Cathy in the Wright

Vroom

The VP and I have been talking about replacing my Trailblazer this spring. While it's always exciting to get a new car, I dread the battle that is going to arise between now and April. We have some opposing points of view when it comes to the vehicles I drive.

The VP: You should be in nothing less than an Abrams tank.

Me: Did you see that the 2006 Corvette reached 198 mph on a test track?

I understand his desire to put as much metal between his children and everyone else on the road as possible. But the cost of fueling one of these behemoths might force me into opening a meth lab or importing illegal aliens. And parallel parking becomes a bit of a challenge when you need a spotting scope to see the end of your car.

If kids were out of the equation, I'd be fighting for a Chrysler 300:

I love the way this car looks. Of course, that would be my winter car. In nice weather I'd be driving this:

In Victory Red.

In the Market For Swampland...Bridges...

Just yesterday The VP accused me of being naive. He tried to soften it with "in a good, innocent sort of way" but the damage was done. So now I'm on a mission to view every interaction with suspicion; to become jaded and mistrustful of all that surrounds me. Like tonight. I fixed lasagna for dinner. I set three plates because I knew The Governor wouldn't eat any of it. The VP takes The Gov into the bathroom to wash up for dinner and has a few words with him.

They come out of the bathroom, and The VP gives me a wink. "I got in a pre-emptive strike," he whispered. "I've already got him to promise me he'll eat his dinner with NO fussing!" My skepticism meter hit the red zone, but I didn't say anything. Sure enough, The Governor gets to the table, sees his plate, and lets his forehead hit the counter. Dinner has been boycotted in record time. And then the following conversation between father and son:

C'mon, Gov. You promised me you'd eat your dinner. That's just two small bites. You can do it.

No I can't. I don't like this.

Now Gov, we made a deal. You're going to eat that like you told me you would.

Nope.

Okay. I'll help you. Here, let's put just this one small bite in your mouth, okay?

The VP scooped a bite of lasagna the size of a dime into The Governor's mouth. Cue the screaming, crying, and gagging. Finally The VP lost his temper.

All right! That's it. Spit it out and go to your room. You can just SKIP dinner tonight!

After escorting The Gov down to his room, The VP came back upstairs and vented. "I can't believe he wouldn't eat that. He promised me he'd do it. Well, that's it. He can just go hungry until he's ready to eat what we're all eating. I can't believe he broke his word."

Lessseeee.....you put complete faith in the words of a three-year-old, our three-year-old, who has a track record for undermining every healthy meal we serve?

Want some help yanking that hook out of your upper lip, dear?

It Is A Truth Universally Acknowledged, That Two Boys In Possession Of One New Toy, Must Be In Want Of A Fight

Well, Christmas is officially over for the under-10 crowd here at The Outpost. Empty boxes are piled up in the front entry, the candy from the stocking is nearly gone, and the novelty of all the new gifts has started to wane. Let the bickering commence!

Last year I discovered that Christmas withdrawal symptoms were considerably lessened if I withheld a couple of gifts and handed them out a few days after the initial orgy. So this morning I let the boys open the last of their Christmas presents.

You ever see one of those National Geographic specials where the lions zero in on the crippled wildebeest? This was uglier.

Once they had reduced the packing box to confetti, they were estatic over the present inside. It came from Aunt C and Uncle T. It was a foam, fort-building kit. They instantly went to work, and they've been playing quietly for almost an hour.

There have been a few disagreements. The Senator wants to build the Taj Mahal. The Govenor wants to use the structural legs as light sabers. Wait - there's been a change in plans. He just came in to tell me he's upset because The Senator won't let him use their new fort as a karate studio.

Off to referee.

Back. Funny how they become such instant best friends when faced with the choice of playing together nicely or sitting on the couch and watching 'Pride and Prejudice' with mom.

Pass The Cookies. Again.

Going for a record. I have yet to consume anything today that might be considered healthy. Unless lemonade counts. But I think the quantity of sugar involved far outweighs any citrus benefit, huh?

Merry Christmas!

Leave it to a child to help me rediscover the joy of the season. The Governor dumped out his stocking this morning, held up a large gold coin and yelled, "I'm rich! I'm rich!"

I was going to deliver a lecture about greed and the true meaning of Christmas, but I figured his little spirit would be crushed enough when he figured out it was only chocolate wrapped in gold foil.

My poor little Ebenezer. If he keeps that coin in his pocket much longer, he's going to discover what 'liquid asset' means.

Merry, merry Christmas to you all.

Ready. Or Not

The presents are wrapped. I can finally see the surface of the kitchen table. I've banned the boys from making a fort out of the living room couch. Went to the grocery store. The tree is still standing and can boast a survival rate of 99% of its ornaments this year.

I should be ready for Christmas. I think I am ready for Christmas. But I sure don't feel like Christmas.

I'm not depressed about it or sad, but the elevated general goodwill and cheer for this time of the year seems to be missing.

Maybe it's because it's 40 degrees outside right now. Instead of bundling up to go outside and enjoy the crisp frostiness of winter, we're shedding layers and heading outside to the pungent smell of thawing dog poop.

Or maybe it's because I heard some contemporary Christian singer butcher "Angles We Have Heard On High" so badly that I couldn't shake the mental image of Jesus crawling back up on the cross and yelling, "They're not quite ready yet, Dad."

Ahh..who knows. I'm sure I'll be fine once the turkey comes out of the oven Saturday afternoon and we crack open the Royal Bitch Chardonnay. Guaranteed spirit raiser.

P.S. I would like to thank the wonderful women and men in the armed forces who are protecting my right to sit here and wallow in apathy. Bless you all. I wish you could all be home with your families.

It's A Wash

Last night I had a dream that my 3M stock split. I got a notice in the mail complete with a yellow smiley face with the words "Good News" stamped all over the paper.

I opened my account statement this morning. No such luck.

On the other hand, the boys stayed next door at my in-laws last night and they're still there. So the morning isn't a total loss.

Fixed!

The VP got on the phone to DirecWay tonight and finally fixed our satellite connection problems. I'm not sure what he did, but he had a crescent wrench in his hand when he came out and announced that we were once again linked to the outside world. Whatever it takes, baby. The withdrawal symptoms were hell.

I did get a quick hit on Saturday night when I ventured down to Keegan's for the MOB party. I really enjoyed seeing all the local bloggers again. Special thanks to lapsed blogger Mama Ellen for keeping me in stitches for most of the evening. We really should get the 3-year-olds together sometime. You bring the graffiti remover; I'll bring the time-out chairs.

And speaking of chairs, I kept one open all night for Sisyphus, but I never saw him.

(sigh)

Did I scare you off? Too many emails and phone calls? The letters left on your windshield? The standing order from the florist? The billboard? What? What would make you stay away from your number one fan?

sniff

Karl would have never snubbed me that way.

But you must have had a good reason. Feel free to let me know by responding to either the lengthy email I fired off tonight or the registered letter I'm sending tomorrow.

Why I Love The Country: Reason 215

Country folks have simple ways of getting their point across. Take my co-worker, Mark. He shared the following story:

A few years past I was sitting in the house watching my weekly show, HEE-HAW, when a man knocked at the door. A electric company worker handed me a piece of paper stating that the electric company would like to run a power line through my pasture.

I said "NO."

"Legally, that paper says we can," he said in his big fancy city voice. Well as he turned and left returning to his co-workers in the field, I went to the barn and turned my bull into the pasture.

As the bull rumbled toward the workers in the pasture, I hollered, "Ya'll show HIM your paper!"

Nothin' says scram like 1000 pounds of disgruntled hamburger.

Blade Ruiner

The VP came home from work and told me that we're in for a snow storm. I think he said six to eight inches were predicted over the next couple of days. We'll probably wind up with three to four, but that's still enough to shovel. And plow.

My father-in-law got a new plow blade put on his pick-up truck this month. Brand-spankin'-new blade on a truck so new it still smells like the showroom. Much better than the old Jeep. I can testify to this because I got a chance to use it this evening.

You see, my father-in-law is the greatest guy. He's always helping me around the homestead when The VP is at work or fixing dinner for the clan or dropping by with a special treat for the boys. I can't say enough good things about the man. And so I was a little disturbed when The VP told me that my dear f-i-l had asked The VP to plow the driveway once during the storm so the snow wouldn't build up and be more difficult to plow when the storm was over.

The VP refused. He told his dad he would plow once.

Well, I wasn't about to let my dear old f-i-l down. I am going to plow during the storm so it's done the way he wants. But, since I've never used the new blade, I figured I ought to go out tonight when there isn't any snow and practice. This way, I won't have to deal with the hazards of a slippery driveway or falling snow impairing my vision on my first run.

Dear Bup: Is the plow supposed to sound that loud? And you know that 5" strip of black metal on the bottom of the blade? Well, it's more like 3" now. I don't think that will be a problem, will it? And you know how you had the Chevy garage fix it before you left town because it was leaking hydraulic fluid? Well, that is definitely fixed. Now the fluid that leaks is brown or dark green. Any ideas?

Those were the only minor troubles I encountered. Unless you count the large strip of steel siding that came off when I backed into the barn. What do they use to fasten siding with these days, chewing gum? I can't believe how easily that popped off. Don't cut your vacation short though - I called the neighbors and some of the guys will be down to fix it. Said they'd be over as soon as they finish their beers. Should be good as new by Valentine's Day.

On the positive side, I will say that the new blade seems to be a lot stronger than the old one. This baby will shear off a pine tree slicker than a triple-blade razor on your 5 o'clock shadow. Barely felt it in the truck. The VP said I should blame it on the deer, but I thought you'd want to know how powerful your new plow really is. It's wider too, isn't it? So's the driveway now. As for the mailboxes...that I am blaming on the township snowplow.

Well, enjoy the rest of your trip. All is well here, and you can sleep well knowing I'm on the job.

Plunder Not Only Allowed, But Recommended

So illegal immigrants here in Minnesota are using up quite a few tax dollars. I think we should have a cage match. Illegal immigrant advocates vs. Education Minnesota. Winner gets the $188 million purse.

Winter Humor II

I like this cartoon because the rabbit just looks so damn mean.

From Deann.

To My Brother-In-Law Terry

Listen. I love you. I couldn't be prouder to claim you as a relative. But something I heard tonight has tainted my admiration. You CANNOT put a dog into a hot tub! No way! I don't care how much you paid for "special filters" that catch the hair. And it in no way diminishes the cruelty of submerging poor Taylor in super-heated water when you boast of using Pet-Safe chlorine.

I'm sorry, but I'm emailing your local PETA chapter tonight. (Very active chapter in your neck of the woods, by the way. Who would have guessed Crested Butte had so many liberals.) Expect a visit by the weekend. And don't be too surprised if they enlist the help of the county Animal Cruelty investigator. I think you can count on a hefty fine, and personally, I think a little jail time might just do you some good.

******

Bwah ha ha ha ha! Just kiddin', bro! The VP came home and told me you were pulling your neighbor's leg about how your dog loves to take a dip in the hot tub. What kind of fool would buy that yarn? I mean, you'd have to be pretty gullible to think a dog would actually enjoy dipping his privates into 102 degree water.

Which neighbor was it? Do I know him?

Zzzzzzap

The Governor plugged the toilet tonight while I was helping The Senator with his reading. I'm not sure what it is plugged with, but I found cotton swabs all over the floor, so I'm guessing that's part of the blockage. I'm sure there's lots of toilet paper, and I should probably go check and see if the nail clippers are still in the drawer because he was monkeying with them earlier today.

When I discovered the clog and hauled him in for questioning, he had the nerve to tell me, "I'm bustin out of this place."

Every day he gets yet another step closer to wearing a shock collar.

Winter Humor

In honor of the warm spell we had today in which the temperature rose to about 10 degrees...

Thanks, Deann!

Here We Go Again

I suppose it was only a matter of time before it was The Governor's turn.

When The Senator was younger, he had a stuffed animal, a beaver, named Josh. Josh had to be consulted in all matters and treated like one of the family. I had to pour a cup of milk for Josh at breakfast time and put out some toothpicks for him to gnaw. Josh went to the park with us. Josh went grocery shopping. Josh sat next to The Senator at dinner. And heaven help me if I forgot to say "good night" to Josh or give him a kiss when I tucked him into bed.

Josh is still hanging around in The Senator's bedroom, but he's gradually been reclaimed by the inanimate world.

Tonight The Governor yells from bed for me to come in and get his friend. "Mom, you forgot to tuck Beary in with me." Beary? Who's Beary? He's pointing to a large stuffed bear in the corner of his room. A bear I've never seen him play with or even acknowledge before. Well, okay. I tuck Beary in next to The Gov. "Mom, you forgot to give Beary a kiss."

Oh Christ. I can see where this is headed. I gave the bear a kiss, reached over and caressed The Gov's cheek and told him to go to sleep. "Mom, you forgot to give Beary a tickle." How does Beary feel about a good night throttle? I pet the bear and tell them they both better get to sleep or no honey and berries for breakfast. Oooh. Threat understood.

Ten minutes later, I hear him hollering. The VP beat me downstairs. By the time I got there, they were in the bathroom helping Beary brush his teeth. Another night like this, and I forsee Beary taking an extended winter hibernation.

And it better not have been my toothbrush.

Seek Elsewhere

Tracing back a link from my Site Meter, I see the old blog is listed on a web log award page. I'm not sure how that happened, but allow me to address the handful of you who just showed up thinking you were going to get some enlightened or entertaining reading on anything parental:

Ahem. Hello there. I'm not sure I qualify for a Parenting Blog nomination. I only write about my kids some of the time. To the chagrin of my other six readers, the rest of the time I write about soccer, my dog, or life on the farm. And I post an occasional picture that makes my mother groan.

My family is the most important thing in my life. When I don't have a party to attend. See below. I have a seven-year-old son who is an angel and a three-year-old who could make Machiavelli blush. If Machiavelli weren't dead. Kind of a shame, really. Because once he got done telling future tyrants how to gain the throne, he would have turned his attention to CEO's, Cub Scout leaders, school teachers, and parents. I'm not a fan of self-help books, but that's one that would make my Christmas wish list.

I'd love to give you a small sample of my writing in regards to my kids, but they haven't done anything worth writing about in the past couple of days. Unless you count The Governor (that would be the little despot in the family), who has recently taken up the habit of starting his sentences, "I, the Gov..."

I, the Gov, would like to have breakfast now.

I, the Gov, need to watch a cartoon.

Nope. Not kidding. At least it's better than the phase when he referred to himself in the third person.

Sorry. To help make amends...I refer you to a couple of MY favorite parenting blogs. Enjoy.

It's The Most Wonderful Time Of The Year

Last spring, The VP decided he wanted to learn how to play the bagpipes. I don't think I've mentioned much about it here because frankly, I was hoping it would be a short-lived fad. I was crossing my fingers that when he realized how long it would take to become even minimally proficient, he'd throw in the towel and take up a new hobby. So far, he hasn't been deterred.

So for the past seven months, our house has been filled with the sounds of a beginning piper. Not sure what that's like? Imagine some heavy machinery running over a cat. To be fair, I've heard some dramatic improvements in the last several weeks. The cat sounds less tortured. I recognize Amazing Grace because it sounds like Amazing Grace, not because The VP tells me that's what he's playing.

Even with the emergence of acutal tunes, I was still having difficulties not resenting the pipes. The only night his pipe and drum club practices (free lessons) is Monday night - my long-standing winter soccer night. I ungraciously gave up my soccer to indulge his new hobby.

After last evening, however, all is forgiven. The VP took me to his pipe and drum club Christmas party. Oh wow. I had a great time. Today I have a mild hangover, but I also have 40 new best friends. Open bar + Shriners...why, you'd have to be the surly lady in room 233 not to enjoy that combination.

My favorite part was watching the guys grab their instruments and head down to the lobby to serenade the front desk and then crash the wedding party in the ballroom down the hall while playing Scotland the Brave. The wedding party demanded that they stay and have a drink or three. Back in the hospitality room, we continued celebrating until about 1 a.m. I think. And only one visit from hotel security. (Nice young man...he offered us the open conference room at the end of the hall saying it would fit more people and would be sufficiently removed from room 233 to put an end to the noise complaint calls.)

I hate to admit it, but I'm starting to look forward to the parades this summer. I was hoping I wouldn't have to attend, but I can't wait to see this group again. And if you think Shriners have a festive reputation...you should meet their wives and girlfriends.

I choose to ignore how that last sentence may cast certain aspersion upon my character. I suggest you do likewise.