Boogers Bug-her

While driving in the car, D3, buckled in her lounge recliner/car seat, suddenly shouted, "Mom!"

It is a little odd to me that someone so young calls me by that name. Even D2 and D1 still call my "Momma" and "Mommy". I am fairly certain that "Mom" is something your children call you when they become arrogant teenagers. Not when they turn two and start to talk.

Since I was driving and focused intently on the snowy winter roads, I ignored the salutation.

"Mom!" she shouted again - very distinctly. I continued to drive.

"Mom! she burst with even more gusto.

"What, Sweetie?" I finally replied.

"Here! Hold this for me," she demanded.

Musing to myself at her unusually mature speech, I briefly glanced over my shoulder to see what she needed to me hold. However, I declined taking the little "gem" she had pulled from inside her nose that was perched at the tip of her finger.

It's Official: I'm a Dealer

Politically speaking I am more of a Republican than anything. However, I'm not as Republican as some since I actually do care about the environment. And I'm not a huge NRA activist. In fact, while I understand the right to bear arms was a fundamental liberty once-upon-a-time, I am not so fond of guns or their accouterments. I don't care to see, touch or hear them.

So you might be able to imagine my surprise when my father-in-law brought an old circa 1965 US military ammunition box to my home for Sunday dinner. But, as is typical for George, the surprises did not stop there.

"Hey, Deb," he called out as he was leaving for the evening, "Can you give that ammo box to Steve at work on Monday."

I like my brother-in-law (aka my co-worker) Steve and am happy to facilitate family errands, so naturally I replied, "Of course."

"Your employer shouldn't mind too much, right," he stated more than asked.

"I don't think Security is going to stop me over an ammo box," I said, suddenly doubting it myself, "It's not like there is really ammunition in there."

George looked at me in silence.

"There isn't ammunition in that box. Is there?" I asked.

"Well sure, some," he admitted, and then turned around and walked out my front door.

I am not experienced in dealing arms. So the next day I called my brother-in-law at work from a phone in an empty conference room. I asked him to meet me at my car, because I had a very important package for him.

Is that how you deal in contraband? Hope so.

Why I Can't Buy Oreos

I bought a package of Oreos yesterday. Such a vacuum of nutrition is a rare treat for our family. They were supposed to be for S1's and D1's sack lunches. (S2 and D2 eat school lunch which is delivered from various local restaurants and the menu sounds so good I wish I could dine in their cafeteria.)

Yesterday after everyone left for school (except D3, of course) at approximately 8:43 AM I purchased the package containing 36 chocolate sandwich cookies. It was not opened until sometime yesterday afternoon when the wolves children came home from school. Today at 4:18 it was completely empty. That is only part of the problem.

The real problem is the fighting discussion that ensued:

S1: Who ate all the Oreos?

D1, S2, and D2 (in perfect unison): Not me!

D1: I only had four. (And then belatedly...) Not counting the three in my lunch today.

S1 (shouting overly defensively): I had none until this afternoon. I didn't even know we had them until today! How come no one told me?

D2: But how many did you eat S2?

S2: How many did you eat? You probably ate them all.

D2: Nuh uh.

S2: You and your friends - I bet you ate a ton.

D2: We did not. We did not eat hardly any. Probably only sixteen.

S1, D1 and S2 (simultaneously): Sixteen!!!

D2: Um, not really. I mean like six or three. Hardly any.

Sing, Sing a Song Part Two

Vacations at Grandma and Grandpa's house in California were a life of luxury!

My sisters and I would use the nutrition facts on the side of the cold cereal box and carefully calculate to make sure we ate enough bowls of the munchy, crunchy, milk soaked grains to equal 100% of all our daily vitamins and minerals. We would not leave the breakfast table until we all completed the goal. There was no reason to load up as such at the morning meal, we just did it because of our love for the frosty flakes and because Grandma didn't care at all.

Then we would leave our grandparent's large, spacious, air-conditioned, custom home to sit in the RV parked on the RV pad. There we would sit for hours playing Uno and eating Pringles. And once again, we were shocked, because Grandma didn't care one bit! You'd think she or Mom would miss us, being out there all day, away from their side, but they seemed to handle our absence surprisingly well.

Sadly, vacations don't last forever. And it is a scientifically proven fact that while traveling to California in the rear of a station wagon takes forever and a day, traveling back home to Iowa takes even longer.

But not to disappoint anyone, on the way home, my sisters and I would create even more original numbers. This was an all-time favorite:

Oh, I wouldn't live up North it's way too cold,
Wouldn't live down South it's way too hot,
Wouldn't live our East it's just not right,
Wouldn't live out West it's not my type.
So I'll just stick in the middle of the U. S.,
Just stick in the middle of the U. S.,
All ---- My ---- Life because
I wouldn't live up north it's way too cold...

{Repeat until you hyperventilate}

I really wish I could sing these for you all, but come to our next family reunion and my siblings and I will gladly perform them in person.

Sing, Sing a Song, Make it Simple To Last Your Whole Life Long Part One

Vacations provide families with fond memories, photo album pictures, and souvenirs. My friends' parents would take them skiing at resorts in Colorado, or swimming along the sandy beaches of Florida, or even sight seeing across Europe. Their vacations always involved powdery snow in the mountains, or palm trees and hammocks by the ocean, or world famous museums and landmarks. My vacations were just as thrilling since my parents took me to a relative's house where I didn't have to do gardening chores for an entire week.

My parents did not believe in hotels. Ever. Which is why our vacations always involved a close relative. Or a distant relative. Or close friend of the family. Or a not-so-close friend of the family. Or friend of a friend of the family.

Since hotels were out of the question, instead of stopping to rest along the way, my parents would drive 30 hours straight across the United States until they reached our destination. One parent slept while the other drove. Every four to six hours they would trade off. In this manner we left Iowa to drive across Nebraska, then Wyoming, then Utah, then Nevada...

In order to pass the monotonous stretch, my sisters and I sat in the back of the station wagon singing songs. After countless hours of singing every song we knew numerous times, we would eventually make up songs. One such original ditty went as follows (complete with actions):

Oh, I'm broken up to here, (put your hand on your forehead)

I fell apart last year, (droop your head and shoulders)

I'm so mad, (look angry)

The people are so glad, (smile broadly)

'cause I'm broken up to here, (put your hand on your forehead)

I fell apart last year, (droop your head and shoulders)

I'm so mad, (look angry)

The people are so glad, (smile broadly)

'cause I'm broken up to here... (put your hand on your forehead)

And so it continued. For eternity. Or at least until we reached Grandma and Grandpa's house in California.

Checkin’ Out DH

On Monday evenings we generally try to spend the evening as a family. Yesterday evening after dinner, I was temporarily delayed so S1-D3 proceeded downstairs with DH, who was in charge of family time. I joined them about ten minutes later, curious to see what DH had cooked up to entertain the children. Imagine my surprise, when upon entering the family room, all the eyes of my impressionable children were focused silently on the television, fully engrossed in World Series of Poker on ESPN. In case you are wondering what the big deal is, this was not at all what I would consider an appropriate family time activity. And DH knows that.

I quickly suspended the television power, and we redirected ourselves by playing Apples to Apples. If you are unfamiliar with this game, it is more family-oriented than poker as no gambling is involved. But more importantly, it can be played by anyone ages 7 to 70 without much adaptation (my favorite feature) and is over, as in start to finish, in about 15 minutes (DH’s favorite feature).

The game unfolds when, in an effort to secure the coveted green adjective cards, one red noun card is played per player, per round, in a hope that it will be chosen by whoever is “it” as the best match. At the end of the game, we each read the green adjective cards we accumulated, as they are supposed to provide insight into our personalities. DH won our game and as such had gathered five green cards. According to the game tradition, these cards indicated that DH was tall, skinny, hard, dangerous, and wonderful.

If you do not know DH personally, you may be wondering, if this accurately describes him, so let me help you out. Is DH tall? He is 6 foot 3 inches. Check. Skinny? In 1989 he used to weigh 185 pounds, so check. Hard? When we were dating he had bulging bicep muscles and a flat stomach, but now….Well, if hard-headed counts, then for sure, check. Is DH dangerous? He likes risk, which is why he drives fast, skis, scuba dives, and swims in rivers. All things a safe person like me disdains. Definitely check. And if you add all that up, somehow someone like me finds him to be completely wonderful, even though he watches poker with the children. So big check!