Cathy in the Wright

???

The Governor has been battling some sort of virus/asthma/alien body takeover that wakes him with coughing fits in the early hours of the morning. Fortunately for me, Boomerang has some quality programming at that time, so I've had a break from weight loss info-mercials and Corey Feldman movies as I've sat up and nursed The Gov back to sleep.

Unfortunatley for me, the lack of sleep is starting to take its toll. I can't bring myself to toss a load of laundry in the washer or clean off the kitchen table so we have a place to eat. Instead, I sit staring at the wall pondering really deep thoughts like this:

If I was injured in a car accident and had to go to the ER with a broken leg and busted ribs...would I rather have done a flawless job of shaving in the shower that morning but have put on the old, cotton, threadbare, mismatched underwear and bra? Or would I rather be caught with a top-drawer, coordinating set of silky skivvies and bra but have stubbly legs and underarms? A strictly either-or situation.

I'm still going back and forth on this. Somebody weigh in - tell me what you'd choose. Because I'm not going to be able to get any housework done until I decide.

Men, you are exempt. Unless you have some really nice matching underwear you'd like to brag about.

But We're So Worth It

From my friend Dave (the engineer):

How Engineers Explain Women

And Now A Few Words From Bob...

Today's grocery shopping trip with The Governor was a real hoot. The Gov was in a spectacularly good mood. He was happy about everything. Cherry tomatoes? "I LOVE tomatoes!" Gallon of milk? "Milk is healthy, isn't it, Mom? I'm glad we're buying milk." (Reactions may vary when an actual glass of the stuff accompanies dinner tonight.) Soup? "I don't like soup, Mom, but that's okay. You can get some for The Senator." I just couldn't bring the kid down.

To top off the trip, half way down the condiment aisle one of the store managers came up with a display piece and asked The Gov if he would like to take it home. At first The Gov was a little unsure, but then decided to take it. And promptly name it Bob.

I give you Bob:

After Bob arrived on the scene, I had two happy shopping companions.

Mom, Bob really likes potato chips.

Mom, Bob and I are going to play some ball when we get home.

Mom, Bob likes you.

Mom, Bob would like you forever if you get him some Chicken in a Biskit.

And so on. Bob had to brook a little disappointment when I refused to buy a pizza cutter, but he bore it well.

In fact, Bob never stops smiling. I'm beginning to wonder about Bob. Is he really a ghost who presided over the Halloween candy? Because every time I look at him, I can't help thinking of sperm. And if he really is a sperm cell, I'm going to have to think twice about including a paragraph about what "Boo-licious" means.

Better stop now while I can still retain my PG-13 rating.

Hidden Treasure

As The Senator was putting on his coat this morning, he unzipped a front pocket that sees little use. He was stuffing a tissue in when he discovered the pocket wasn't completely empty. He pulled out a twenty dollar bill.

"Hey Mom! I'm rich!"

Where did you get twenty dollars?

"I dunno. But I'm rich!" Big grin.

Where did you get that money?

"I don't remember." His grin is starting to wilt. I think for a moment. Then the clouds part.

Hey - remember when we went out to Colorado last spring?

"Yeah."

And Uncle Terry took you skiing?

"Yeah."

Didn't I stuff that twenty in your pocket and tell you that you were supposed to buy Uncle Terry lunch?

The grin completely fades. "Oh....yeah. I guess I forgot."

Hand it over.

Hey, I'm rich! Until the next time I see Uncle Terry, anyway.

To The Neighbors...

What do you think?

I'm torn between that and one that would read:

FLRP
est. 1970.
Time for one more?

but in a similar font as the one above?

This Could Be Trouble

I just received an email from my dad, The Professor, with the brief note, "Your mom would like to post something on your blog. Can you set her up with a login?"

I'm not sure what this is all about, but since the fourth commandment was strictly interpreted in our Catholic household as You Will Do Exactly As Your Mother Or Father Sayeth, the login has been provided.

I long ago referred to my mom as The Green Goddess because she's a Master Gardener and can coax cholorphyll out of the most unlikely candidates while I routinely have flourishing plants commit suicide on my watch. So I gave her The GG as her login name.

Disclaimer: The views of The GG and Professor are not necessarily those of blog management.

Sorry, Mom. I had to put that in there. I know you're shying away from politics these days, but just in case I thought I should identify you as the family's only declared Democrat. Although I'm having some doubts about your younger son these days. It's obvious that living in Minneapolis proper has started to warp his opinions.

Sunk To New Lows

Cat blogging. I'd almost rather fess up to a crack habit. Now a dead cat...well, I wouldn't need to think twice. But cute, cuddly kitten-blogging? Time to put some bullet holes in the keyboard.

So how did this come about? It's King David's fault.

Friday night King David and I and our families met for dinner. I was so excited to find another blogger this far out in the boondocks that I suggested we get together sometime. We emailed back and forth and King David suggested we meet at the Mexican restaurant in Buffalo.

Our meal should probably be the subject of it's own post - The VP and I really enjoyed ourselves. King David and Mocha Momma and their two kids were a pleasure to meet. The only complaint I had, and it was one shared by Mocha Momma, is that the meal went by too quickly. We're already planning our next get-together.

When we left the restaurant, The VP took both boys and headed home. I had a late soccer game, so I started my drive to the cities. Before I had gotten far, I got a phone call from The VP. His truck started to overheat. He was on the side of County Road 35 with both boys and could I come fetch the young ones while he tried his best to get the truck home? Well, there went my soccer game. Nice timing on my part; just the week before I chewed out some team members for not showing up to games without letting me know. Egg...face...shake hands.

Anyway, I turned around and drove back to Buffalo and found the truck. It was fairly dark by this point, so I was anxious to get the boys in my car and get off the side of the road. As The Senator is climbing into the car, I hear some faint meows from the tall grass next to the car. More like mews.

And dummy that I am, I meowed back.

Out of the grass comes a kitten. Oh hell. This is not good. She ran over to me and started rubbing against my legs and meowing and purring. A full-grown cat I could have abandoned to it's fate, but since I lured this poor thing out of hiding, I just couldn't leave it on the side of the road.

To cut the story short, the kitten came home with us. I told the boys she couldn't come inside (allergies - mine), but we would do everything we could to make her comfortable on the front porch. We fed her some tuna and gave her some milk. We stuffed the box with towels and blankets and isulated it from the wind and cold. We played with her on the porch until bedtime.

As I tucked in the boys, I warned them both that I didn't want any sniveling or crying tomorrow morning if the kitten was gone. There were no guarantees that she would stick around during the night.

She stuck around. The Senator played all morning with her, and then we had to drive her to the Humane Society. And after demanding that The Senator not get all teary when we left her at the shelter, I'm the one who started sobbing once we got back in the car.

The Senator and I consoled ourselves by imagining that our kitten was going to wind up the spoiled little princess in a house where she will sleep on the end of someone's bed and eat nothing but Fancy Feast out of crystal goblets.

She's cute enough to deserve at least that, no?

And while The Senator, The Governor, and I are a little sad that she's gone, The VP and Hoocher are walking around in silent relief.

And King David, next time we'll try a different city. Preferably one that is not booby-trapped with kittens on the route home.

To Get You In The Halloween Spirit...

Thanks Debbie T.

For Emmy and Chris H.:

A few days ago you asked for some pictures of fall colors. I delayed in getting out to snap some photos and then we had some very windy days...well, there's not much here to look at anymore. This is about as close as it comes:

So there's your Minnesota fall colors tour. Feel free to tip on your way out.

It did start snowing here today. (25 degrees, stiff wind - admit it. You're homesick.) And right in front of the house there's some sort of shrubbery with a few leaves left, so I have a combo Fall Color/Hello Winter snapshot for you:

I found another surface that showed the light accumulation:

Ah yes, snow. Hot chocolate, marshmallows, sledding, skating, catching snowflakes on your tongue, building snowmen, the theme music to Peanuts cartoons...and if you're a mother, it's all that plus, soggy mittens shoved in the bottom of backpacks, snowpants dripping water on the floor, dragging children out of warm, cozy beds and sending them off to school in the frozen, pitch black darkness, convincing your kids that it's fun when the car fishtails on icy patches, and the seemingly unending runny noses.

Yee. Haw.

First!

The VP was already gone this morning when I awoke. I looked around the bedroom. No card, no flowers - nothing. I ran to the bathroom. No notes taped to the mirror. I headed into the kitchen. Again, no cards, no flowers, no presents.

No indication that he remembered that today is our anniversary.

YES!

I WIN! THIS YEAR I WIN! I dialed his cell phone number and left him the following message:

Good morning, Honey. It's about quarter to eight. I didn't see any cards or notes or presents anywhere around the house, so allow me to be the FIRST to say, HAPPY ANNIVERSARY, Darling!

For the past five or six years...well, heck, let me be honest...in the eleven years we've been married, I have a horrible track record for remembering our anniversary. And The VP is catching up with me. We've both been forgetting the last few years. Somehow, we've turned our memory lapses into a competition. Whoever remembers first and declares "Happy Anniversary" first on October 7th, wins. No prizes are involved. The winner just gets to gloat all day about being the better spouse.

I haven't won in years. In fact, this may be a first. I can't wait until he gets home to rub it in directly to his face.

Bwah ha ha ha ha ha ha ha!

AND...

a very HAPPY BIRTHDAY to my father-in-law. I'm much better about remembering that important date. Hope you're having a good time out in Colorado.

It's Not Like The Work Won't Be There Tomorrow

At this moment, there are literally piles of things I should be tackling. Piles of laundry, piles of paperwork, piles of leaves in the front yard, piles of box elder bugs waiting to be knocked from the doors and windows and swept off the porch. But when your aging dog lays his velvety chin on your knee and wags his tail, one must prioritize.

You wanna go for a walk?

Judging from the exponential increase in wagging, I'll take that as a yes.

Back in a while.

LATER:

What a fabulous walk. The air is cool. The sky is a vibrant blue. The trees are covered with green, yellow, orange, brown, and red leaves. So is the ground. The deer were bounding out of the cornfields. A hawk launched from the tree tops with a stirring cry. And I swear old Hoocher sniffed and marked every square inch of Outpost acreage.

Beats sorting whites and darks any day.

(You have Fall down there in Arizona, Chris? Do the cacti drop their spines? Or do you mark the season by turning the thermostat down one degree?)

I have to go pick up The Governor from preschool in a few minutes. Today was picture day. He had to take a bath because nothing short of a full shampoo and rinse can make his hair stay in place. After the bath, he asked me to gel his hair and work it up into a mohawk. When I told him no, he informed me that when he turned eight, he was going to move out of the house, become an adult, and do whatever he wanted.

I told him if he studied hard in preschool and ate his vegetables, he could probably move out when he turns seven.

"Great Neptune! That would be sweet, Mom!"

Note to self: time to change out the SuperFriends DVD in the car.

To recap: it's a great fall day here at The Outpost, and The Governor is going to move out 11 years ahead of schedule. The laundry is just going to have to wait while I break out a bottle of Cristal.

Speech

I would like to take a moment to thank Mitch Berg for nominating me for MOB Mayor. It's a great honor, but I'm unworthy. My blogging has been light, and my appearances at MOB events even lighter. I have to decline, even if that sham, self-nominated election official, Learned Foot, hadn't already ruled me ineligible.

Besides, I'm pretty sure the office doesn't come with a pool boy allowance anymore.