Cathy in the Wright

Gearing Up For Winter

But first: thank you, everyone, for all the kind thoughts over the past couple of days. Funny how compassion and sympathy only make you cry harder. Tears are over, for the most part. Missing her never will be.

But now, in an effort to turn my thoughts from such a sad topic, I will talk about the weather. The mornings lately have been rather chilly, and it is time once again to start thinking about winter. Fall in Minnesota can last until Thanksgiving or it can wrap up in three days. So one must always be prepared for winter. You never can tell when an unexpected blizzard will show up and catch you unaware. Never let vital supplies run low. You don't ever want to find yourself in this position:

Start watching the Sunday ads for the liquor store now. No winter emergency kit is complete without a bottle of good Scotch.

Side thought: why doesn't the National Weather Service name blizzards? Why is that personalization reserved for hurricanes and tropical storms?

"...let's take a look at the satellite now as we track Winter Storm Catherine across the metro area. We're looking at a foot of snow by noon with temperatures well below zero. Wind chills are downright obscene..."

Blizzard Emily

Winter Squall James

Snow Storm Robert

It's about time.

And Then there Was One

This morning was the last car ride.

After The Crazyweiler died, I didn't think I had much heart left, but I was wrong. Another big chunk got ripped out and left of the floor of exam room 5. The veternarian was wonderful. The whole staff was amazing. They had blankets on the floor for her. A box of tissues for me. And they unlocked a back door so I could slip out without having a lobby full of people watch me sob.

As I walked across the parking lot with her empty collar, I looked up at the cloudless sky and had an image of Breezy tearing around with The Crazyweiler jumping around her, excited to see her.

Dog heaven?

It has to be an amazing place. A place that's never heard of vaccinations, heartworm, toe nail clippers, or baths. A place where there is no screen door between you and the UPS man. A place where the squirrels are bigger, slower, and never quite reach the nearest tree in time. There are deer to chase, cattle to bark at, mice to kill, and always something foul-smelling to roll in. Table scraps abound. Flies, mosquitoes, ticks, and cats are banished. There's an overflowing garbage can around every corner. You can chew on...anything. Car rides leave on the half hour with all the windows down. You sleep on the bed.

So Breezy, have fun. Look for The Crazyweiler; I know he's missed you. You each have a part of my heart. Some day I'll show up to claim it. I promise.

Honey...This One's Going To Cost You

As I was cleaning up some files on the computer, I came across a folder The VP started. It was labeled "Fun." Here's a taste of what was inside:

Heh! Pretty good. There's better stuff too. I'll be raiding this folder for a while. Of course I will have to take up the part of outraged feminist and pretend that this offends the bejeezus out of me. He'll expect it. It will give him something to talk about when he goes to his lodge meeting and runs into the buddy that emailed him the graphic in the first place.

What I Learned This Weekend

I re-discovered that any writing done while inebriated is not nearly as witty and funny when re-read sober. I was first taught this lesson in college, when I turned in an assignment for a creative writing class that I did at a bar. I wish I could remember the name of the place; it was right around the corner from my apartment on Commonwealth Avenue and inspired several works for this course. Anyway, my verses, which had the entire table rolling on the floor, failed to elicit a similar response from my professor.

So after reading Sunday's post, I'm having flashbacks to a musty old classroom in Gasson Hall.

The other lesson from the weekend: when your ailing dog refuses to eat her dog food, the situation is bad. When your ailing dog refuses to eat dog treats, the situation is worse. When your ailing dog refuses to eat cheese, hot dogs, tuna fish, or any other previously forbidden fruit...it's time to throw in the towel.

Old 3-legger's last visit to the vet is Wednesday morning. Her breathing is ragged and she's refused all offerings except for some sliced turkey early this morning. I wish she could talk. It's hard to convey to her she can have anything she wants on death row. For all I know, she might be craving pan-fried squirrel or something. And I'd cook it, too. That's how much I love this dog.

Good girl.

I'm going to miss you.

Saturday..no, wait, Sunday..

Thiss is probably going to read like a Bridget Jones diary entry...but cannot help it. (Sorry, Gentlemen - I know you have no idea what that means, but bear wif me.)

Had neighbots over for lots and lots of wine and beer. Lots. Did I say lots? I mean lots. My good, good neighbor Carlynn. My good, good neighbor Tiffany. My in-laws came too. My good, good neighbor Kirk. Who should have a girlfriend, but doesn't right now. Carlynn's husband and her kids came too. Carlynn is mother of Uber-Babysitter - so really good mom. And the doctors (cause no party would be complete without an MD or two) from across the river came as well. Well, okay, they're actually DVM's, but still, doctors. If I needed an emergency tracheotomy, they could probahbly do it. (I just snorted)

Too bad my good, good neighbor Andy (Tiff's husband) couldn't make it. He had to work. With trouble youth. And yet he still votes Republican. Good man.

Last night I had a soccer game. Went out afterwards and didn't get to sleep until 3 am this morning. Or yesterday morning. Hm. Very tired. Need sleep. Must stay up until wave of nausea passes. Do not want to throw up in the dog dish. Again. (Long story - another time.)

Good thing not too much traffic on Sundays.

Verra tired. Sleep. Bye.

P.S. Mom and Dad...Don't show this post to Grandma. Hope you're having fun on the road. Buy me a souvenir from Andersonville; maybe a POW doll or somethin.

I Rode The Triceratops To School Until I Was Old Enough To Afford My Own Velociraptor

According to a note sent home from Kindergarten, Friday is now "Media Center Day" for The Senator's classroom. Today he will be allowed to bring home a book for the first time. According to the note, written by the 'Media Specialsit' (that's how it was spelled):

This is an exciting moment for your child. It's a "grown-up" feeling being allowed to choose a book, bring it home, and have the personal responsibility of properly caring for it."

On the way to the bus stop, we talked about the Media Center.

In my day, we called it a library.

Yeah, Mom, but we have books AND computers!

Yep. We didn't have computers when I was in kindergarten.

Did you have cars?

Family PSA

I only have one little thing to say, and this is probably only going to be of interest to the grandparents and possibly an aunt or two:

The Governor went pee in the toilet like a big boy tonight.

YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEESSSSSSSSSSS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I'm finally able to see the pinhole of light at the end of the Pampers tunnel.

Someone Gonna Throw Their Coat Over That For Me?

This is an example of one of the things that you never think about when you're daydreaming of "buying a little land and moving out to the country." This is my road.

This particular wetland wannabe is right near the entrance to our driveway. There is no way to escape driving through the mess each day. You should see the school bus plow through it. And it helps that the county has decided to forgo using gravel and now buys talcum powder in bulk for road repair.

If we get any more rain, I'm going to have tracks put on the Blazer.

UPDATE: Holy cow! I thought I was being funny about putting tracks on my car...but lo and behold: I CAN DO IT! This is the COOLEST thing ever! I've GOT to get these.

If anyone in the family needs an idea for my Christmas present...

Read This And Realize It's A Boring, Rainy Tuesday Here At The Outpost

Hoocher and I had a productive day at the nursing home. We visited all our favorite residents, met several new friends, Hoocher was offered some popcorn, and I was offered a job.

Not a bad morning.

The job is with the Recreation and Activities department of the nursing home. It's a full time position, but they'd be willing to split it into two part-time jobs if they found the right people. The job description reads not too differently than my current daily routine: lead crafts and other activities, chauffeuring to and fro, making sure baths are scheduled, read stories, serve some meals, etc. You mean people actually get paid for doing this?

The lure of adult conversation was almost enough to make me jump at the chance. However, I'm not sure I ever want to have a talk with my boss that starts with her saying, "What do you mean you told them to go lay down for a nap so you can blog?!"

I was flattered they thought of me. The department director is taking applications for another week, so if any of you Cokato readers are interested...contact the Manor.

On an entirely different note...Jo had a post a few days ago about organizing another Minnesota blogger party. Perhaps in our pajamas. I think that's an excellent idea. I've been trying to picture Mitch Berg in pajamas. I can't. I'm guessing animal skin prints figures in somehow, but that's as far as I get. Lileks will show up in one of those Grandpa Walton nightshirts, and those good-looking Fraters Guys...boxers and a smile. Or we hope, anyway. Captain Ed I see wearing traditional sleepwear - pants and long sleeves - maybe in a nice plaid cotton flannel. You don't smoke a pipe, do you Captain? It would complete the picture perfectly. Maybe something to consider for the party, eh? King probably wears something exotic and wild to relieve the weighty seriousness of thinking about economics all day, and the gentlemen from Power Line, now that they're all famous stars, will probably be sporting whatever Ralph Lauren is sending down the runways. No more hanging around in the white t-shirts and tattered robes, huh guys?

I will, of course, be trying to find the teddy with the most coverage. I'm a conservative, after all. Keep on it, Jo. I'm looking forward to this party!

This Just In...

Outpost News Services - Recent athletic photos of presidential candidate John Kerry have caught the attention of Major League Soccer (MLS). Freddy Adu, star forward for DC United, has been talking to coaches and teammates about Kerry's potential. "You can just tell by the way he carries himself that he'd be unbeatable on the field. I mean, if he looks that great in a tie and wing-tips, think how incredible he'd be in a pair of Umbros."

Other players have taken note as well. Says LA Galaxy star and former USA National Team standout Cobi Jones, "The man has great hair, like me. That pretty much guarantees he'll be a natural leader on the turf."

Others were a bit more skeptical. "Sure, he looked like an Olympian out there on the tarmac, but a real game is an entirely different thing," said goalkeeper Tony Meola of the Kansas City Wizards. “I mean, how effective could he be if he’s got to call Real Madrid or Arsenal to get their approval on every play? And there’s always the chance he’ll just up and surrender to the opponent.”

Still, insiders at the Kerry campaign were pleased. One aide, who spoke on the condition of anonymity said, “These soccer photos show our candidate as the manly, athletic, well-groomed star he is. The real John Kerry. Not like those asinine NASA photos in the weird, blue suit.”

Out of Sight But Not Out of Mind

The Senator had an educational stayover with us grandparents. For example, he learned that: (a) There is a new, reversed Oreo cookie, with vanilla exterior and chocolate interior and that these may be eaten for breakfast independently of toast and cereal and (b) when Mom asks, “How did (anything) happen?" the new best answer is to shrug, point and say, “Fickle finger of fate.” It’s amazing how a kid absorbs words when he knows their purpose—to flummox Mom.

During his overnight, The Senator also studied the advanced scooter techniques of older cousins M and J, with whom he could not keep up. Not yet, anyway. After M and J departed, The Senator remained outside in the dark to practice scooting. Before breakfast, he was outside on the scooter again and, literally and figuratively, up to speed when The VP arrived to retrieve him. The scooter went home with The Senator for a visit of a couple of weeks. Prediction: A rapid learning curve will lead to warp speed by October. With scooting mastered, The Senator no doubt will push back his frontier to include the full length of the driveway, way out of range of The Chariman’s radar. Hey Mom, at least those scooter wheels are too small to roll on the gravel road leading “to infinity and beyond.” That will have to await a two-cycle dirt bike.

I know, I know, The Senator likes to remind you that there are no rules at Grandma and Grandpa’s house. It’s not that we’re indulgent; we just don’t need them. In the matter of washing hands, for example. The Senator hurries unbidden into the bathroom as if magnetically drawn to The Green Goddess’s array of two kinds of bathroom soap—one a bar, the other a pump container. “I washed my hands with both soaps, just to be certain,” he explained afterward.

Give us The Governor for a weekend, and we’ll return him to you twirling as he trills, “The hills are alive with the sound of music,” instead of, belting out, “He rode a blazing saddle/He wore a shining star!” (Nah ... not really ... a "Blazing Saddles" attitude is much is better.)

It Used To Be Funny...Now It's Just Painful

The curiosity is just killing me. Must be worse for the Democrats. Who did Karl Rove plant in the Kerry campaign? Someone has got to be responsible for photos like this one:

If you offered me a choice between learning the identity of Deep Throat or the Rove Mole...well it would give me a few moments pause.

(This photo from Sondra K's)

Demands A Caption

Thanks, Ross, for providing tonight's laugh.

Ladies' Man?

Last night the Early Childhood Center in our school district held an open house to celebrate a new playground which was installed this summer. It's a fantastic playground; geared for the toddler through kindergarten set. I brought both boys and they had a good time checking out the new equipment.

Well, The Governor had a good time.

The Senator had a GREAT time. He ran into a preschool friend, Alice, from last year who is also in kindergarten this year but in a different class than his. Alice and her older sister chased The Senator around the playground and all over the equipment. And when she trapped The Senator in a dark corner, Alice kissed him.

Really? She really kissed you?

"Yeah, Mom. She did."

Did she kiss you on the cheek?

"Nope. The lips."

What did you do?

"I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand and said, 'Ick.'"

After hearing of his little tryst on the playground, I had to confess that when I was in kindergarten, I chased a couple boys around the classroom and would pin them down and kiss them. Only I told my mom that I was the one getting chased. Mrs. Bailey cleared up that lie at the first parent-teacher conference, and I was no longer allowed to smooch the boys.

I had the obligatory, politically-correct little talk with The Senator about kissing and other forms of affection towards classmates. I'm willing to bet there are five or more paragraphs in the school handbook dedicated to this issue. Too bad. In my days, a simple, "You WILL NOT do that!" ended playground kissing until junior high.

Er, I mean college, Mom.

Cheap Thrills

What costs about $2.00 and can provide your kids with hours of fun (not to mention some serious potential for bacterial illness)?

Here The Senator does his best impersonation of a Stegosaurus.

Did I Ever Tell You I Got C's in Home Ec.?

After last night's dinner, I began to wonder why my mother didn't just serve us macaroni and cheese every single evening.

My new recipe was for meatballs. I've made them before, but this was a recipe out of my mom's tattern, torn, over-used cookbook. I don't know what the name of it is - the lettering wore off the gold cover years ago. But everything I've ever tried out of there has been fantastic. So I thought I'd try the meatballs.

They turned out okay. I wouldn't rate them fantastic; the flavor was wonderful, but the texture left something to be desired. Meatballs should not have the same consistency as pate.

Anyway, I made meatballs. And spaghetti. And peas. And garlic toast under the broiler. By the time all the food was done, I had used more pots and dishes than a Thanksgiving dinner, and was sweating more than I would during the first half of a soccer game.

All this effort...to watch The Senator eat a spoonful of peas and slurp spaghetti noodles one by one. The Governor ate a couple of meatballs and his peas, although I'm not sure how many actually went in his mouth because there sure were a lot of peas on the floor.

It wouldn't have been so awful if The VP had been home. He would have eaten. And helped with the dishes. I was washing dishes for over an hour, and that's with the dishwasher working away on a full load as well.

How did my mother do this every night? Maybe not every night, but a lot of nights. She had four kids, a small kitchen, and no dishwasher. Well, she did have us kids to help with clean-up, but as I recall, we were not very gracious about helping. We didn't volunteer; we were drafted.

So last night after the final pot was scoured, I sat on the front porch wishing I had a stiff drink. And if I was Ross, it would have been a martini, and I would have dedicated it to my mom. Thanks, Mom, for all the years of well-balanced, delicious meals you put on the table night after night.

I'm not sure what we're having for dinner tonight. But if it can't be fixed in ONE pan...we're not eating it.

Tuesday Can't Make Up It's Mind

It's been a rather up and down sort of day so far. It started with a wet, humid walk to the bus stop. But we saw the mother deer and her fawns, so that cheered us.

At the nursing home, I knelt down in front of a wheelchair-bound resident and started a long conversation. Unfortunately, I didn't realize until I was kneeling that this person was in desperate need of a Depends change. But then Hoocher and I got invited to participate in "Pet Week" at the neary-by assisted living facility. They might even take our picture and hang it up on the wall.

We rushed home to clean the house because The Senator's friend was coming to play after school. The friend's mother forgot, and she wasn't feeling good either, so the date was cancelled. But then we had an awesome lunch with brownies for dessert.

The day continues to be overcast and humid. But it's also great tree frog catching weather.

The Governor threw a hissy fit (for reasons still to be determined) at the nursing home this morning. But this afternoon he went down for a nap without any trouble.

I think I better screw something up before dinner, because I'm trying a new recipe tonight.

Weekend Update

Other than the depressing news that my favorite cartoonist is going on hiatus, it has been a terrific weekend.

Friday night was the start of another fall soccer league. We kicked off the season with a 2-1 victory over a fiesty crew of British imports. There was yelling, swearing, cheap shots, fouls, and even a chick fight. (Sorry to disappoint - I was not involved in the girl brawl.)

On Saturday The VP's old college buddy, Sheriff Bart, came for a visit. He and The VP headed into town to meet up with another Gustavus alumni, but returned after dinner. Sheriff Bart stayed the night, much to the delight of our boys. No one is quite as much fun to chase around the house, fire Nerf darts at, or watch cartoons with as The Sheriff.

Sunday was more soccer. This time the heat was the opponent. By the second half, most of us had as much mobility as the figures on a foosball table. Sure, we'd take a kick at the ball, but don't expect us to run up and down the field.

Came home Sunday evening to find most of the neighbors hanging out by the Tin Shed. (Pole barn) We caught up on local chatter, watched the kids play and the sun set, and marveled at the low mosquito count. And then it was time for the mothers in the crowd to wreck the party and remind everyone that tomorrow was a school day.

And off to school they go. I just returned from the bus stop. While we were waiting, a big red-tail hawk came over the tops of the trees and hovered over our heads, not more than 15 feet about us. Neat.

And now I'm waiting for The Governor to wake up so we can go grocery shopping. He was on the verge of boarding school, if not the Foreign Legion, but I forgave all when he came up to me yesterday, gave me a big hug and said, "When I'm not with you, I'm blue." Yes, I'm the one who taught him the song from Bye-Bye Birdie, but still...can you say puddle? Sure ya can.

A Black Day For The Blogosphere

Chris Muir is shutting down Day by Day. This morning, in place of his regular cartoon:

"...several family members are now fighting severe cancers and what small time I had for DBD has ended now."

My Dinner With Boy #3

Interesting experience at McDonalds last night.

I didn't feel like cooking, and The Senator was eager to show me how he is conquering his fear of heights, by demonstrating how he can now climb the platform stairs all the way to the top of the Playland. Who could say no to that plea?

We got there, ordered with incident (The Governor is operating napless, I might add), sat down, and ate. While we're eating, I notice that there is another family with five boys running wild around the play area. All five of them were loud, dirty, and all of them sported the mini-mullet. The skanky, four inch, slightly curly tendril of hair dangling just below the collar line. It was all I could do not to take my plastic knife and start sawing.

The father of this brood apparently just got off from work. His shirt looked like a regular dress shirt, but it had more dirt than all five of his kids combined. His jeans were in a worse state. No mullet. (Rather unfair to do that to your kids and not wear one in solidarity, no?)

The mom wedged herself into a booth and ate french fries and looked around in happy bliss. She was either pregnant with number six, or considerably out of shape.

At first glance, I wrote the parcel of them off as a bunch of low-brow siphons of the welfare system. But then I reconsidered. I didn't know their story. The father certainly appeared to have worked hard to get that dirty. He was probably on a payroll somewhere. Paying taxes. Doing his share. So I chastised myself as a pretentious snob and finished my meal.

The boys finished and headed off into the play area. This is when I pay attention to Boy #3 from the Squalid Family. This poor troll. He was mangier, dirtier, and more poorly dressed than his brothers. He also had Downs Syndrome. He was parked at the top of the stairs, and for some reason, he had a real problem with The Governor. Boy 3 would push or shove The Governor every time he got within arm's reach.

I tried to steer my kids clear of him. "Play over on the slides while he's up there." When Boy 3 started spitting from the top of the stairs, I yelled, "Senator! Get away from that kid. He's spitting!" Not my indoor voice by any means.

Did the parents react? No. It might have been someone else's kid for all the attention they paid to this boy.

A few minutes later, Boy 3 followed The Gov down a slide and pushed him in the back at the bottom. The Senator jumps up on a platform and announces at the top of his lungs, "Mom! That kid just pushed The Governor IN THE BACK!"

The Governor was crying but he turned around and shouted at Boy 3, "KNOCK IT OFF, KID!"

Now my experience with Downs Syndrome is limited. But the few children I know with this condition are still disciplined by their parents. They are still taught right from wrong. They may not always understand what they did, but their parents are always teaching them and correcting them. They don't ignore bad behavior.

So I picked up The Governor, looked over at Squalid Dad, and snapped, "You need to DO SOMETHING about your son."

I turned away, finished comforting The Governor, released him back into The Playland, and stood guard near the slides. I turned around a few minutes later, and Squalid Dad was grabbing Boy 3's hand and shouting, "No, you DON'T do that!" I wasn't sure if that was because of The Governor, or some new offense, but he had it coming.

Squalid family left shortly after that, and so did we. As we were walking out, another family, this time with three boys, came into the play area. All three were sporting full-blown mullets.

I think we have made our last visit to McDonalds.

There He Is, Walking Down The Crow River Like He's God Or Something...

Sorry about the lack of blogging yesterday. It was a choice between you all and another half an hour under the comforter with the windows open and cool, fall air blowing through the bedroom.

I knew you'd understand.

I was hoping to have some good pictures for you. Yesterday, on the way to the bus stop, we saw deer all over the place. Deer in the pasture, deer crossing the road...it was venison central. So today I brought my camera along.

Nothing. Not even a chipmunk. I'll try again tomorrow.

This morning The Governor and I took the golf cart for a little joy ride around the meadows. Perfect, fabulous day. There was a cool breeze blowing, the scent of clover was strong in the air, the sky was unbelievably blue, and The Governor was in a good mood. I fully expected to see Jesus get off the school bus with The Senator. If he does come back, I don't think he could make a grander entrance. Well, sure, some fireworks would be cool too. Burning bushes maybe.

Speaking of The Senator, he's day four into his school career and he still loves it. Today he dressed in one of his "work" shirts. He begged me to buy him some short-sleeve, button-up shirts. I thought perhaps there was some kid at school setting a trend. When I asked him who was wearing shirts like that, he replied, "Dad!" I guess he wasn't kidding when he told me he couldn't wait to get into that school room and "get to work."

I'm crossing my fingers as I go to publish this. Lately I've been getting a lot of Satellite Outage Error messages when I try to connect to different pages. I swear if a sparrow farts around here, DirectWay considers it a major atmospheric disturbance and shuts down.

I haven't had much of a chance to read other blogs lately. If I'm missing something good, let me know!

Routine

I have approximately half an hour to enjoy the peace and quiet before I have to wake Hell's Own and get him ready to go to the nursing home. Got The Senator off to the bus, washed the dog, made the bed, deleted the spam, and voila! Free time!

Yesterday being my mom's birthday, my younger brother and I (hereafter to be known as her favorite children) planned a dinner at a local steakhouse. We rounded up all the grandkids and got Aunt S. and The VP (hereafter to be known as her favorite in-laws) to join the fun. Too bad my sister and older brother (hereafter to be known as the 'not quite favorite but pretty close' children) couldn't make it.

By the way, brother-in-law Mike...you know the Favorite Son-in-Law trophy from last year? Well she's having it engraved as I type! Bwah ha ha ha ha!

I may have a new contributor for the old blog. Yesterday, my nephew, The General, told me he has a few words to share. Seems he's a bit unsatisfied with my lack of political commentary and would like to remedy that with his strongly held viewpoints on John Kerry and the war in Iraq. I told him to email me a sample and I'd post it if it met the rigorous standards I uphold here at The Outpost. Just remember, General....Grandma reads this blog. If you flame John Kerry too severely, she'll hold a grudge that will last well into the Christmas season.

(Who me? Yeah, I already know I'm getting coal.)

Finally, before I forget...I told Natalie that when I got back from the family reunion, I'd try to pick a date to meet her and Andy for a beer. What do you say? Any night of the week work better for you guys? And where? I'm not too familiar with your neck of the woods, but I drive into the metro area a lot - I'd prefer to avoid downtown, but I'm game for anything. Let me know.

Question

Perhaps some of my male readers can weigh in on this one. Does it make you feel self-conscious, creepy, or irritated when a mother hangs out at the mens' room door waiting for her son?

Yesterday we crossed a new threshhold. I let The Senator go the bathroom by himself in a public place. Previously, I dragged him into the ladies' room with me, but in an effort to recognize his growing independence (and his assertions that he is almost a man now), I let him go urinate by himself. But I stayed right outside the bathroom door, which gave me an occasional peek of someone using the urinal. I couldn't help myself. I kept waiting for The Senator to come out and so my eye was alwyas on the door. (By the way...back view only and I looked away immediately.) I felt weird - I didn't want anyone to feel observed, but there was no way I wasn't going to be within earshot.

The second trip to the bathroom was a long one. I was beginning to wonder if he snuck a stack of comic books into the stall. I was keeping track of the men that went in and out, and I was waiting for a break so I could at least prop the door and yell to him, when a kind old man came out and said, "He's washing his hands; he's almost done." The look of relief on my face made him laugh.

So guys...sympathy for mom or call the restaurant manager to report the weirdo?

If You're A Parent...

You have moments, now and then, where your child does something that makes it all worth while. A moment that tells you the nagging, the lecturing, and the continual barrage of parental advice had an effect. It sank in and they remembered. The clouds part, the sunbeam lands on your head, the cherubs sing, and a voice tells you, "It worked!"

It happens when you hear your child say "Please" and "Thank you" for the first time without prodding. Or when you see them stop and look both ways before running headlong across the street.

Or when you ask your two year old what bedtime song he wants you to sing to him and he request the theme from "Blazing Saddles."

(sniff)

WAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!

Well, I did it. I just put my first born on the school bus for his first day of kindergarten.

I managed to avoid sobbing in front of the bus driver, but it wasn't easy. And now I'm bawling because I cannot believe I let my little boy head off in a school bus to face the world by himself. Or maybe I'm bawling because he was so excited to get on that bus; an indication that my usefulness is already starting to wane. I'm not sure. All I know is that if anyone messes with him, confuses him, bothers him, or even looks funny at him, I will rip out their aorta via their esophagus.

I feel a little better now.

The Governor is still sleeping, so I may be able to count on an hour in the morning to myself. Good news for the old blog! We still have to pass the dog test, however. That could change things. Whenever the dogs see me head down the driveway on foot, they assume they are missing out on a walk and they howl. Full blown Call-of-the-Wild howling. That would wake up The Governor and put a damper on free time. I'd bring the dogs with, but old 3-legger probably can't make it to the bus stop and back. I'm not carrying a 70 pound dog home on my shoulders. Today we took the truck to avoid the commotion. Tuesday I may have to choose between waking The Gov or letting the dogs outside so they can howl and wake the neighbors. (Nana - don't let Buppa read this! I fear for my dogs' lives!)

Well, not much to do until The Senator comes home except spend some quality time with The Gov. It's going to be a loooooooong morning.

Picture Time

I was going to post a picture of our resident doe and fawn, but Cousin Emmy in Alaska sent a photo of the family lurking in her backyard:

Pretty cool.

Aw Geez...

I thought I had a few more years before this happened.

I was talking to The Senator about his first day of school (this Friday) and discussing the logistics of walking him to the bus stop and meeting him there at the end of his day.

When I mentioned I would be waiting for him at the bus stop to walk him home, he said, "Mom, I can do it by myself. You don't have to meet me."

I'm uncool. He's only in kindergarten and I'm already a social pariah. By the time he's 15, I imagine he'll be telling his friends he's an orphan to avoid owning me.

On the other hand, I guess that absolves me from having to worry about driving lessons, a second phone line, designer clothing, and prescription acne medicine.