Inside Scoop on PETA

Here’s the scoop on PETA. You know the organization…People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals. Well, PETA has “urged” Ben and Jerry’s to stop using cow’s milk in their ice cream and start using mother’s milk. And I’m not talking mother cows…I’m talking human nursing mothers.

Okay…all together now….ewwwwwwww. This is just plain gross. I’m sure PETA has good intentions …about saving cows, preventing bad treatment of cows and many reasons for their argument that human milk is healthier than cow's milk. But, I’m not buying it….and I’m not buying it. But I am buying…that this is just another one of PETA’s publicity stunts. I admit, the “I’d rather go naked than wear fur” commercials are very revealing to their cause.

PETA became aware of a Swiss restaurant owner who is purchasing breast milk from nursing mothers and using the breast milk in 75 percent of the food he serves. So PETA sent Ben and Jerry a letter requesting they use breast milk in their products…which is so udderly ridiculous. These people must have had a brain freeze.

And why pick on poor Ben and Jerry. ..a couple of old laid-back hippies who began scooping ice cream out of a renovated gas station in Burlington, Vermont? Hey folks, I was at the original B & J's back in 1978 before Cherry Garcia. (Does this make me an ole laid back hippie??)

I hope Ben and Jerry gave PETA an icy reception and told them to….Freeze Off. By the way, if Ben and Jerry ever did decide to have an ice cream made from mother’s milk…I have a suggestion: Call it…“Mother May I” ice cream. Buttermilk ice cream, with pieces of vanilla and chocolate shaped teats.

My big question is: How does PETA suggest Ben or Jerry collect the breast milk? Is PETA suggesting they open lactating factories….where every 4 hours they lead nursing mothers, by their braids, into a dark room with stalls, prime the milking machine pumps, attach the equipment to the nursing mothers…and play soft, calming classical music. I hear classical music is good for milk flow. But I don’t know though…maybe Cold Play is better music for lactation than Moozart.

Ping...Pong

The infamous ping-pong table. When your kids reach about age 10, you start thinking about getting a ping pong table. Heck, it’s hard coming up with ideas for Christmas...and you’ve already given the easy-bake oven and pogo-stick. Oh wait, that’s what I got, when I was ten. So you decide…it’s time for the ping pong table. The kids say they’ll really love it…really use it…all the time. You have visions of the whole family smiling…pinging and ponging for hours. So Santa brings one.

Thanks a lot Santa. We look for a place to put it…so we clear space in our basement. The kids play with it…for about two weeks and then it just sits. The ping pong table is just a large piece of plywood taking up space. Then I decide…I’ll use the ping pong table as a gift wrapping station. At least it will get some activity.

After a couple of years pass, there is renewed interest in the table. The kids have a few friends over and they all play. Colinboy and his buddies really seem to be into the sport. They like the competition. I can hear them hitting the ball, ping…pong….back and forth. Love that sound. And then whacking the ball…at each other. Throwing the paddles around the room and putting holes in the ceiling and walls. They’ve pulled the rubber coverings off the paddles and are using just the wood. They are destructive sons-of-guns, but at least the table is back in use.

Then it all goes silent again…no one is interested in the table. It sits and gathers dust. It gets broken down and shoved into a closet. The table seems to be approaching the end of its useful life. We think about giving it away, but deep down we hope for its return.

After a few more years pass, the table makes its return. Colinboy and his peeps have grown and come home from college...and YES, they want to play ping pong again. They pull the table out of the closet…find the paddles and set up the net. I am happy …brings such joy and a smile to my face.

The boys have to go back to college…they aren’t majoring in ping pong. I walk downstairs to view our infamous table. Wait…there is…something different about it. It looks…damp…it smells…yes, it definitely smells…and it’s sticky. What is that smell? Suddenly I am hit with a barrage of images…flashbacks of my own college days.

It can only mean one thing….beer pong. Well, that explains the smell. Ping pong is no longer a family game of pinging and ponging skills. It is a rowdy, beer swilling, drinking game...requiring a new skill set. The ping pong table has morphed and taken on a new life. So now, anytime the kids talk ping-pong...I know ping pong=beer pong.

So, my friends, if you’re considering purchasing a ping-pong table…for a little family fun…please consider the ENTIRE life cycle of the ping pong table. Don’t be ponged!

Slooow Down

Sometimes I get so busy thinking ahead, that I don’t pay attention to what I'm doing at the moment. I’ll be thinking of 4 things at the same time and then take off in my car….get to the end of the street and think, "Hmmm, should I go right, left? Where the heck am I going? Oh yea…grocery store.”…no wonder I keep forgetting.

Like most people, I get in a hurry…and just need to slow down. Once I pulled out my Dunkin' Donuts card to pay for a pair of shoes. Okay, easy mistake…my DDs card is gold…like my credit card. But the other day, I tried to pay for a new outfit with a paint chip that I had in my wallet. “Yarmouth Blue” didn’t cut it. The salesperson made me get out real money. Come on…you gotta agree, a good paint suggestion is worth something.

I have also been known to forget my purse when I'm carrying something else, because for some reason in my little head…I think I have it. Once we were leaving the house for the kids’ doctors appointments and I grabbed a bag of chocolate chip cookies before heading out the door. ( Doesn’t everyone eat chocolate chip cookies before seeing the doctor?) Anyway, we got to the doctor’s office and I realized I just had the bag of chocolate chip cookies…wrong bag. I’m not sure why the receptionist wouldn’t take cookies over my insurance card. But, maybe that is why I am unemployable.

It will help if I slow down…and pay attention to what the heck I am doing….and live in the here and now. Instead of the over there and then.

If I get to your house…and I have a bag of chocolate chip cookies, instead of my handbag… you just might want to let me in. I always share.

Craig's List

Have you ever used Craig’s List? Colinboy used it to find a sublet for the summer when he interned in NYC. It’s all random, so you hope you end up with normal people. He did have to go through a few apartments that were very sketchy… sketchy hair places…one apartment with lots of cat hair and another apartment with an older man with grey hair…run Colin run!

Luckily for him…he ended up in a situation where the guys were normal…no weirdos. Just 2 working guys, in their mid-twenties, needing a roommate to split expenses…that felt he needed to be exposed to the gambling world. ( I hope that’s all they exposed him to.) His roommates took him to Atlantic City. Only problem was…20 hours later, they were still there…no sleep ..no ride…he took a bus home.

I have also heard that Craig’s List has served other uses. People have stretched the envelope or list and used it in inventive ways. You can find anything on the List now…even someone to do your dirty work or someone to provide you with assistance.

A woman was arrested for looking for someone to kill the wife of her boyfriend. (Now that’s one way to get rid of the other woman.) Wanted: Crazy man with own gun to take out (and not for dinner) my boyfriend’s wife. Person must be crafty, shifty, and down right murderous, with good aim and a fast trigger finger.

Someone was also arrested for soliciting as a prostitute. A woman with probably a code name like “May Flowers” was offering her services on Craig’s List. And I am not talking about laundry services. Her calling card: May Flowers available year round. Call for an April shower.

Maybe I should use Craig’s List…to find someone to post a blog for me when I am busy with important things like golf, paddle, and shopping. Ad could read….Wanted: Blogger Extraordinaire. Person must be available at a moments notice. Person should be engaging, smart, controversial, entertaining…in short, nothing like Kat.

Lucky Duck

Beginner’s luck is an interesting phenomenon. Some unassuming “Aw shucks” person appears on the scene and decides to do something and immediately becomes successful…out-performing everyone else. People around them want to clobber them, especially when they’ve been doing something a lot longer.

I have a friend who rarely plays golf …maybe 3 times a summer. She teed up her ball on a Par 3, hit the ball with her driver, and put the ball in the hole…in one. Okay, it’s not fair. Especially when good golfers like PaulA who have golfed for years, have never had a hole-in-one. Sorry to bring that up, PaulA.

I’m sure Hillary Clinton is thinking the same thing about Sarah Palin. Enter, Sarah Palin…an obscure governor from East Snowshoe, Alaska…very removed geographically and not well known outside the frozen tundra. And then McCain chooses her as his V.P. running mate.

Sarah is probably pinching herself…thinking… “What luck I have! I’ve been living in this refrigerator they call a state, have 5 kids driving me crazy with one of them turning me into a grandmother, and I have this ‘Bridge to Nowhere’ albatross around my neck. But I could be going to Disneyland...I mean, Washington."

And Hillary is probably pinching herself…muttering … “How did this happen? I’ve been living this political life forever…putting up with Bill’s shit, doing my time in the Senate. Then this four-eyed newbie appears on the scene and BANG…her tight ass could be sitting in the White House before me.”

But once you really start to play the game….beginner’s luck comes to an end. So calm down…try to feel better PaulA and Hillary. My friend’s luck is way over…she can’t hit a fairway, never mind a green. She last scored 150 for 18 holes.

And Sarah’s lucky streak…well, that is still to be determined. But so far…she’s the luckiest duck in the political pond.

Jobs and Bulldogs

Finding a job is no picnic or walk in the park. In other words….it’s not easy. I guess that’s why “pounding the pavement” is an appropriate analogy. Good jobs are hard to come by…although I’m sure a job cleaning the latrine in McDonald’s at LaGuardia Airport is available. But like I said, good jobs are hard to come by.

Finding a job requires a little bit of luck…and a whole lot of who you know. Of course, an education helps. I remember I got an interview with the insurance company that PaulA worked for because his softball team manager was from Vermont…us Vermonters gotta stick together. He took my resume and passed it along. I interviewed with another person and I didn’t drool on myself…so they hired me. See what I am talking about…who you know and a little bit of luck.

When we moved to Jacksonville, FL because of a job transfer for PaulA…I had to start all over, pounding the pavement. I managed to get an interview in the Systems Dept. of an insurance company. They say you gotta look the part…to get the part…so I dressed in appropriate business attire…skirt, blouse. No jacket…too damn hot in Jax.

I interviewed with a nice man who ran the department and at the end of the interview he mentioned that I wore the “right” colors. I looked down to see what the heck I was wearing. Red top, black skirt. He said he was an avid Georgia Bulldogs fan (FYI…with Jacksonville being located in northern Florida, you can have both Gator fans and Bulldog fans.) Yep….wearing the right colors…and the fact that I didn’t drool on myself….once again, got me another job. It was definitely a stroke of luck. Heck, I could have easily worn a blue skirt and orange top that day…unknowingly gone Florida Gator style and he might have shown me the door.

To those of you out there who are “pounding the pavement”…take my advice…know somebody, have a little luck and wear the right colors. And remember…don’t drool on yourself.

Go To The Head of the Class

Last week I attended Open House…my last ever, as Bri is now a High School Senior. When I think about it ….I’ve attended many open houses…3 x 13 (including kindergarten)= 39 open houses. Oh, I forgot about the other open houses I’ve been to. But those are different …they serve booze at those…only cookies and coffee at the school. Definitely not the same.

So I followed Bri’s class schedule, attended some interesting classes and met some nice teachers. One thing I wondered as I changed classes…Was I ever this smart?

But I did get to show off my stuff…in Mr. Jones’ physics class. After the teacher went through the litany of what the kids would be learning and the grading polices, etc. etc. He asked if the parents had questions. There was silence…no one had questions. My God, it’s physics…who is really interested??

Then one parent in the group asked, “This doesn’t pertain to physics…but could you please tell me…What does that sentence written on the bottom left-hand side of your blackboard mean?” The statement read: MR. JONES IS THE SHIZNAY. Mr. Jones answered, “I don’t know. A former student was just in here and wrote it on the board. Does anyone here know what that means?”

All the parents in the class shook their head…no…never heard of it…but I did. Hey, I wasn’t embarrassed to show-off my expert command of the English language. So I raised my hand…and volunteered, “Mr. Jones, that is actually a very positive comment to you. The student that wrote it thinks you’re great…cool. They like you.”

I am sure that I impressed the teacher with the breadth and depth of my knowledge. “Go to the head of the class, Kat.” Okay, he didn’t say that. I bet he wanted to… but he probably didn’t want me to look like Teacher’s Pet and have everyone give me the evil eye.

I was glad to help him out…he just needed a little vocab. lesson from Kat. He’s a physics teacher so what the heck does he know? Now that I’m over-the-hill and not in school…my education comes from my kids.

Thanks to them I am muy intelligente….a regular walking dictionary and thesaurus. My kids are…da bomb, shiznit, wicked, shizzle, sick, hot, bitchin, the shit, phat, saweeet…and in case you are like Mr. Jones and aren’t down with the lingo…they are THE GREATEST.

No Trade

My most favorite time I’ve ever spent as a mom…was on the floor. It was the time my kids were little and there was nowhere we HAD to go...nowhere we HAD to be. The hectic life of homework, sports, lessons and practices had not started yet….and we were free to while-away the afternoons.

We would have picnics in the family room with square plastic Tupperware plates in different colors…pink for Chelsea, blue for Colin…and numerous Cheerios for baby Bri. A tablecloth spread out on the floor with my sweet baby right smack in the middle…not walking, and in no hurry…happy to watch her brother and sister go crazy. Lunch was always the same…peanut butter sandwiches, cut in triangles, no-crusts…a must. How fortunate I was that I could spend the afternoons…on the floor. My rolly polly baby on my stomach, pig piles, balancing Big C and Colinboy on my hands and knees, playing bicycle with our feet….Rolling around with the kids.

I wasn’t getting much done….but I didn’t care. Laundry was building, dishes were piling, floors were sticking. It wasn’t like I could see into the future…see how happy I would be I spent so much time rolling around with them. I wasn’t that analytical or clairvoyant. Maybe I wished I was still a kid…maybe I was lazy. But mostly it was just fun.

Some things you would never trade, for all the tea in China. Time on the floor was one of them.

But No!

When you reach a certain age…they tell you, you gotta go. You don’t want to go. “PLEASE don’t make me go. I’ll do anything but THAT!” After putting up a stink for a few months you realize…you must succumb to the shittiest procedure ever invented. There are no butts about it. Folks… It’s time for a colonoscopy.

Before I go further, I have to say one thing. The word colonoscopy is pronounced Colon–oscopy. Not….Colin-oscopy. For some reason whenever PaulA says the word, he pronounces it Colinoscopy. I have to remind him that we didn’t name our son after an internal organ…especially one so dirty. And then Sistersledge made the same mistake!!! I would return the favor…but Natascopy makes absolutely no sense and she’s way too cute.

Before I go further again…into the dark bowels of this story…they say the prep is the worse part. And in the end…the prep is the worse part. The prepping really poops you out. You are required to drink a disgusting liquid, they try to disguise as lemon-lime, and then you spend the rest of the night running to the bathroom….I just wanted to sleep.

And eventually you do…the best sleep you ever had. Only problem is they don’t sell this stuff at Walgreens in Aisle 5. The anesthesiologist puts an IV in your arm and delivers a swift knock-out punch. The only way you can get this quality of sleep again….is to sign up for another Colonoscopy. (See how easy it is to get the word correct, PaulA?!)

I’ll end here…and I’ll spare you the gory asspects and the behind the scenes details. I just thought you might want to be informed, by getting the poop on the Colonoscopy procedure. But I admit, when you get to the bottom line…this crap just isn’t funny.

Sensibility

Why is it when kids are playing with a ball or something hard, inevitably I will get hit …sometimes in the arm or leg….but usually in the head?

I have been hit in the head by footballs, basketballs, tennis balls…you name it. I admit, I have never been hit in the head with a bowling ball…although I’ve hit (myself) with one in the leg. When I was a novice figure skater teetering on ice skates….hockey players leaving the ice whipped the puck across the ice and knocked me off my skates…that was before helmets.

I’ve heard of the law of averages…..but this doesn’t add up. I am definitely above-average on head hits, so I have out-averaged the law. One thing for sure…the mode of this median is mean.

And then there’s Donnelly’s Law. Excuse me, Murphy’s Law (different Irishman)… “If anything can go wrong, it will.” I am always the person the ball seeks out. I could be sitting in a circle with 5 other people and the ball chooses me. Why is that?

I’m not exactly sure, but I’m guessing I look like a person who needs some sense knocked into…a little sensibility. Especially judging from the sounds of this blog.

To regurgitate…I mean, reiterate…last week I spied 3 young boys throwing the lax ball in a friendly game of catch on the beach. I decided they were far enough away from me…so I proceeded to doze in my chair. Whack…their lax ball hit the side of my head. “Oh, so sorry lady, we didn’t mean to hit you.”

“That’s okay kids. Thanks to you…my blogs might make a little more sense from now on.”

One Year

I have been blogging for an entire year...that’s 365 days. And in blogworld …that’s almost an eternity. September 13, 2007 was the first day that I ditched housework and began polluting the blog waves. If you dare/care to read back…you can check my first blog from a year ago, which is under the Blog Archive for 2007.

Sometimes I ask myself: “Kat, Why after a year are you still doing this? Why Kat??? Tell me why!!! (Geez, I guess I have a lot of inner turmoil.) Should you really be spending your time with your butt at a computer…when you should be running that butt down a winding lane...or moving that butt around the house, cleaning up the joint? Plus, who the heck is even reading your blogs? Maybe if you got yourself some more relatives…you would have a few more readers."

One year is a good benchmark…a good time to sit back and reflect on the 200+ blogs I have written, and think about whether I should continue this blogging thing…

After careful consideration, I have reached an answer to my own question. I ask that you read the following little ditty to the Paul McCartney song, “Silly Love Songs.” And if you aren’t familiar with the tune…Get familiar already.

You think that people would have had enough of silly bloggers
I look around me and I see, it could be so.
Some people wanna fill the world with silly musings
And what’s wrong with that?
I’d like to know, ‘cause here I go….AGAIN!
I’ll Blog On, I’ll Blog On.

That…as weird as it sounds…is my answer.

My Complete Favorite

As far as movies go….my favorites are the oldies….especially the ones I watched as a kid. The Wizard of Oz with those flying monkeys and Munchkinland was genius. My all time favorite is “The Sound of Music” and the sound of the music. Okay, I’m redundant. These movies were extra special because they were run on TV once a year. Not like today, when parents can pop in a movie anytime, to get a little peace and quiet.

When our kids were little, I bought Disney videos….like every parent in America. Heck, if I didn’t, I would have been accused of child neglect. So we ended up with quite an extensive library… Little Mermaid, Snow White, Aladdin, Toy Story, Beauty and the Beast… on and on. I used them like every parent in America…to get a little peace and quiet.

In all my 100 years of living, there has been only one movie I have purchased for myself. And that is Jerry Maguire. I never cared much for Tom Cruise before…but I loved him in this movie. But now he’s off my list, especially after his ape routine on Oprah’s couch. Sorry Tommy.

For some reason Jerry Maguire just hit me….hard…and in a good way. I am a sucker for the love and devotion theme. I loved it when Renee Zellweger’s Dorothy stood by her man, no matter the cost and the sweet, lovable relationship Cuba “Show-Me-the-Money” Gooding’s character had with his wife.

Granted, there is some very corny stuff in that film. Especially the line “You had me at Hello.” Well, “Hello”….that is so corny. If PaulA said to me… “Kat, you had me at hello.”…I would laugh my ass off. But if PaulA said to me, “Kat, you…complete me.”

….I would melt like butta. Okay, I'm also a sucker for the corny stuff.

Never Forget

I remember September 11th seven years ago…it was the most beautiful September day. The sky was an amazing blue, the sun was warm, and no clouds were to be seen. The morning had an autumn feel….the temperature was cool and the air was crisp. I remember the feeling of being so alive. It didn’t seem possible that on that day, the most horrendous disaster could occur.

Today marks the seventh anniversary of the September 11th attacks and we remember all who lost their lives that day. We remember the 2,974 innocent men, women and children who were going about their daily lives that beautiful September morning…to have it all suddenly taken away. We remember the heroes that sacrificed their lives to save others. We honor the firefighters, the police, and emergency workers who worked to save lives. We extend our thoughts and prayers to the families and friends of those who were lost. We honor the men and women in the Armed Forces who work to protect our freedom.

However you decide to commemorate September 11th is your choice. Whether a special ceremony, moment of silence, prayer, or flag flown…it’s your personal choice. We are fortunate to live in a country where we have the freedom of personal choice.

Just remember….Never forget

On My Case

I swear Duncandog is an agent for the FBI and his assignment…Follow that Kat. I’m not sure what the FBI has on me, but they’ve got Duncandog on my case…24/7. I don’t know Duncan's official agent name, but I have one for him… “Agent Pain-in-the-Ass.”

The FBI has done a good job of training Agent Pain-in-the-Ass to follow my every move. I can’t take a step without him jumping up to check my whereabouts. He could be in the middle of a nap…and as soon as I make a move, his head pops up… “Not so fast, Kat. Where do ya think you’re going?”

If I take the trash out to the garage…he has to follow me. If I get the mail…he has to follow me. If I go to the bathroom…he gets the door slammed in his face. The only peace I have from Agent Pain-in-the-ass is when I go upstairs…because we put an invisible fence in the house when he was a puppy. He can't go upstairs without receiving a neck jolt.

I always try to outsmart him. I carry my shoes and tip toe through the house…quietly trying to get out the door. But it never fails, his nose is always on the job. What freaks me out the most is when I look up and see him standing there…staring me down…waiting for me to make a move. What’s worse is when I catch him watching me…from around the corner.

I’m not exactly sure when the FBI recruited him, but this recon mission has gone on long enough. You think at his age he would have slowed down. They ought to throw Agent Pain-in-the-Ass a bone for being the most persistent, attentive, agent ever. Other agents could learn a thing or two from him.

So here I am upstairs in my house…hiding from Agent Pain-in-the-Ass. Okay, FBI….you win. I give up….What do you have on me????

EmbarrASSing

Do you have an embarrassing story? You bet you do…everyone has at least one. But usually is it embarrassing for one person. My embarrassing story is embarrASSing for 3 of us.

PaulA and I were visiting my sister, SisterSledge, and her husband Daryl, Daryl and Daryl (to the third power.) Not three husbands silly, just one. Anyway, it was a gorgeous summer evening in Vermont, so we decided to visit an outside establishment (okay, an outside bar) on Lake Champlain to have some cocktails and watch the sunset over the Adirondack Mountains. Maybe we would see “Champ” …the Lockness Monster that has been sighted in Lake Champlain (you just know some Vermonter is laughing his ass off over that story he invented.)

The bar was a popular place during sunsets in the summer and this evening was no exception…all the tables were taken. Except one round white plastic table set off to the side. There were no chairs with it, but we figured we could scrounge 4 chairs. We decided to move the table. After all, the table was plastic so it wasn’t heavy.

So Sistersledge, Daryl to the third power, and I (Luckily for PaulA…he was in the bathroom) each grabbed the table, lifted it and carried it through the bar… “excuse us, so sorry, excuse us, pardon us.” After causing much commotion, we got the table to the middle of the bar and agreed it was the perfect place. The three of us let go of the table at the same time, and it crashed to the ground. Unbeknownst to us...we had carried a light-wieght plastic table top through the entire bar...sans legs.

After we dropped it, everyone started laughing. I am telling you…EVERYONE who saw us, was laughing. There wasn’t a rock big enough for the 3 of us to crawl under.

The only good part of embarrASSing yourself in front of 100 total strangers…You never have to see these people again.

Say It Ain't So...Sarah

I am not going to preach my politics, besides that is what they are…mine. Although some people turn into preachers during election time. Also, who wants to know the views of a hacker blogger housewife, but I am intrigued by McCain’s choice for VP.

I don’t really know much about Sarah Palin other than what I saw during her feisty speech …or sarcastic speech (depending on what side of the aisle you sit) during the RNC. Some have questioned her ability. Some have questioned her experience. One thing I don’t question...her ability as a woman.

I don’t doubt that because Palin is a woman, she is not “man” enough for the job. I don’t doubt that she can’t have it all…a job and a family. Although the Vice President of the United States, isn’t just any job. But I do have one question for Sarah Palin......

“Sarah, how will you do that?” My question is more of logistics. "How will you be a mother of 5 children….including a special needs baby, and a pregnant 17 year old…and juggle all that it brings with the responsibilities of the VP office and appointments with national and international leaders."

You see, I am just curious…not judgmental. I only had 3 kids and none of them had special needs, although they seemed quite needy at the time. Especially when all three fire alarms were going off at the same time, and I didn’t know which way to turn.

Then again…Sarah Palin might just be able to handle it all. Say it ain’t so, Sarah. Now thanks to Palin…I feel so inept. I’m hoping the answer to my question is…she has lots of help. Because if she doesn’t…this Kat is one lazy ass.

Fishercops

Riding on Highway 495, we passed a cop who caught a big one. He had pulled over a black BMW 700 series with tinted windows. Now that’s a big catch. I’m sure that cop did a lot of bragging down at HQ. He probably exaggerated like the other fishercops…. “Yep, got a big one today. That rascal tried to get away, but I put the pedal to the metal and reeled him in. He has to be at least 2 tons of steel.”

Today the fishercops were out…fishing for black cars. Further down 495, there was a black Cadillac and a black Honda Accord pulled over. Tomorrow it could be red car fishing day. (Chelsea beware.)

I got to thinking…I have never seen a green car pulled over. I don’t know if that is because people don’t buy green cars. Maybe people buy fewer green cars, hence (love that word) the percentage is smaller. Maybe green car owners don’t exceed the speed limit because they are “greenies” and want to be good to the environment. I own a white car and every 3 or 4 months, when I decide to wash it…it looks spanking nice. A fishercop might want to catch me…especially on white car fishing day.

After careful analysis of fishercop tendencies, I think my next car should be a green one. I don’t think fishercops have even established a green car fishing day. Cops probably don’t like pulling them over because it reminds them of their loved one’s green eyes, or the pea soup they got sick on.

Yep, when my white car goes…it’s green for me.

Firsts and Lasts

Summer is over and school has started for Brianna. Yesterday was our last child’s first day of her last year of high school. Wow, that’s a lot of first and lasts…which is what I think of when I think back over our kid’s school years.

I think back to Chelsea…our first child’s first day of her first day of school. Chelsea in a little navy blue sailor dress and big white bow. How she danced around the bus stop and when the bus came, jumped on and happily waved “goodbye.” How PaulA had to console me walking back to the house.

I think back to Colin…his first day of his first year of an all boy’s high school. Colinboy dressed in a navy blue jacket and tie. Dropping him off at school, wondering how my little man was doing, and counting the hours before I could pick him up.

I think back to yesterday, Brianna…her first day of her last year of high school. Sweet Wishy in her pretty pink dress and tiara (high school tradition.) How happy, confident and eager she was to get to school as she jumped in the Ford Escape she decorated. And how desperately I want to slow down the days…before it’s her last day of her last year of high school.

First, all three were ready….ready to head out, leave their “nest” and do their thing….

And last, their mom…not quite ready……..still.

Motor Must

The other day I saw two youngsters driving around their yard in one of those motorized cars that runs on rechargeable battery power. I felt guilty watching them enjoy their little car. You see…my kids really wanted one…back in the day.

For some reason, we felt strongly against the motorized car. We thought it seemed so decadent. Besides, what was wrong with the Little Tikes Fred Flintstone mobile that ran on leg power that we bought them? But the three of them really wanted it…had to have it. Unfortunately, all the PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE, in the world never worked. They had to live their life… empty, void…without one.

Advance fifteen years….they survived. They learned to drive and got their Driver’s Licenses. We even let them drive a real motorized car…a Ford Escape…which they have all used and abused. Chelsea ran it into a telephone pole and both Chels and Col have left the sun roof open during torrential rainstorms. Colin trashes it with band equipment and runs it through the mud. Bri uses it as a second closet for clothes, paper and water bottles.

The thing they all have in common with the car is leaving it on “E.” Never fails…I get in the car and it barely starts. I’m not sure, but maybe they think a gas fairy is going to “SHAZAM” fill their tank for them….Wait, I guess that’s me.

Now I’m thinking, maybe we should have gotten them the motorized car they begged for. They are using the Escape just like the Little Tikes car...that they left out in the rain ….crashed into stuff…ran through the mud, left juice boxes in.......

And never fueled. They didn’t have to it….because their parents never got them a motorized car that ran on rechargeable battery power.

I’m catching on…..Maybe this is their payback time.

Labor Day

It’s Labor Day….the last blast of summer. Time for a cookout. What is Labor Day without burgers and hot dogs, the all-American meal for an all-American holiday? Actually, I remember a particular Labor Day with a pig. I’m not talking about anyone in particular… I am talking about a big ass pig with pig ears, 4 pig’s feet and a squiggly tail.

Back in the day when we were young, we lived in a great neighborhood….basically a neighborhood of young families doing the same things. Any chance we could….we would all get together for a party and Labor Day was no exception. One year we decided to roast a pig. Not sure whose idea that one was, but I know it wasn’t mine. I wasn’t particularly excited about seeing a whole pig with an apple in his mouth, rotating and roasting over an open fire pit for 12 hours. I think a few of the neighborhood kids needed psychological counseling after that day.

Our neighbor friend Louie had picked up the pig the night before (not in a bar, smart ass) and needed a place to keep it….so he put it in his bath tub. Might sound crazy, but it wasn’t like he was taking a bath with it. Louie did end up getting intimate with piggly wiggly… when he slipped and fell trying to lift it out of the tub. Louie landed right on top of his fat friend. Again, a few more kids needed psychological counseling after witnessing that encounter.

Have a great Labor Day. Go hog wild and enjoy the last day of summer!