Olly Olly Oxen Free

To my gentle readers:  If you are slightly on the more... shall I say prudish... side (my mom and my sister Emily) this post may make you squirm a bit.  But it's all in good fun, meant to be a laugh.

The other day while cleaning up the kitchen post-bomb (dinner) The Hubs and I overheard the kidlets negotiating a game of tag.  It was amusing, but then The Hubs mumbled something under his breath which took their conversation to the next level.

He said, "Sounds an awful lot like our 'bedroom talk'". 

Confusing?  Maybe.  Had to be there?  Quite possible.  Amusing?  Definitely.

Let me illustrate.

In order to not cast a disparaging light on women everywhere, I will not call our speakers Man and Wife.  Because I've heard rumor that there are women out there who are actually the initiators of such things (seriously, I jest not!)  I'll just call them Aggressor (A) and.... Victim (V)?  Ha ha.

Here, my friends, is how the game of tag, if not viewed but only listened to from another room, can sound suspiciously like a game of, uh, dancing in the sheets.

A: Hey, you wanna play?
V: I don't know, who's gonna be it?
A: Well, I was it last time, so I think it's your turn.
V: I'm not gonna be it. 
A: Fine, I'll be it.  Got you.
V: You can't get me, I was sitting right here in the safe zone.
A: Well, then get out of the safe zone so we can play.
V: I don't really want to play, I already told you that.
A: But, then you said you'd play.  Didn't you mean it?
V: Well, I just didn't want to hurt your feelings, but... whatever.  Fine.
A: Great.  Let's play.  Hey, you have to let me catch you.
V: No, I don't.  Don't you know the rules?
A: But I have to catch you or the game is no fun.
V: I'm having fun.  Catch me if you can.
A: Fine, got you..... Hey, why are you just sitting there doing nothing.
V: I'm frozen.
A: But, we aren't playing that game.
V: I'm always playing that game.
A:  Well, who's going to unfreeze you?
V: I don't know and I don't really care.
A:  This game is no fun at all!
V:  That's what I tried to tell you when you first asked me to play.

As much as I hate to admit it The Hubs was right.  It was amusingly similar.

Okay, let's be honest here.... I don't really hate to admit it.  I'm married.  I have been for 13 years.  The humor and reality of this conversational gem should come as no surprise to someone who's been married for more than 32 days and 10 hours. 

The good news is that now I don't have to say "No" when The Hubs suggests a game. 

I just have to say "Olly Olly Oxen Free".

Call Me Twitchy

About three days ago my left eye began to twitch, just underneath it.  It's not hard enough to be noticeable to those around me - at least this is what I'm telling myself - But it's enough to be annoying to me. 

I'm trying to figure out why my eye would be twitching.  And then, silly me, I used that eye to look around me and {snap} I had my answer.  Here are some reasons:

* Every stinking time my kids use the fridge to fill up a cup of water they somehow manage to get as much in a puddle on the floor as they do in their cup.  Luckily for me my flooring is light enough to hide these stealthy little puddles and I always walk through them. What, the little hobbits have never heard of a towel?


* JBabes recently (okay, like 2 months ago) figured out how to roll from his back to his tummy.  But that lazy bunch of dimples refuses to roll from his tummy to his back.  So he gets stranded.  And because the little people in my life can't stand the sound of his tears, someone always rolls him back and then gives the poor picked on little cherub a snuggle.  Pah-Lease.  This has resulted in many night time adventures.  I love nothing more than waking each hour to roll a stubborn mule off his stomach.

TWITCH

 *Today the kids were drawing outside during "mandatory outside time", which is code for "now would be a good time to hit the hills running".  When they came in I asked if they'd cleaned up the chalk.  Yes.  So I walked outside to check. {Pardon me for being a bit suspicious}.  Oddly enough, there was no sidewalk chalk on the front porch or littering the garage.  Had I misjudged them?  But then, upon further examination, there was nary a chalk in the holding tin either.  So I called JBear out and asked where it was.  He promptly began digging in the flower garden.  Apparently "will you clean up your chalk" was misinterpreted as "will you bury your chalk in the flower garden".  I'm just going to throw this out there, but wouldn't it take MORE time and MORE effort to bury 13 pieces of chalk than to just put them in their tin? 

* Questions like this one from Cadie Lu this morning:  "Mom, what does that sign over the kitchen table say?"  Me, "Which one?"  I was meaning the right, middle or left.  Her reply, "The one that says, 'life is short, eat dessert first'".  I just looked at her like REALLY?  And she looked right back at me, like, so.....are you gonna answer me?

not me....TWITCH

The list goes on and on. 
*Dance parties outside a sleeping baby's bedroom.
*Running with scissors
*Emptying my bookshelves daily - NOT the baby, the older ones
*Hearing the microwave running at random times
*Picking the vegetables from the garden while they are still doll-house size and haven't matured.
*Kung-Fo fighting
*Throwing the TV remote at each other
*Crying because they wanted to be named "Julie the July Fairy" NOT "Daisy the December Fairy"

TWITCH, TWITCH, TWITCH, TWITCH, TWITCH.....

What I need is a nap.  No laundry.  No dishes.  No arguments about who's breath smells the worst.

Either that or a straight shot of XANAX.

For the children.

Oh, wait, JBear just brought me a picture that says Joel Loves Mom.  And he told me that today I can have 10 kisses and 18 hugs.

Twitch....twitc....twit....twi....tw....t....aaaahhhhhh.......

Guess that's all I really needed after all!

My Friend Rosacea

It would appear that I have contracted a new friend.  And this one, as with others from my distant past, is a disease.  It only takes, never gives and involves the word "pustules".  Nasty.

Yep, I've got rosacea.  It flared in all it's ugly redness during my pregnancy.  I thought it was just weird pregnancy face - not to be confused with glowing pregnancy face - and let it ride.  But it recently occurred to me that this mysterious redness with bumps wasn't getting better.

So I did what any intelligent person would do.  I went to Doctor Google for the answers.  I mean, really, as if a medically trained physician would know more than the wonder of world wide information dump.

I share with you know a few images I was lucky enough to stumble upon...

Needless to say these images inspired me to go to my real doctor. 

So I got an appointment.  And then while I was in the waiting room filling out their new fancy pants electronic thingy majigy I accidentally clicked that I was there for an attention disorder.  Ha ha ha ha ha.  Oh my gosh, it's more true that you'd think.  I just left it.  'Cause I didn't really care enough to change it.  Also, I was bored with filling out the survey.

Once I made it back to the room and the doc came in I was swamped with adolescent embarrassment.  Yes, please look at my nasty face.  Make sure you use a bright lamp and a magnifying device.

What are those lumps?  Oh, they're called pustules, that's lovely.

Aren't I too old to be dealing with this stuff?  No, it would appear that I actually fit perfectly into the typical demographic.  White - check.  Woman - check.  30's - check.  Well, snap. 

Finally he got out his handy dandy medical journal and we had the joy of looking at pictures together.  The same basic one's I'd found on Doc Google. 

"Doc, I can not end up with a nose like that.  And the eyes would make me look evil.  You've got to help me.  I need something to make it go away."

He agreed.  I mean, it would be morally reprehensible to send me away knowing I could end up with a honker like that some day. 

We then discussed triggers that can make rosacea flare up.  This part is just delightful.

Chocolate, Stress - especially emotional, Heat, Exercise, Dry air, Sunlight.

We-he-hell then.  Sounds like I should just give up and sit in my darkened house eating jolly ranchers.  What's up with that? 

Chocolate.... my very life's blood? 
Stress.... I'm not stressed.  Not at all.  Nothing emotionally draining going on in my life.  I don't have a newborn and a brother suffering with cancer.  My kids aren't home for the summer.  My lawn isn't dying.  (P.S. can I please have some Prozac?)
Heat...well, hello summer
Exercise... I always knew I was meant to be fat.
Dry air... seriously. 
Sunlight... that's okay, 'cause I'm planning to be a vampire one day.

So I told him that my lifestyle and location were making my face ugly.  He just grinned.  That's what doctors do when what you're saying is true, but mean. 

He prescribed some medicine and lotion.  I asked him if I rubbed on enough lotion if it would make my fat disappear seeing as exercise is out.  No dice. 

Now I'm a lady about town wearing a big sunhat, sunglasses, and holding cold water bottles to my face just in case.

Don't be fooled by my lady of leisure look.  I'm just trying to keep from turning into a monster.

The TRUTH About Holidays

If you're any kind of American at all you'll know that the 4th of July - Day 'O Independence - was this past week.  It was a fun day or two of celebration. 

And, I had a sad little epiphany. 

Holidays are only fun for kids and grandparents.  Okay, and maybe for parents of children 10 and up.  But for parents in the trenches of raising young children, holidays tend to be more disappointing than fun.  More work than wahoooooooo....

In fact, I sometimes find myself feeling relieved when the holiday ends.  Sad.  But true.

And I'm all about the truth.  Except about what size pants I really wear.

My theory is that as kids we had so much fun that there's an expectation we can't quite give up.

As I was looking through pictures of the day I realized I could prove my point simply by showing my dear readers a series of pictures taken at our Hadley picnic.  Our attempt at getting all the grandkids together.  Sure, the end result looks like we have 6 darling children, festive in their holiday garb, enjoying the day and feeling a deep sense of patriotism.

In reality....


Picture Attempt Numero Uno

Look at J-Bear, photo ready.  He's thinking that if he smiles nicely he'll get to go back to picking the scab on his knee.  J-Cousin is in stealth mode.  If he makes a scowly face and looks slightly down we'll never notice him back there.  Ms. Els has somehow managed to look anywhere BUT at the camera, despite her age and experience with these things.  Cadie Lu isn't sure what's going on, so she's hunched protectively.  What she does know from past experience is that she'll get the anger if she doesn't smile.  Lex is always ready to go for photos.  No sweat.  J-Baby..... honestly, 52 adults were totally focused on the one task of getting J-Baby to look up and smile.

Attempt deuce

J-Bear:  Oh, Scabby, there you are.  How I've missed you!
J-Cousin:  Look at all you silly fools with your sing-song voices and funny faces.  I laugh at you.
Els:  Grin and bear it, grin and bear it. 
Cadie Lu:  Hmmm... I think there's some left over chocolate on my lower lip.  I'm going to lick it, but try to make it look like I'm doing a cutsie face.
Lex:  Wait... are we smiling here or what?
J-Baby:  You had me at Old McDonald.

Attempt Number 3

At this point I believe J-Bear's scab has begun to bleed and he's wondering just how much his parents have noticed.  J-Cousin is giving the sassy-eye to one of his parents.  Ms. Els continues to beam from ear to ear, but I'm pretty sure she's gonna crack.  Cadie Lu remains confused, but has managed to suck on the collar of her shirt to make it soggy and slack, which gives her a nicely put together air.  Lex is still wondering what's going on.  She nailed it on the first go 'round and can't figure why we're still here.  J-Baby continues to love the mayhem going on behind the camera.

Final Attempt....Adult's Aneruism

J-Bear:  You want me to smile?  You want me to smile?  Fine, I'll smile.  Take this... SHAZAAM!
J-Cousin:  Look at these lips... have you ever seen lips like these before?
Ms. Els:  Uh, guys, hate to be a bother, but this smile is actually getting painful.
Cadie Lu:  Did someone say jump rope?  Because what you didn't notice, and what the camera doesn't see, is that I've tied myself and Lex to this table with my jump rope.
Lex:  Okay, fine, it's clear I'm working with amateurs.... smiling, smiling, smiling.
J-Baby:  Hey, what's that?

Behind the camera was bribing, coaxing, begging, fake smiles, whistling, singing, clapping, yelling and all sorts of hullabaloo. 

Kind of like how all holidays go as a parent.  What you don't know is that J-Baby had only slept for about 3 hours the night before due to a bad reaction to his vaccinations his mom was smart enough to get on July 3rd.  After nabbing 2 hours of sleep myself, I'd sent my family to the parade with J-Bear crying because he was so tired and it was hot and he just wanted to sleep.  At the parade Cadie Lu claimed she was freezing cold the entire time ( right, 'cause it was only 90 degrees rather than in the triple digits). 

At the picnic the food was too hot, too cold, too salty, to crunchy, too sugary, too soft, too everything.  I thought it was great.  Because it WAS great.

There were skinned knees, hurt feelings, balls to the head and whining.

But when we look back at the pictures of the day, we're left with a sense that if we just hope hard enough, and hang onto the dream, someday all we'll remember is that we spent those hours with the people we love the most.



Some of the Ridges cousins w/ glo stick bracelets, doing fireworks...
Sometimes the "perfect" picture is all about the messy imperfection!

That said, I can't WAIT to sit back and watch my kids when it's their turn.

As my mom said to my dad this past week when I mentioned my theory:  It's good to be on this side of things, isn't it Rand?

And my dad's reply? 

Yep.

Get Your Motor Runnin'.... I Wish

If life is a highway, then mine is a parking lot with those tire shredders going both ways.... and no shade trees to park under.

I really should have known that my lifelong dance with automobiles was going to be less like a ballroom dance competition and more like an 80 year-old doing the Electric Slide.  Sort of scary to watch, scarier to participate in, but not without it's ability to make you laugh out loud.

Upon turning 16 I was given a sweet old car that had no floor on the driver's side. Instead it had a heavy duty plastic mat to keep feet and other items from falling through to the ground as you zipped along.  To add an element of adventure the ignition was known to suddenly stop gripping your keys and they'd fall to the floor. Yabba Dabba Doo.

Rumor has it that my uncle, it's previous owner, once actually lost his keys on the freeway.  Perhaps a myth, but still humorous to think about. 

Surprisingly my first ever encounter with a cop was driving that car.  My headlight was burnt out.  Really?  I'm kind of shocked, officer, but my bigger concern is a lack of floor.

I don't really know what happened to that car.  Time has a way of erasing the small details of life as you go along.  But it was replaced with a sweet action Cavalier station wagon similar to this.

Jealous much?

It had a nifty gear shifter with only four speeds.  I'm pretty sure my dad thought this would keep me safer as it topped out at like 55 when I was pushing it.  I, and my high school car pool buddies, thoroughly enjoyed the fake vinyl seating that you got sweat-stuck to in the summer and frozen to in the winter.

But all's fair to the high school student, and I wasn't too self conscious about my rides considering my friends weren't without their honorable mentions.  The "Gold Nugget" that had a gold hood while the rest of the car was silver.  My friend, WC, drove us to school in an old hearse he had. You can fit a lot of kids where the coffin should be, not the mention how many fit in the front seats.  It was "classy".  Another friend, TH, drove a family van that honked every time you turned left.  We loved it!  You could hear him coming through the parking lot every morning.  Honk....honk.... honk. 

Perhaps my favorite was the day that we came out of school one afternoon and Al's rear bumper had rusted off and was laying on the ground behind the car.  We all just kind of stared for a minute before starting to laugh.  She was totally matter-of-fact about it and without really cracking a smile she told the guys to put it in her trunk so she could take it home.  The next time she drove her bumper was back in place.

During college I graduated to a nice little Chevy Blazer.  This was the big time for me.  My first car with AC and power anything.  Also, it jumped the train tracks outside my summer job location like a champ.  I beat many a train in that little silver bullet. (Sorry Mom).

Mine was cuter

However, like my other rides, it wasn't without it's quirks.  If you turned left too fast the engine stalled.  Found that out the hard way.  Sometimes when turning left, at idle speed, the windshield wipers would turn on too.  The horn was ultra sensitive.  If you so much as batted your eyelashes in the direction of the center of the steering wheel that sucker was honking.  I honked at a lot of people for no reason, while turning left at idle speed, with my windshield wipers on... ha ha ha... 

I'm nothing if not friendly.

There were other cars, but the theme kind of stayed the same.  Quirks and problems.  Shaky steering wheels that could have churned butter, clutches I couldn't reach without a block, gear shift handles that fell off, windows that wouldn't roll down... or up, cars with broken four-wheel drive, radios that randomly changed channels.  The list goes on.

And then, the icing on the cake.  You know that saying, "Fool me once shame on you, fool me twice shame on me"?  Welcome to my experience with Ford.

We've owned two Ford vehicles during our marriage.  The first was sacrificed to the St. George gods a few years back and sold to a salvage yard.  The second had this happen....

One second Hubs is driving happily around and the next - BAM - the gear shift falls out.  Car was stuck between reverse and park.  Lovely. 

And we sold our second Ford to a salvage yard.

My kids saying farewell... and good riddance!

So, now we have yet another car sitting in our garage that it new to us.  And I can't help but wonder what kind of experience it's going to be.  Will it take us on adventures, never failing, always starting?  Or will it chug along like an old jalopy, keeping us on our toes, ever vigilant, watching our rear view mirror for parts falling out?

Only time will tell.  But based on our past experience I think I'll buy Hubs a bus pass for his birthday!

Karma

Dear Grandpa,
I would never have thought to blog about this if you hadn't told me not to.  Thanks for the tip.
Your ever-loving granddaughter,
Aspen

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

This past week I've been lucky enough to have my Grandparents staying with me while they've been in town visiting with my brother.  They didn't stay there 'cause he's very ill... thus the visit. Also, I'm just more fun.  Plus, where else can they sleep on side by side twin beds - a total flashback to their favorite old sitcom couples? Also, it's great to be woken up by crying babies, to step on toys while going barefoot around the house, get hit in the head with toy swords and get hit by sprinklers while attempting a walk around the park. 

It just so happened that their first morning with us was J-Bear's birthday.  So they actually got a nice breakfast of scrambled eggs, toast, bananas, chocolate milk and... grape jelly.  Yep.  I even whipped out the jelly for the occasion.


No sooner had we sat down to eat then Grandpa - while attempting to assist J-Bear with chocolate milk mixing - spilled his entire glass of chocolate milk all over my wishes-it-were-pristine kitchen floor.  Oh man.  Grandma and I just started laughing while Grandpa apologized and got to cleaning it up. My kids don't ever know if they can laugh about spills or not, so they were pretty quiet at first.

To those sympathetic to the geriatric set who are wondering why I made my poor old Grandpa clean up his own mess, I will tell you that my only reason is because it was funny.  And I was holding a baby.

As Grandpa scrubbed with a towel he laughed about how that was exactly why my uncle jokingly bought him a sippy cup to use when dining with them.  Ha ha ha.  Love it.  I'm tucking away that info for their next visit!

Anyhow, throughout the day I did my best to resurrect his embarrassment.  I told my family about his spill.  I suggested he leave a $5 bill on the kitchen counter before leaving as I'm not made of money.  I even told him that the next morning at breakfast I'd just pour his milk directly on the floor and cut out the middle part.

All in good fun I assure you.  Who do you think taught me how to tease?

So, later that night I'm out to dinner with just my little family for J-Bear's birthday.   And disaster struck.  Karma came right around like a boomerang doing 1000 mph and slapped me sideways.  That's right, I think you can guess what happened. 

I spilled an entire drink on the floor of the restaurant.

Sure, it was McDonald's, but hey, it was my just desserts.

I'm sure I blushed a little as I sought out an employee to ask for rags and then even more when they insisted they'd clean it up and my family had to stand next to our table  - out of their way - while they mopped.  I'm pretty sure no one else in the place even noticed what was happening (sarcasm).

Of course, in my quest to be honest and laugh at myself I told my Grandma about it at J-Bear's birthday party later. 

And that snitch ran straight to Grandpa with the story.  I see where her loyalties are!

Oh, ho, ho was Grandpa thrilled with this latest development.  He repeated my steps of persecution by telling my entire family and saying something sassy about how at least his wasn't in public.  I'm pretty sure he offered to purchase me a sippy cup.

Touche Grandpa, Touche!

So, folks, I guess I believe that Karma is real.  It has to be.  After all, if my Grandpa hadn't been such a sassafrass his entire life then Karma wouldn't have given him a sassy pants granddaughter like me :)

Runny Diarrhea

Admit it, the title of this post grabbed your attention!  You're wondering just where I'm going to go with that.  Will you be disgusted, will you laugh?  You find yourself intrigued.

And you should be.

Today you are going to learn something new.  And someday, down the road, you're going to thank me.

I am here to share a nugget of wisdom with you today.  The Hubs suggested I give you the background on this.  So, here goes.  Several years ago, back when I was employed outside the home, I worked for a great guy.  His initials are BG.  BG was in management and a victim of an overabundance of meetings.  One day he was in his office with a group of us discussing something that I'm sure was totally work related when his scheduler popped up reminding him about a meeting he had in 5 minutes.  He didn't want to go.  He grumbled about it for a moment as he stood and began gathering his things.  One of the guys in the office suggested a fool proof way of getting out of the meeting.

"I'll give you 20 bucks if you stand up during the meeting, say 'I've got runny diarrhea' and walk out".

Of course BG didn't do this.  He cared about having a job.  But, we all laughed and it kind of became the running joke (Oh, ho, ho, no pun intended!) around the office when we wanted to get out of something.

This excuse is full proof.  

I'll give you some examples below.

Late for something?  "I'm sorry I was late.  I was suddenly gripped by an episode of runny diarrhea."  Oh, well then, no worries.

Meeting you don't want to attend?  "I'm so sorry, I don't think I'm going to make it.  I seem to be experiencing runny diarrhea."  Oh, well, we'll have someone email you the meeting minutes. 

Meeting going long?  Simply stand up, walk funny and stage whisper "I gotta run.  Runny diarrhea" as you shuffle out of the room.

Family gathering making you squeamish? Relative playing the Me Monster game? Boring conversation sucking out your soul?  "Oh, my, I seem to be..." stand up and grab your belly, "Oh, I think I'm about to have runny diarrhea".  Feel free to break those social bands and walk away.

Trust me, no one on earth is going to stop you from leaving or encourage you to come.

Why does this work?  Three reasons:

(1)  'Cause everyone has been there.  Sadly we all totally relate to it and we know that there's nothing to be done when your colon is in the steel jaws of irritation. 

(2) No one wants to see you embarrass yourself by trying to "muscle through it".  It's best to just stay away.  Far, far away.

(3) Runny Diarrhea can be contagious.  They don't know if it's simply something you ate, or if you're going to inadvertently bring the human race to it's knees.  They don't want any part of it.

Now, I do realize that for the gentle souls out there, this may be problematic because you fear coming off as crude.  May I suggest a few synonyms that call alleviate your embarrassment.

"Pardon me, but I seem to be experiencing wet wind in the channels"

"Excuse me, but the brown steam engine is trying to jump the track"

"Wow, I seem to have the hot trots today"

People will get the picture.  And those who don't follow will be too self conscious to ask.  Be creative.  Get those juices flowing (Oh, ha ha, another pun.  Oh my!)

So, there you have it.  The excuse to top them all.

Now I send you out into the world packed with knowledge.  May you enjoy the fruits of it for years to come!