Cathy in the Wright

Hey Margaret

Still having trouble with your Christmas deer lawn ornaments? Maybe you should try this:

Wish I could remember where I found this.

The Ultimate In Customer Service

The Governor and I went to Target yesterday. As we walked in the door, we veered right to make the mandatory bathroom stop. It became mandatory after the two previous trips in which The Governor waited until we were in the far corner of the store and declared, "I guess I have to go after all, Mom."

So we headed to the bathroom. And there, blocking our path to the ladies' room was a young woman sporting her Target name badge holding up her hands to stop us in our tracks. "It's a little stinky in there right now, " she cautioned us.

I looked over her shoulder. The door to the bathroom was propped open and already I could confirm that she wasn't kidding around. I thanked her and we went to get a cart.

Boy, how far down on the manager's shit list do you have to be in order to draw Bathroom Guardian duty? I hope she gets a huge Christmas bonus.

What Every Man Wants For Christmas

From Gary, who routinely astounds me that he hasn't been fired from his job yet.

Oh Yeah, Baby

The day after Thanksgiving has traditionally been my day to put up the Christmas tree. It heralds the start of the season for me, unlike a few local radio stations which hauled out the Bing Crosby a couple of weeks ago. It won't be long before they ditch their regular programming completely and go with the All Holly All Jolly All Year format.

But today, the entire county (and perhaps state) knows that the Christmas Kick-Off has been officially sanctioned by God. It's snowing. Fast and hard and there is already at least an inch of puffy, white, easily-shoveled Christmas garnish on the ground.

I will try to post a picture or two this afternoon to help Chris remember why Chrismtas in Minnesota kicks some serious behind over Christmas in Arizona.

I hope everyone had a great Thanksgiving. Thank you, Aelfheld, for the latest email. What did you end up doing yesterday?

And cousin Emmy...we're all getting pretty excited to hear some news on the arrival of our next Alaskan relative. Hope you're feeling good and the boys are taking it easy on you.

And a final note for nephew Matt: remember when you sent the pop-guns home with The Senator? And I vowed revenge? Bwah ha ha ha ha ha! Just wait until you see what I found for your little brother. You will rue the day you messed with Aunt Cathy.

Snow always brings out the best in me. Have a great day for those of you who have the day off and are staying home. For those of you who feel the need to go shopping, I'll be thinking of you as I'm still in my pajamas, curled up on the sofa with a mug of cocoa, watching the snow fall outside, and blessing you for supporting your local retailers.

If There's Not An 800 Number Or Website Where I Can Order It, You're Not Getting It

I went on a mall bender yesterday, and I am letting my family know that I will be doing all remaining Christmas shopping from the comfort of my home. Something you all should consider doing, especially since shopping purgatory begins Friday.

This is not to say I didn't have a good time. I did. MD and I went to the Mall of America in search of some new black heels for an upcoming Christmas party. I think the last time I shopped for dress shoes, Reagan was president. I was looking for a heel with the height and solidity of a hockey puck. MD was looking at anorexic skyscrapers. We found a good-looking compromise that won't give me vertigo and doesn't look like a house slipper.

Mission accomplished.

I can't say the same thing about our trip to the make-up counter. I get anxiety attacks that reach medication levels when I look at that vast array of sticks, compacts, brushes, pots, jars, tubes, and bottles. I want to be able to use make-up with some degree of proficiency, but I don't know where to start. And asking for help from the Geisha girl behind the counter...well, not the most effective marketing for the gun shy.

So there you have my current state: Cathy, Plain and Tall. And finished with malls for this holiday season. Now where did I put the Lands' End catalog?

Here's What's New

Last night...well I guess it's technically two nights ago...I went to The Senator's parent-teacher conference.

The good news: he's doing fine. He's right where he should be in math, his handwriting is now legible (most of the time), and he's reading so well she put him in some sort of enrichment program.

The bad news: He'll never get that coveted athletic scholarship. Apparently, The Senator doesn't have much use for Phy. Ed.

The Governor didn't fare so well that evening. While I was visiting with The Senator's teacher, The VP and The Gov were on their way to the emergency room. While getting up on his counter stool for dinner, The Gov slipped and fell. He tried to hang on to the edge of the counter, but lost his grip and crashed to the floor. He banged his elbow and wrist pretty hard and it took a while for the crying to subside. When it did, he still was very protective of his entire arm, so The VP bundled him up and shuffled off to Buffalo Hospital.

No broken bones. The VP said the doctor manipulated his arm and pushed something back into place. Works for me. Today you wouldn't know anything had happened.

So we're back to status quo now, except I'm missing a small chunk out of one of my bottom teeth. Wrestling injury. The Senator's knee caught me across the jaw and the next thing I know, I'm wondering how I got sand in my mouth. Good thing I've got a dental appointment on the 28th. My tongue keeps badgering the jagged edge and can't seem to leave it alone.

I wish I was tired. I had a late game tonight, and I'm too wound up to sleep. Bummer, because I'm hauling my little congressmen to basketball practice later this morning.

And Wayne, thank you for stopping by. The history behind the boys' nicknames: When The Governor was born, The Senator walked around constantly saying, "Take a picture of me with the baby! Take a picture of me with the baby!" We jokingly started calling him The Senator and it just stuck. He pays more attention to me if I call him that than he does when I say his real name.

The Governor came about simply because I needed a nickname for him on the blog and well, I'd hate to have him think he wasn't good enough for public office.

My husband is The VP. That's his job title at work. (Small company. Don't be too impressed; I'm the Secretary of the firm.)

I think that's it for now. Except I'm wondering why Chris Muir is still up at this time as well. Not complaining, mind you. It still makes me giddy to see a big name like his show up in my comments.

Have a great weekend.

Years And Years Of Delivering Gifts...You're Just Asking For A Repetitive Task Injury

We woke up this morning to the first snow of the season. More of a dusting, really, but the high winds make it feel like we've been plunged into the depths of winter's hell.

The boys are quite excited. While it's fun to see the enthusiasm for snow that I used to have before I became old and jaded, I'm getting a little tired of answering the question, "When will Santa be here?"

Santa is coming perilously close to dying off or at least going on long-term disability.

Long Night

The Governor and I had yet another battle over eating dinner, or in his succinct words, "this junk."

I had a lengthy post about the ensuing battle, but, eh, the upshot of the night was that instead of getting soup dumped over his head, he was forced to sit at the kitchen counter until the soup was eaten or the kitchen timer dinged. He chose the timer. So he sat for an hour and screamed and yelled. And when the hour was up, he screamed and yelled some more when he discovered it was time for bed.

Brushing his teeth was an exercise in parental restraint, and by the time I got him into pajamas, I was searching for the Crisis Nursery phone number.

And then I offered him a piggyback ride down to his room. And I was the best mom in the world.

Until tomorrow, when I refuse to let him have cookies (once again) for breakfast.

All About Me

Well, it's Sunday and I have nothing for you, unless you all want to hear about how I met up with some of my soccer teammates to watch the Vikings play. No? Don't say I didn't give you a chance. Instead you get the ubiquitous "Things About Me" list which I saw at Steve's sight several days ago.

1. What is your occupation? I’m retired, but I raise kids for a hobby.

2. What color is your underwear? The pair I have on? Lesssee…blue.

3. What are you listening to now? Tom and Jerry cartoons on the television.

4. What was the last thing you ate? Turkey sandwich with provolone cheese.

5. Do you wish on stars? No.

6. If you were a crayon, what color would you be? Burnt Sienna or one of those other nasty colors no one uses because they still look good when all the other crayons are peeled, broken stubs of their former selves.

7. How is the weather right now? Windy and very mild for November.

8. Last person you spoke to on the phone? The VP.

9. Do you like the person who sent this to you? I copied it from Steve’s site.

10. How old are you today? Old enough to excuse my having to answer that.

11. Favorite drink? Hard cider.

12. Favorite sport to watch? NASCAR or figure skating. Both are boring as hell except for the occasional wipe-out.

13. Have you ever dyed your hair? Yep.

14. Do you wear contacts or glasses? Contacts.

15. Pets? One dog.

16. Favorite month? October

17. Favorite food? Just about anything doused in Thai peanut sauce. Chocolate is good too.

18. What was the last movie you watched? My Man Godfrey on TV. I can’t remember the last time I saw a movie in a theatre. I think that might have been Piglet’s Big Movie.

19. Favorite day of the year? The day after Thanksgiving. Great leftovers, The VP doesn’t have to work, and I put up the Christmas tree.

20. What do you do to vent anger? Clean the house.

21. What was your favorite toy as a child? Chatty Cathy doll. Mother, no comments please.

22. Fall or Spring? Fall.

23. Hugs or kisses? Hugs.

24. Cherry or Blueberry? Cherry. Blueberries are fantastic, but blueberry-flavored anything is vile.

25. Do you want your friends to email you back? I’m not sending this on to anyone.

26. Who is most likely to respond? NA

27. Who is least likely to respond? NA

28. Living arrangements? House.

29. When was the last time you really cried? My grandmother’s funeral in October.

30. What is on the floor of your closet? Lots and lots of shoes.

31. Who is the friend you have had the longest? Jenn, the girl who lived next door to me when I was young.

32. What did you do last night? Laundry.

34. What inspires you? Beautiful fall days, really nasty roadkills.

35. What are you afraid of? Hillary ’08.

36. Plain, cheese or spicy hamburgers? Cheeseburger, if it’s real cheese. None of this Kraft singles crap.

37. Favorite car? I still choke up when I think of my ’92 Mazda Protégé. I loved that car.

38. Favorite dog breed? Rottweiler.

39. Number of keys on your key ring? Six.

40. How many years at your current job? Seven.

41. Favorite day of the week? Thursday.

42. How many states have you lived in? 2

43. How many cities have you lived in? 5 (Edina, Boston, Minneapolis, Mound, Cokato)

By Friday, you'll all be begging me for soccer posts.

Omen

You just know it's going to be a great day when your 3-yr-old hollers from another room, "Mom! Mom! Come quick!" You run, crossing your fingers that this doesn't involve a trip to urgent care. You turn the corner to see him standing in the middle of the room, smiling, with a plastic Devil's pitchfork stuffed down his pajama bottoms.

"Mom, I've got a trident in my pants. I wanted you to see it before I took it out."

*

*

You nod and walk away. Because what else can you really say?

My Third Son

When The VP and I traveled to England this past summer (England being home, of course, to many of the world's best soccer players), we were fortunate to have with us in our tour group a young man from southern Minnesota.

All the women in the tour group took to Young Zeb right away. The poor lad traveled thousands of miles from home to branch out and sow some wild oats only to discover that he had twelve foster mothers along for the ride.

We fussed over him and worried about him as only true mother hens can. It was all we could do to stop ourselves from asking if he remembered to change his underwear each morning.

And yet, in spite of all that, Young Zeb maintained his sense of humor and stayed in touch. He came to The Outpost this past weekend for dinner and this morning, he sent me an email asking for the address for my blog.

Poor boy. Now that I know you're going to be checking in on the old site here, I'll take mothering to a whole new level. Not only will I be able to publically shame you into eating more green vegetables, but so will my dozen or so readers.

And I was only half kidding about that clean underwear thing.

Hey I Won!

I never win anything. But as of Friday...that all changed. I'm Rock Solid.

Funny, that's what my teammates say about me on the soccer field. Hey! Great idea: In honor of this new award I'll make November Cathy in the Wright: All Soccer All Month. Not bad, huh? Every post filled with minute details of bad officiating, loud-mouthed opponents, and those rare goals that seems to happen almost against our will. Sure, I'd probably drive away my enormous North American fan base, but the Mexicans I'd gain would more than make up for the loss.

Look for December to be KARL ROVE Month. Those six or seven readers who abandoned me over soccer will flock back.

Thanks for the award, Sisyphus!

Someone Remind Me...At What Age Can You Enroll A Kid In Military School?

I took the weekend off to recover from The Governor's preschool screening. It went as expected.

During the hearing test, he was told to raise his hand when he heard a noise in the headphones. At the first tone, he snapped his hand up with all the fervor of a Hitler Youth saluting the Fuhrer. I'm surprised he didn't snap his heels together as well. The second tone: same thing. On the third tone he decided that up and down was a waste of energy and simply left his hand up in the air. He refused to put it down until the test was over.

He started out fairly well on the skills tests. As instructed, he drew a horizontal line, drew a vertical line, and built a tower of wooden blocks. And then he figured he'd done enough. The tester said, "Now Governor, I'm going to show you some items, and I'd like you to tell me about them." He crossed his arms and slumped in his chair. Oh yeah, I thought, we're in for some fun now.

Governor, can you tell me what this is? She put a small, red, wooden ball in front of him. He picked it up, pressed it into his eye socket, put it down, and said,

Well, it's red.

Anything else, Governor?

Well, it's a red ball. (His tone clearly implied that he wanted to add the word "idiot" at the end of his sentence.)

Okay, good. Good. Anything else?

No.

The green cube drew even less of a response. He had no comment on the yellow pyramid.

His responses for the rest of the exam were either "I don't know," or "I can't." At the end of the testing, the woman told me I should consider some confidence-building activities to help him get over his low self-esteem.

The Governor needs confidence. Sure. Just like the Vikings could use a little bad PR to liven up their goody-two-shoes image.

I'll get right on that.

Someone Took A Orbital Sander To The Honda Element And Look What They Got

Car and Driver has an article on the 2005 Toyko Motor Show, and mid-way through the piece, they had this concept car on the screen:

This, boys and girls, is the Chrysler Akino. Here's some info:

Despite its compact dimensions, the Akino seats five people. To that end, it has a single door on the driver’s side and two doors on the passenger side that open in opposite directions. This arrangement allows for a sofa-like rear seat with a swiveling passenger seat. The interior materials are composed of natural and recyclable materials including bamboo flooring, sconce lighting, and throw rugs and pillows for ultimate coziness.

No word if the essential oil burner also comes as part of the standard package. Exterior paint colors include Proletariat Gray, Wellstone! Green, and MoveOn Mauve. Pre-adhered Kerry/Edwards bumper sticker available in some states.

My Little Mule

Tomorrow is the state-mandated preschool screening for The Governor. While this involves only the simplest of tests (vision check, hearing check, stand on one leg, build a small block tower, draw a circle...) I'm nervous. The Governor will either do wonderfully well, or he'll dig in his heels and refuse to do anything. A smart person would be betting on the latter. I can just imagine...

Governor, can you hop up and down on one leg?

"No."

Are you sure? Do you want to try?

"Nope."

How about just one little hop?

"You do it."

And that's a best case scenario. I did ask one of the Early Childhood teachers what would happen if he refused to do anything. She said, "Oh, it's no problem. Some kids are like that. We can always re-test him when he's older. Maybe when he's closer to four."

Four...I wonder how they'd feel about fifteen?

Some Models Still Need Work

Halloween was a moderate success. The Senator and The Governor and I drove into my parents' neighborhood and solicited up and down the block with the rest of the Ninja Turtles, Barbies, and other assorted officially licensed characters. Thanks to my mother-in-law's sewing skills (read: I have none), my boys were beautifully turned out as an Indian (genuine turkey feather stuck in the back of the headband) and Bat Boy. Not Bat Man. Bat Boy. Don't make the mistake of confusing the two as I did.

The first few houses were a little rough. I had to explain the mechanics of how the candy actually makes it into the bucket more than once. When I was young, one house would have done the trick. These kids today...no fire in the belly. No staying out until porch lights were turned off in your face. No trying to go back three times to the house handing out full-sized Snickers. No hauling home a pillowcase so full of treats that back ligaments were strained.

The good old days.

The Senator did warm up to the task fairly quickly. And half way down the block, The Governor got the hang of candy racketeering. He started ringing door bells. He hollered out "Trick or Treat." He even started remembering to say "Thank you." Sometimes. He marched up one driveway and announced, "I've got this one covered!"

But it was his lack of manners that may have made this his last Halloween. When we arrived at Old Mrs. D's house (who must be about 120 years old because I swear she was nearly 80 when I was little), the swine in him came out in full force. Mrs. D was handing out apples. The Senator, bless him, took one look at the apple, shrugged, put it in his bucket and said Thanks. The Governor threw her a look of pure disdain and hollered, "That's not candy!"

Next year there will be blood oaths swearing to uphold high standards of etiquette before I take his little bat bottom out again.