaining candy canes and munched them all down.  “He probably washed them all down with the iced tea,” Youngest Son pouted.

Scary thing is, Oldest Son is by far the son that eats the least in this house full of hosses!

Mama Rules As Always

Big Daddy is heading off to the airport right now.  Last night, Middle Son J’s friend Kathy stayed with us so that we could get her to the airport today.  She is joining J in Germany and I’m so glad he’ll have someone from home to enjoy New Year’s Eve with him.

Like always, whenever we have a captive visitor, Youngest Son convinced them to play Scrabble with us.  He knows it’s only a rare fluke when he can beat me, so he has to include at least one other person so he has a chance of not coming in last.  (He will tell a completely different story–like, say, that he usually wins).  Poor Kathy was almost dozing off — it was well after midnight — but we informed her that she could not quit until the game was over and a victor (me) was crowned.

For some reason, Big Daddy will set up the game table in the family room for us, but he always declines to join us in our Scrabble games.  Same with Oldest Son, who by the way, has the highest IQ of anyone I know.  Maybe they don’t have the competitive spirit of me and Youngest Son.  Maybe they’re just scared.  Oldest Son sent me this funny e-mail today as his excuse for not playing with us.  (But I still think he’s just scared!).

Merry Christmas, EVERYONE

My boss and his family do not celebrate Christmas.  It is not a part of their religion.  However, when people come to the office during the holiday season and wish them a Merry Christmas, they do not get offended.  They smile and accept the good wishes sent their way.  They graciously accept the tray of Christmas cookies sent up from our good neighbor, the bank downstairs.

People in the USA have taken the political correctness thing to extremes.  We’re afraid to say anything for fear of offending someone.  We walk on eggshells sometimes worrying about whether we may hurt someone’s feelings when we’re actually hurting ourselves by overthinking our own words and actions.

When people wish others a Merry Christmas, or Happy Holidays, they are merely spreading the goodwill of the season.  Christmas means a lot of different things to different people.  For those that have grown up celebrating it, the holiday evokes happy memories for many of them.  For some, the birth of a Savior gives them hope.  Others recall the warmth and joy of holidays spent with loved ones.  Pretty lights and Christmas carols take the edge off a sometimes cold and heartless world.

We just want to pass the joy along.  When I happen to wish someone a Merry Christmas, I’m not assuming that they celebrate it the same way I do.  I don’t know or care.  I’m just passing along the spirit of the season, sharing good thoughts to another member of the human family.  I’m assuming you’ll be alive on December 25th and hoping that the day will be a good one for you.

There’s no reason to take offense.  Just accept the good thoughts and be happy that YOU will not be spending the rest of your winter paying off holiday debts, working out to shed those extra pounds, or sweeping up pine needles out of your carpet.

Christmas Time at the Slackers

I talked to Middle Son J on the phone the other day.  I don’t remember saying anything all that inspirational, but he texted me later and said he felt better after talking to me.  J is stuck in Germany for the holidays, courtesy of the US Army.  Being in Germany might be a wonderful thing sometimes, but when it’s Christmastime, it’s usually nicer to be home with friends and family.

I think J might be missing us a little.  I know we’re missing him a lot.  But Christmas with us isn’t necessarily as special as one might remember.  In fact, it’s pretty much same old, same old with a little added forgetfulness and laziness.

On an ordinary good day when the sun is shining, we border on lazy.  At Christmas, it’s worse.  We finally got our new Martha Stewart artificial tree up on the 19th, but it’s still not decorated.  Thank goodness for those little white lights already on it, and the pretty ornaments Sheri got us this year.  We haven’t gotten around to digging the rest of the ornaments out of the basement.   Every time I think about doing that, I then think about how I’m going to have to pack them all back up again in a week or two.  Saps the life right out of me.

I was going to take a picture of the undecorated tree to post here so J could see that it really is a very pretty tree, even naked as it is.  Big Daddy even admitted that it’s not so bad.  But I don’t remember where the camera is.

I wrapped my first three presents just this morning so I could drop them off at Mom’s after Youngest Son’s eye appointment.  Of course, we were late for the appointment and I had to borrow mom’s tape when we got to her house to finish wrapping her presents.  I’ll be danged if I was going to have to go out in the cold again for ANYTHING.

It’s so cold here the schools all had a 2 hour delay this morning.  It actually hurts to step outside.  There’s certainly nothing to miss about that!  We’re still the same slugs we always are.  We still lounge around in front of the TV stuffing our faces, except now the goodies are even more fattening, like the tray full of Christmas cookies Big Daddy bought last week.  When the phone rings, we still all yell, “Not It,” so that we don’t have to get off our lazy butts to answer it.  (Last guy to yell “Not It” has to get the phone).  One night, Big Daddy jumped up saying “It could be J.” and ran to the phone.  But he had already lost the game anyways so it was his turn to get it.

Just as I started writing this post (to put off making dinner), I heard a little “Woof” coming from outside.  I’m thinking that it sounded like Sky but I’m hoping it’s not.  It’s freezing outside.  The guys have been downstairs lifting weights for a good 15 minutes or more and I just got up from snoozing on my lounge chair.  I looked out on the porch and there was poor pup, dying to come back in out of the cold.  Big Daddy had put her out to pee and forgot about her.  She’s fine, but she ran around full speed for a minute then finally settled in front of the fireplace.  Poor little Pupsicle.

I think we got all the packages you sent us, J.  I hope you get the ones we sent you before Christmas.  We’ll be thinking about you.

Slow and Steady Wins the Race

Big Daddy and Youngest Son are out giving blood today.  There was a time when I didn’t weigh enough to give blood.  That’s not the case today.  I just hate needles.

Youngest Son is so on a roll lately.  He actually got up early (for him) today so that he could run before he went to give blood.  One thing you don’t want to do, as Big Daddy found out the hard way this past summer, is to physically exert yourself after a blood donation.  It makes you not feel so well.

Youngest Son is in excellent physical shape.  He’s one of those strong-minded people that just never gives up.  That’s why he’s gotten straight A’s in 3 semesters of college (well, OK, the 2 English classes were A-minuses).  It’s why even the best high school soccer offense players in the region dreaded seeing him on their tail.  His calf muscles bulge obscenely.  He’s decided to join the college track team in the spring and he’s starting to prepare for it now.

I wish I had the same mind-set.  I can push myself at times, but only so far.  For a while, I was busting my butt running at least 15 miles a week.  Now, not so much.  I know part of it is the winter funk has set in.  I just want to hibernate when it gets cold.  And we’ve had too many goodies sitting around the house.  I don’t normally even crave sweets all that much.  But lately, I’ve had trouble passing them up.

Last night, when I stood on the scale, the dreaded number was reached.  This is almost the weight I was on the day I gave birth to one of my kids.  I can’t remember which one, but it was the only time I recall being weighed the day I gave birth.  It seems like kind of a cruel thing.  The number seemed obscenely large for me at the time.  For a lot of people, it’s a perfectly good average weight.  On Biggest Loser, it’s even a goal weight for some.  But for the girl who desperately wanted to reach 100 pounds in high school thinking perhaps then I’d get some boobs, it’s a scary number.

So, even though it’s cold as freak outside, I’m going for a short run.  I passed up the cookie tray this morning when I had my coffee.  I may have given up running 5K races, but I’m going to keep doing little things.  I just can’t turn my back on the good foods, but I will take smaller portions.  I’ll never be a size 4, but I’m determined to stay in the clothes that are now hanging in my closet.

Super Evolved Mom Screws Up

Crap.  I feel like a screw-up.  But it’s not entirely my fault, I tell ya.

Youngest Son is moaning about his jaw hurting.  Even more disturbing for this craver of perfection, he feels like one of his teeth is being pushed out of alignment.  Sadly, I may be somewhat responsible.

His dentist said a couple years ago that he would need his wisdom teeth out.  Well, this is just par for the course around here.  A few years ago, I took Oldest Son to get his out.  It was probably quite a sight to see little old me leading my loopy lanky son to the car afterwards, he being a foot taller than me.  Then, this April, I believe, Middle Son J got his out.  I don’t remember much about that because Big Daddy took him.  I do remember the very day after surgery, however, when J, never one to be messed with, went out with a friend to possibly fight someone that was messing with him by sending annoying texts.  Thankfully, no one showed up.  Maybe his surgery added to his overkill of testosterone?

It’s hard to find time to schedule appointments around here.  Between people’s surgeries, physical therapy, deployments, and social lives, it’s hard to find a spare window of time for yet another appointment.  Youngest Son just had knee surgery last summer.  And he juggled three jobs this past summer.  What’s a mom to do?

Our very well-read regular dentist explained to me on one of my semi-annual visits about wisdom teeth.  He said in ancient times, with a much coarser diet, we humans needed those teeth.  As our diets became more processed, we slowly evolved to the point where our jaws grew smaller and the wisdom teeth became unnecessary.  That’s why just about everybody you know needs to get them removed.

Lucky for me, being the advanced super-evolved specimen of humanity, I never even got my wisdom teeth.  There’s nothing even there under the gum line.  Nothing.  Nada.  So today, super mom of the future will be taking her Youngest Son to see the dentist about getting his wisdom teeth pulled ASAP.  I’m hoping he’ll be able to do the surgery before winter break ends in mid-January.

Party’s Over

You know how sometimes when you get back to work after vacation you’re buried alive in work and you almost wonder if it was worth it?  Well, that’s where I was at yesterday.  You see, Saturday was my birthday.  And then Sunday was an extension of my birthday.  I figure I’m kind of worth an entire birthday weekend.  Especially after all the years I’ve put in earning it.  Monday was payback.

Unlike Madonna, I’m not really a material kinda girl.  Don’t get me wrong — I completely LOVE the gorgeous 14k gold earrings Youngest Son picked out, the 3-disc Dylan CD set from Big Daddy, and the yummy sushi lunch Oldest Son took us out for.  In fact, we were so stuffed after that lunch, that Big Daddy postponed cooking my birthday dinner until Sunday.  But — the thing I like best about my birthday is that I feel no obligation to do ANYTHING I don’t want to do.  I won’t even make a decision on my special day.

When we were at the supermarket on Saturday and I mentioned we’d better pick up something for dinner but don’t ask me what because I’m not cooking, I was just as happy that I didn’t have to decide yet another night what to have as I was about not having to cook.  It gets really old, you know?  So Big Daddy asks, “Beef, pork, fish or chicken?”

“Beef or fish,” I replied.  That’s as decisive as I had to get.  Felt good.

So Monday, I had mountains of laundry to do that I completely ignored over the weekend.  I had a bunch of birthday dinner and cake pans to wash since we kept our Sunday night chore-free to watch the Survivor finale.  I still have a few Christmas gifts to actually shop for and a ton of wrapping to do.  But I did enjoy my birthday weekend, while it lasted.

On Idiocracy: The Dumbing Down of Our World

Oldest Son rented the movie “Idiocracy” a few nights ago and insisted we watch it with him.  He had seen it while deployed.  It must have reminded him of being home in the good old USA.

The movie explores a hypothetical future in which the human population has de-evolved into a world of Jerry Springer-like subjects due in part to some of the very reasons I wrote about way back in March in this post.

It wasn’t a great movie, but it had its moments.  What struck me was how entirely plausible the whole thing seemed.  Have you ever watched Jay Leno’s Jaywalking?  Can people who have graduated high school really be that clueless?  And why, when they interview ANYBODY on the news, do they sound so hopelessly stooopid?  Is it just a coincidence that the only people they ever talk to always “seen” what happened?  Like, “him and me was walkin’ down the street and seen it.”  The very same news stations frequently have spelling errors on the video portions of their broadcasts.  Being that these people should be professional journalists with college degrees, I find this ridiculous — even if they are just typos.  They should at least know how to proofread.  It makes Pittsburghers look and sound really stupid.

Then you take a walk through Lowes and see all the signs in English AND Spanish.  Excuse me, but the official language of the United States is supposed to be English.  Learn the language like my grandparents did when they got off the boat from Italy.  It will be good exercise for the brain.  And then, when we ALL know the English language really well, maybe at that point we can go on to learn Spanish, French, or Esperanto.

The Halo Has Some Tarnish

I’m a nice person.  I’m even a good and somewhat spiritual person.  I know that about myself.  I’m incensed over unfairness of any kind.  I’m deeply hurt and saddened when I see someone suffering, especially innocent helpless people or animals.  I try not to hurt anyone and never pick a fight.   But, obviously, I don’t have a halo like Big Daddy.  He’s a good guy, no doubt.  I wouldn’t have it any other way.  I’ve dated a few jerks, but I never would have stayed with one.

Even way back in college, my friends and roommates would take his side if we had a spat.  My own family has been known to ask me, “What did you to poor <Big Daddy>?” if they happen to see him moping.  Sometimes he’s generous to a fault.  We’ve been known to get stuck ourselves at a red light because he’s let other people go.  He’s never passed a donation box without dropping something in, even if he just gave at the last corner.  I don’t even give anymore because I’m so sure he’s given more than enough for me, himself, and all three of our kids.  He’s got karma points coming out the wazoo.

He’s a good guy, yes.  But I’ve lived with him long enough to know he’s not perfect.  Give him a Wet Willie and you might end up on your arse.  Just ask his co-workers.  And the past couple days, he’s been getting the biggest kick out of the pain I’m in.  Oldest Son and I have started back up with the weight training.  We worked our legs the other day, and I can hardly manage the stairs.  I wince in pain when I have to sit down.  And Big Daddy has actually been laughing about it.  A quite evil little sadistic chuckle.

I know he loves me.  Well, at least I’m sure he likes me.  So why, I ask him, do you think this is so funny?

“I know that feeling,” he laughs.  Okay.  So you should know how bad this hurts!!  Where,  oh saintly Big Daddy, is the sympathy?

I Thought I Might Get Rich

We had snow on the ground for a few days.  I’m not fond of snow.  It’s cold, makes walking and driving hazardous, and limits my shoe choices.  But the one advantage it does have is that it covers the mud in our yard that covers the paws of our dog whenever she goes out to pee.

I have spent — no lie — a good 10 minutes each time she goes out digging dirt and mud out of her little toenails.  We even got an empty coffee container, filled it with water, and dipped each paw in it before we wiped them with an old towel.  Part of the problem is she doesn’t just go out to pee.  She has to run around like a maniac, lunging at delivery trucks or people walking up the street while tied up in the front yard.  So the mud gets ground into her little paws in every crease and crevice.

Big Daddy and I brainstormed for a solution to this problem.  Who wants to stand on a cold porch several times a day digging mud from a pet’s paws?  He mentioned that she needed boots or something that we could remove.  The next day, I dug out some old socks and put them on the dog before I released her into the yard.  I thought we were pretty darn clever, maybe onto a marketable idea.

Well, the little angel had no problem with me putting the socks on.  But unfortunately, they didn’t stay on for long.  The back two came off before I even tied her up.  The front socks ended up laying in the front yard where she lost them after freaking out over the mail lady.  I was thinking about ways to improve on the idea by maybe making fasteners on the foot covers when Oldest Son’s friend, Sheri, mentioned that you could buy little booties with velcro fasteners at the pet store.  What a great idea.  Why don’t I think of these things first??

Sky in socks