Cathy in the Wright

Memorial Day

The other thing I wanted to share today I couldn't figure out how to load to my site. Aelfheld sent me a file of the USAF band playing "Echo Taps." Hauntingly beautiful. Some day I'd love to stand on Omaha Beach and hear that being played.

Thank you, Aelfheld, for sending that.

And thank you to my two favorite Army heroes: my dad and my grandfather, Frank. And to my father-in-law...my favorite Marine...thank you.

Today's Assignment...

Required reading for anyone who stuck a "No War in Iraq" sign in their front lawn. Thank you, Aelfheld, for bringing this great Mark Steyn column to my attention.

Where Have I Been? Glad You Asked.

Never let it be said that rural areas lack for cultural entertainment. Last night, when I should have been home blogging for my devoted 5 or 6 readers, I took the 4-wheeler over to my neighbor's place and joined the rest of the locals. We sat on his fence, drank beer, and watched the boys chase the pigs around the pen. Throw your sniffer in the air if you will, but I'd take last night over most opera and all poetry-reading any day.

My neighbor is boarding seven pigs which will eventually be divided up among the neighborhood. We're boarding the cows, which should be arriving this weekend.

A note to future country-dwellers who plan on raising their own food: When a seasoned country veteran (such as my mother-in-law) tells you that you DON'T want to be home when the meat processors come out to do their job...listen. I made the mistake of ignoring this advice several years ago when we raised a few heads of cattle and some pigs. Butchering is not pretty. However, I discovered that if you close your eyes and chant "Ribeye" enough times, you get over any discomfort rapidly.

Today I was in the car running endless errands and doing my best to ensure job security for retail clerks statewide. When the sales lady at Marshall Fields told me, "You could save 35% if you purchase two or more," I said, "In the name of George W. Bush, tax cuts, and all else that is holy...I will buy a second blender. I guess I could put it in The Senator's room and he could play 'Saddam Hussein' and throw his GI Joe figures in there feet first."

Maybe George and Laura will invite me to Easter Brunch at the White House next year. I'm doing my part.

Tomorrow's schedule should allow for additional blogging. The Senator is off to a birthday party in the afternoon, and if I can time The Governor's nap correctly...I'm looking at AN ENTIRE HOUR AND A HALF of uninterrupted computer usage.

Unless my father-in-law decides I did a crappy job mowing the lawn (I did) and makes me clean up all the spots I missed. No problem. I'll just slap some Band-Aids on the bleeding calluses (you didn't think I used the riding mower, did you?) and get back out and finish the job. Blogging to resume when the entire 5 acres looks like Wrigley Field on a Sunday afternoon.

Awww...Who Loves You More Than Me, Baby?

No one.

Well, maybe your mom. Possibly your dad on most days.

Your dog. Your dog definitely loves you more than I do. But certainly not that snot-nosed cat you consider family.

So here I am at nearly midnight trying to sneak in a quick post so you'll have something to read with your coffee in the morning. See? I love you.

Today was our usual nursing home Tuesday. Here's a picture of Hoocher doing what he does best: snuggling up to the old folks. I was talking to one of the residents when I noticed my dog was no longer resting by my feet. A quick search of near-by rooms revealed that Hoocher had jumped up on Chester's bed and had made himself comfortable.

Good boy. Kinda makes up for having Malina wipe a piece of food (or worse) that she picked out of her mouth on your fur. I was relieved she picked it out before she started talking to me; I got a faceful of spittle.

Let's see...what else. Oh yeah, I finally got around to buying some more flowers for the planting bed out front. And the nursery is open this Monday so I'll be able to go back and get more when the frost kills them all tonight.

I also had a soccer game tonight. We were missing several players, including our goalie, so I got to play in net. I didn't mind, because while everyone else was freezing their hamstrings off, I was bundled up in sweat pants and a long-sleeve shirt. I am a terrible goalie, but we have great forwards and a stellar defense, so I didn't have to do much. I just mocked the other team when they finally made it past the 18 yard line. If Kevin hadn't been called on a foul (their forward gave an Oscar-worthy performance), I would have recorded a shut-out. A 3-1 victory still gives you trash-talkin' rights, no?

Well, I'm having satellite problems, so I'm going to see if this will post. If yes, I'll bid you good-night. If it doesn't, you won't see this, so nevermind.

Thanks, Aelfheld and Matthew for the reading suggestions!

Happy Monday Everyone

I hope you all had a refreshing weekend.

Nothing much happened here at The Outpost because it's been raining. All weekend. Yesterday, I didn't even get out of my pajamas until 4 p.m. I'm not sure why I even bothered. Oh yeah, it's because The VP wouldn't take me out to dinner unless I showered and changed. His concern over what others might think borders on the unhealthy.

Friday night I did have a soccer game. Outdoors. Only 3 women from the other team showed up, so we gave them some of our players and scrimmaged. Hey! Loads of fun that was! It was cold and raining and the game was a recorded victory for us before it began. I could have spent those two child-free hours shopping in a warm, dry suburban mall.

Sunday I was supposed to have a game. I didn't go. Sunday's are a pick-up league, so I don't feel as though I'm letting anyone down when I decided to stay home. It's miserable enough to be playing soccer in cold weather and have it start to rain on you; it's thoroughly wretched to have to your uniform soaking wet before kickoff. So I took a nap instead. Margaret, did you make it?

Today is going to be another busy, busy day. We're off to run a dozen small errands, among which is going to Little Lenses, where we will discover if The Senator's frames can be repaired or whether we will have to buy a new pair of glasses for his next bike accident. (Sorry Nana, didn't mean to make you flinch.)

I haven't been able to read any of my favorite blogs either, so let me know if there's something I shouldn't miss. (Aelfheld!)

If you're reading this in Minnesota, have a dreary Monday. I hope the sun is shining on the rest of you.

Of An Opera And An Accident...

Today's post will address the following parenting issue: What is the best way to handle a bicycle accident in which your five-year-old falls and sustains a laceration? But first...

I hate surprises. Hate 'em! Did you get it?! Did you achieve syndication nirvana? Tell me! I can't wait!

Okay, back to Parenting Emergencies 101. Your young son, who just learned how to ride a bike without training wheels, falls on the driveway and sustains a cut just off the eyebrow. Blood gushes. He screams. Do you:

A) Holler at him to hold still while the dog licks it clean, slap a strip of duct tape over the wound, and tell him to get back on his bike and quit the whining?

B) Call 911. Demand two ambulances and a helicopter. Threaten to sue hospital if top-notch Hollywood plastic surgeon to the stars is not flown in immediately to assure best possible scar outcome.

C) Choose this evening to go to the opera. Let babysitting grandparents handle entire mess. Come home only after son has been treated, release, and tucked in bed.

The answer is, of course, C. Although nobody in Outpost country would look askance at you if you chose option A.

The VP and I attended Mozart's The Magic Flute last night. It was a great performance. The woman who played the Night Queen gave me goosebumps; she had an incredible voice.

Since The VP and I don't get out to these hoity-toity affairs too often, I took advantage of the intermission to people-watch and gather information on the latest in fashion and etiquette. Here's what I learned:

Wearing a polo shirt, shorts, and sandals is acceptable male attire for weekday opera, and it is especially striking if one sports an enormous paunch as well.

Covering your mouth when you yawn is no longer considered a hallmark of good manners.

Opera-goers are under no obligation to pick up their empty plates and cups and dispose of them in any one of the dozens of convenient trash receptacles.

Thick-soled, chunky clogs are allowed with the classic "little black dress" when it is raining outside. But only before Memorial Day I am told.

When wearing perfume for evening opera, it is better to over-apply rather than run the risk that someone in the third-tier balcony cannot smell you from the orchestra pit.

I had dozens of other observations but if Nana is reading this, she's pulling Buppa's hair out right now and shouting, "What about my grandson who got hurt?!"

Sorry. Back to the cut. The Green Goddess (my mom) was babysitting the boys for the night. The Senator wanted to show-off his new prowess on the bike and fell on the driveway. Unfortunately, neither his helmet or his glasses stopped him from getting an inch-long cut near the side of his eye. (The glasses may have been the culprit more than the driveway.) Grandma bundled both boys in the car and headed to the ER. Grandpa drove out and met them at the hospital and took charge of The Governor. The Senator received, and not gracefully I might add, 4-5 stitches. He was deposited back into the care of Grandma who then brought him home and tucked him in bed. The drama was all over by the time The VP and I got home.

People are always admiring me for my nerves of steel and my calm, collected manner in the midst of an emergency. It's a simple matter of assessing your options and choosing the best one, I tell them.

Cheers!

Lots of celebrating at The Outpost lately, but before I list today's roll call of laudatory events, I'd like to say thanks to everyone who emailed and left comments on my brother's birthday. I hope he enjoyed all the messages; it's not every day your sister solicits personalized greetings from one of the blog world's big hitters for you. (I still cannot believe Chris Muir stops by now and then.)

Moving on...special recognition is due to my brother-in-law's wife, The Dane. Today is her birthday. I hope the brother-in-law spoils her rotten. Both The Senator and The Governor send their love, C., and want you to come back for a visit soon. Otherwise they threaten to descend on Colorado. Of course, since you're remodeling...they could save you some significant money on the demolition costs.

And speaking of the boys, another mighty "SKOAL!" for The Senator who finally worked up the determination to ride his bike sans training wheels. The other day he wheeled the bike out of the garage and said, "I'm going inside for the monkey wrench. I'm taking these things off!" And off came the training wheels. However, it took another week and a half for him to work up to actually trying to ride the bike in it's denuded state. Yesterday was his first solo attempt; a few glorious moments when I took my hand away from the seat of the bike. Today I cannot keep up with him. We're still working on how to get going, but it won't be long before he's zipping around and making me wonder if I could get him to wear a Kevlar body suit in addition to his helmet. This afternoon's lesson: Braking, or how to let the bike do your work, not your sneakers.

And I must not forget The Governor while I'm recognizing local accomplishments. I think we are rapidly approaching pacifier detox. Sunday night he threw his 'nookie' out of the crib and told me to put it up on a table. I warned him that if I took the pacifier away, he wasn't getting it back that night. Of course he yelled and screamed and cried, but The VP and I gave an awesome performance of Tough Love and he eventually went to sleep without it. Now last night he did use it again, but I've heard pacifier withdrawl is tougher than meth or crack...and there's no methadone. So tonight...we're going to sit through the DT's (that's Destructive Tantrums) and go 'nookieless' once again.

Next: A salute to my father-in-law, who has worked up the courage to let me help him mend the pasture fence this year. We're planning to raise a few heads of beef, and so in preparation, we must make sure the bovine stay on our property. The last time we had cows, my father-in-law sent me out to check the fenceline.

Just see if there are any holes or any low spots.

Well, fresh City Girl that I was then...I hopped on the 4-wheeler and slowly made a reconnaissance mission around the pasture. In my report I noted that there were no apertures through which a cow could escape. I didn't bother noting that there was a spot on the western edge where the top wires were bent down. After all...a several hundred pound cow would have to jump to clear that. And cows don't jump. Right?

Wrong.

Let's just say that our cows took a mini-vacation consorting with the neighbor's herd.

So it is with extreme delight that I am once again allowed to participate in farming activities. Well...I haven't gotten the official green light quite yet, but I'm sure I will. This is a lot different that the time I took out five feet of black landscape edging with the riding mower. I'm still waiting to be allowed back on the John Deere.

Finally, a toast to Spring, which finally got off it's lazy ass and warmed the air enough so we could wear shorts. This is a great improvement over the cold weather that killed my geraniums.

So raise your coffee mugs, your soda cans, your flask hidden in the back of your lower file cabinet...CHEERS!

May 17, 1966

Happy Birthday, Bob!

If you enjoy 'Cathy in the Wright,' you can all thank my brother Bob. He got me started on Blog*Spot over a year ago.

I hope you have a great birthday!

Ahh...The Weekend

Sorry about the mini-hiatus; computer time is at a premium around here. The Senator has a few games and The Governor loves to watch him play. They will both sit quietly and behave for upwards of an hour just to see T-Rex get what's coming to him. I am amazed at how much housework I can get done in 40 minutes.

My brother-in-law's wife, The Dane, had her wisdom teeth pulled this week. Glad to hear the recovery is going well, C.

Had a soccer game last night. The game was moved indoors due to the cold. Yep, that's right. May 14th and we're still playing inside. Of course, during the fall season, a 45 degree evening would be considered tropical. You never knew whining could be so seasonal, did you?

Unfortunately, I don't have any more time to write. The Senator and The VP are building model rockets to fire off when The Senator's little buddy comes over this afternoon. I am now in charge of The Governor. (Or 'Governor No' as my sister has deemed him) I must go remove him from the construction zone before The VP superglues him to the wall.

Have a great weekend.

Hump Day Blather

Another wild day but life will start slowing down soon, I hope. We're all done with toddler classes and preschool ends a week from tomorrow. I don't think I'm going to sign the kids up for any activities this summer. We'll just hang around The Outpost, probably lying in the grass and watching clouds go by.

Work? Bah ha ha ha ha ha! I'll be thinking of you all.

I probably have a lot of boring stuff I could share, but the highlight of the day was scaring a hairball out of Dumpster Kitty. When I came home from the grocery store tonight, I hit the garage door opener and a black streak came bolting from the back yard and blazed a trail into the woods on the other side of the house. Heh heh heh. That'll teach her to wash up in the dogs' water dish.

And finally...from Aunt Jill via my mother-in-law:

Look at Kerry and tell me he's not saying, "Nyuk, nyuk, nyuk."

Today Is Brought To You By The Word "No!"

Sorry about the late posting. Hey Margaret...how many times did you check my site today and curse me for not writing? I hope you at least had some new movie trailers to watch. Or is the boss in the office today?

Banner day at the nursing home. The activity room was full of seniors making ice cream. Hoocher ate two small cups of vanilla. Over in the Alzheimers wing it was a crumb bonanza. Later, a visitor arrived bearing peanut butter cookies which she shared with Hoocher. I wasn't offered one. Not that I'm keeping track or anything. Finally, Hoocher charmed some popcorn from the snack cart lady. Once again, I drew the big goose egg. That's it. I'm taking my dog and going home.

Once we did get home, Nana and Buppa watched the boys so I could fly over to the local garden center to buy some flowers and dirt. I'm surrounded by acres and acres of pasture, meadow, and farmland, but I still go shell out good money for bagged dirt. Wright County dirt just isn't as glamorous as dirt imported from Michigan. (The company's address is in Houston. It could be very high-brow Texas soil.)

Did I get a chance to pot any of these flowers? Hardly. I spent too much time trying to keep track of the boys. Every time I stopped one from indulging in a destructive or dangerous act, the other one took the opportunity to sneak past my radar and delve into something forbidden. I believe every sentence I uttered between 5 p.m. and 7 p.m. started with "No, don't...."

What a crabby mom! I felt guilty for being so oppresive throughout the evening, so I gave them a break and sent them both to bed early. I could hear them thanking me profusely from their respective bedrooms. Who loves you more than me, boys?

Tomorrow will be another busy day. The Governor and I have our final Early Childhood class and then I will be going with The Senator's preschool class on a field trip. The day will be rounded out with a possible trip to Target for supplies and then another evening battle pitting flowers against child supervision.

What's that, Senator? The Governor has some mud in his hair? Here...take these pruning shears and leave me alone.

Electrifying Weekend

An exciting weekend for your most humble blogger, although I am hard-pressed to say which event was the pinnacle: nearly getting electrocuted on the soccer field (Dave P. is vehemently nodding his head) or driving home in a tornado.

Soccer players are an unusual bunch. (Refrain from sarcastic laughter, Dave P.) Yesterday there were nearly 40 of us playing under blackened skies watching the far-off lightning. Many sober, rational people would have taken those indicators as a sign to get indoors. Not us. We collectively decided that there was no danger until someone actually got hit and was a smoldering pile of ash in their cleats.

We came pretty close. We ignored the lightning as long as we could. And then there was the flash. The big flash that illuminated our very skeletons followed by bone-rattling thunder. We scattered like cockroaches. I think I was in the car before the coach finished yelling, "We're done!" It was hard to hear him anyway because the city of Plymouth started up the severe weather sirens.

In the car, I started heading for my folks house when I hear on the radio that a tornado has touched down in Maple Grove near 494. Swell. I just turned down the entrance ramp to 494. Plymouth is a few miles south of Maple Grove.

I wasn't sure what to do at this point. Debris is flying through the air, sirens are going off, the wind is nearly tipping the Blazer over...the only thing that kept me from losing it was the fact that there were hundreds of other drivers in the same boat. At least I wasn't going to Oz all alone. I sped south and managed to make it to my parent's house. My folks were huddled in the basement watching the mess on television.

The worst of the storms were over quickly, and when I got back on the road to head home, the sun was shining.

While I'm thankful I made it home safely, I'm still annoyed we didn't get to finish our game.

Not Your Typical Mother's Day Gift...

Happy Mother's Day to all women who ever had the rewarding, often thankless job of making sure their offspring made it to 18 alive.

Tonight This morning I was greeted by the magical words every Mom loves to hear from one of her own: "I threw up in bed." I cannot begin to t

****

Sorry, I don't remember where I was going with that last sentence. I had just finished cleaning up The Senator, changing his sheets, dispensing medicine and was sitting down to blog about it when

BAUURRRPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPP

He threw up again.

This time he fortunately got most of it in the barf bucket (which moonlights as the bottom half of our Tupperware marinader. Keep that in mind when you accept an invitation to dinner at The Outpost. Ask about the menu.)

I got him out of bed and sent him off to the bathroom to clean up when (you just knew it was going to happen, didn't you?)

BAUURRRPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPP

He threw up in the doorway of his bedroom. And I'm still holding the barf bucket. Splat.

Sooooo...I get The Senator to the bathroom (Splat! Another barf - no worries this time...linoleum!) and haul out the wet vac. I don't think enough can be said about tackling those stains while their fresh.

Clean carpet, clean bed, clean up The Senator, dispense medicine, wait to see if medicine stays down, tuck The Senator in bed, and head back to bed. No. Wait. This is great blog material! Barfing: I could get a couple paragraphs out of that!

Well, I really should get to bed. I was inspired to type because even though I'm tired, I'm very happy. It's Mother's Day and this morning it hit home just how much he needs his mom.

I love you too, Senator.

But Wait...

So The Governor has added a new vice to his already lengthy list: calling everyone a "butt." Sometimes he hyphenates, as in "You're a frog-butt." Most often I simply hear, "You butt!"

I have explained a few times that his new favorite word is unacceptable and that I do not want to hear him use it. This lecture is usually met with a drooping bottom lip, downcast eyes, and a mournful, "I should not say 'butt'." Immediately following that little act of contrition, he grins and says, "You're a butt!"

Today we tried a new tactic. Whenever he said 'butt,' I removed him from his current, happy circumstances. He said it while swinging; he got removed from the swing. He said it while playing with a puzzle. The puzzle went away. He said it to Grandma. After he apologized, we left Grandma's house.

At the rate he's going, there will be no where left to remove him to; he'll be rotating between the crib, highchair, and bathtub. I expect to re-introduce him to society at age five.

*************************

Note to Cousin Jen: Expect young Adam to pick up a lot of new information when he comes to visit!

Helpful Hillbilly Hints

With the onset of warmer weather, my favorite season has finally arrived. No, not Spring, you sappy romantic. Tick season!

So far I've picked one off Hoocher's nose and three from Breezy's head. They were all still relatively small. Like this:

But if you ignore them for a few days, they can look like this:

Let me tell you, when they get big and fat like that, they're a lot easier to find in thick dog fur. Plus, when you stomp on an engorged tick, it explodes like a ketchup packet. Only with dark purple ketchup.

Our local veternarian sent me a postcard reminding me to stock up on Frontline. What? And ruin all my fun?

Next Wednesday: How to salvage the most out of two-day-old roadkill.

This Day Has Excedrin Written All Over It

If you would please click the mouse a little more softly, I'd take it kindly.

Whoooh. Long day.

The Governor is clinging to the remnants of a cold and combined with his usual personality, he's Damien to the Nth degree. Until he has an audience. Then the little gremlin turns on the charm and when I protest that this isn't the norm, folks look at me like I should be riding the short bus to my day job stuffing envelopes. Obviously, closed-circuit cameras and display monitors with play-back are right around the corner.

I do have a witness. The Senator is apparently tiring of the Satan act as well. The other night I was teasing him about how we picked him out at the hospital from the rows and rows of babies for sale.

Really?

No dear. I was joking. You know you don't go buy babies at a store, right?

Oh. Cause if you did, we could return The Governor!

It was difficult not to indulge in a brief daydream at that point.

My brother-in-law's wife, The Dane, leaves tomorrow. Too short a visit by far, but when I heard how she had to arrange her class schedule just to get out here for a couple of days, I quit complaining. Apparently, her district is out of money to hire substitute teachers, so other teachers and staff members have to fill in and cover for her. She does the same for them. She's got the guidance counselor teaching 6th grade English and the maintenance guy covering the sophmore humanities classes. Or something like that.

Imagine getting your boss to cover your job for a couple of days? Would you get promoted or get fired?

Time to hit the Nyquil and get to bed. My boys are nothing if not generous with all things viral.

Out Damned Typos

Another great day. I think it might be unfair. I seem to have more than my share.

I went to my nephew's first communion this morning. I'm not sure there is anything more adorable than little girls in white dresses with white gloves. Except my nephew, of course, who looked heart-breakingly cute in his dress pants, white shirt, and tie. I was so proud. It was enough to make me almost forgive the family behind me who talked through the entire mass. What is wrong with people? In my younger days, if I made a fraction of the noise these cretins did, the priest would have finished mass and said my funeral immediately afterwards.

After a hearty lunch at my brother and sister-in-law's house, I headed for the field. Outdoor soccer started today! Sundays are a pick-up league which means laid back, casual, just-for-fun soccer. Too bad it didn't apply to the witch who elbowed me in the last half of the game. I mowed her over like the dandelion weed she is. Brrrrrmmm. Next week she'll be showing some respect.

Arriving home, I found The Outpost in full swing. My in-laws planned a picnic in honor of my brother-in-law and his wife being in town. Food, neighbors, friends, beer, and a bonfire were all in attendance, and it didn't take long to add one tipsy blogger. (Good Lord, you have no idea how long it has taken me to write these few paragraphs; so many typos to fix. If the d*mn screen would just hold still.).

My brother-in-law's wife, The Dane, is a teacher and fellow English major, so in her honor, I submit one of my favorite sonnets:

When, in disgrace with Fortune and men's eyes,
I all alone beweep my outcast state,
And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries,
And look upon myself and curse my fate,
Wishing me like to one more rich in hope,
Featured like him, like him with friends possessed,
Desiring this man's art and that man's scope,
With what I most enjoy contented least;
Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising,
Haply I think on thee, and then my state
(Like to the lark at break of day arising
From sullen earth) sings hymns at heaven's gate;
For thy sweet love remembered such wealth brings
That then I scorn to change my state with kings.

I'm not a Shakespeare groupie, but I'll own to liking this particular sonnet. No. 29, in case you're a trivia buff.

Will The Dane leave a comment and share her favorite poem, sonnet, or snippet of literature? Perhaps. As I stumbled headed inside, she was in a similar state of sobriety. Tomorrow may find her more interested in the benefits of Tylenol than beauties of Tennyson. I know I will.