A conversation

My conversation with Reagan after I took the trash out last night.

"Honey, who is daddy talking to?"

"Dob Bordan."

"Who?"

"Dob Bordan."

"Bob Dornan?"

"Yes!"

"Is he talking to the television?"

"No. He's on the phone."

"Wha...?"

Then husband comes bounding down the stairs.

"Guess who I was on the phone with?

"Um, Bob Dornan?

"No. His daughter-in-law."


Well, sure. Because that makes so much more sense.

If...

you are less than 5 feet tall and as graceful as a cow in stiletto heels don't think that you possess the ability to balance on the footboard of your daughter's bed and reach waaaay out to adjust the tab-top curtains.

You don't.


Straddling the footboard on your way down will hurt.


A lot.


As will the laundry basket breaking your fall.


Is it too early for a drink?

What's wrong with our country

I had an epiphany a few days ago.

Well, maybe not actually an epiphany because it is really no secret that our nation is way too obsessed with celebrities.

I guess it was more of a sad realization that even "small town USA" buys into the hype about how great the celebrity du jour is.

As we were approaching my hometown I saw the welcome sign in the distance. Just as I was getting that warm-fuzzy feeling of being back in the area that housed the memories of my childhood I was smacked with a new harsh reality. There was a new sign.

It proudly proclaimed "Welcome to Kennett." That part didn't bother me. It was the second line.

"Home Town of Sheryl Crow."

This is all my little hometown has to be proud of!?

They had replaced "Service Industry Agriculture" with a pop star!

I could have understood if there had been a small sign added proclaiming that the musician had been reared in the sleepy town, but to replace the town's livelihood with one former resident was just sad. Okay, so her parents and a brother still live there.

Seriously. I had tears in my eyes.

Kennett is home to the men and women of the 1137th MP company of the Missouri National Guard. They have been activated and deployed numerous times over the past decade or so. But, I guess that is not worthy of mention.

It is home to C.P. Bridges, recipient of two Purple Hearts and numerous other medals while serving as a gunner on the ACH-47. And, Larry Pritchard who lost a leg while serving his country in Vietnam along with many other men from the town.

It is also home to several World War II veterans like Herman Bone, recipient of five Bronze Stars, two Purple Hearts and a Silver Star. One of seven of his 141-man company which stormed the beach at Normandy on D-Day who lived to see the next day.

But, I guess that's nothing compared to winning 9 Grammy Awards.

They say "you can never go home again."

I don't know who they are, but with skewed adoration like that who really wants to?

I'm only 34

So, why do I feel 84?

Friday was my 34th birthday. It was spent in the Tahoe, after getting up at the crack of dawn, covering nearly 850 miles with my speed-limits-be-damned husband at the wheel in torrential downpours with a migraine and bad coffee.

Woo-hoo! I can hardly wait to see what birthday number 35 will bring.

It wasn't all bad. Husband and the girls gave me an autographed copy of Buzz Patterson's Reckless Disregard before we left on our trip and a copy of General Tommy Franks' new book on I-40 somewhere in Tennessee on our way home. After we got home husband somehow managed to sneak in one more surprise while unloading the truck.

He asked me to look out the window and make sure the flagpole light was on. My smart-assed response was almost "you were out there for 20 minutes unloading didn't you notice." But, because my head hurt so badly I couldn't find my inherent bitchiness.

Good thing, too. Hanging under the American flag was a beautiful new Penn State flag.

I am on day number 4 - or is it 5? - of this migraine so my rants from our trip will have to wait for another day.

I am convinced

that testosterone is directly linked to hearing loss.

Either that or husband thinks I am completely stupid.

I am not buying that he can be responsible for nearly 1100 airmen and millions of dollars worth of aircraft, yet can't figure out when both girls are whining about needed a myriad of things (wipes, help opening the trash can, panties, milk, a napkin) while I am up to my elbows in pancake batter that I could use a little help!!

Grrrr....

Not enough Vicks Vapor Rub on the planet

So, late this morning I walked into the girl's study/play room to measure for the umpteenth time their window so I could order a shade. It gets blazing hot in there in the afternoon thanks to the afternoon sun. When I opened the door I thought it smelled a little foul. By the time I got over by the window I was about to gag from the horrid stench!

But, I had to figure out where the smell was coming from. It was especially strong near the area were the two Rubbermaid totes holding their stuffed animals and blankets were.

Oh goodness. What have they done!?

I picked up a stuffed animal and sniffed it.

Okay. Clearly there is something in the totes that reeks.

Before continuing on, I decided to dab some Vicks Vapor Rub under my nose. I don't stomach putrid smells very well normally. The migraine I've had since Sunday, though a mild one certainly made it worse.

I started sorting through the two totes and everything in both of them reeked to the high Heavens.

And I dabbed on a little more Vicks.

Then I found the offending items. Two sippy cups with rotting milk that was leaking out.

A mad dash to the bathroom for some gagging and a big glob of Vicks.

Then downstairs for gloves, a trash bag and the super-sized bottle of bleach.

everything plastic and all baby and Barbie dolls went into a tub with scalding hot water and much bleach.

Oddly enough, the hair on "pretty brown baby dolls" does not bleach. Huh. I thought sure they would come out with really bad bleach jobs.

Cardboard books - thankfully only 3 - into the trash along with the offensive cups.

The stuffed animals and blankets got washed.

Twice. Just to be on the safe side.

The two totes got a nice dousing of hot water and bleach themselves.

Twice.

Then it hit me. I don't normally give the girls sippy cups. They are big girls now. So, unless we are going somewhere they drink out of cups sans lids.

Ewww... that meant the milk must have been from Sunday when husband was in control because I was trying to get the migraine under control with a hefty does of Fiornal and Phenergan.

Just thinking about it makes me want to dab some more Vicks under my nose.

A penny... er, a dollar for your thoughts

This whole DC on heightened alert thing is going to be the death of me.

Earlier today fighter jets screamed overhead so low that they rattled the windows in the house. Now, being an Air Force wife this wouldn't normally bother except we don't live on base and the closest base to us that has fighters is about 140 miles away. We are also in the flight path of one of the DC area's airports, but often can't hear the aircraft in the flight path. Logic told me that they were probably just on some training mission, but my paranoia nearly caused me to wet myself.

Then several minutes later, we had a power outage. I was convinced we were doomed!

After listening to the radio in the garage - the only one in the house with batteries - and hearing no alarming news, I decided it would be a good time to go to Costco.

Because when your nerves are on edge you need to do something as calming as going to Costco. And, I think I am now certifiable!

So, things are going smoothly in Costco. Then I hear this blood-curdling scream coming from the next aisle over.

And it continues, now with words thrown in "Mooommmy! I want out!" "I want to walk!"

It continues as the screamer - who appears to be about 4 - his mom and little brother round the corner heading our way. This woman is completely oblivious to this child. Apparently she subscribes to the belief if you ignore the bad behavior it will stop. So, she is just chatting away with her friend who also has two children in tow - one of which is in tears but not hysterics like the hell child.

The screaming continues while the hell child flails back and forth in the stroller he is sharing with his brother. The mother appears to have a hard time keeping the stroller from tipping over, but still has the child on ignore.

I was beginning to wonder if she was wearing ear plugs. But, she was having no problem carrying on the conversation with the friend.

Two more aisles and the screaming still continues.

Then McKinley says "Momma, that boy needs to stop that screaming because he is making my head hurt."

An older couple was walking toward us and the gentleman could not contain his laughter. He walked right up to our cart, patted McKinley on the hand and said. "You are so right little lady. Thank you for saying what the rest of us couldn't."

She just smiled at him as he caught up to his wife.

Another aisle and the screaming continued. Fortunately we had finally put some distance between us and the screamer. We were debating cereal when the couple approached us again. When McKinley saw the man again she told him "He is still making my head hurt."

None of us could contain our laughter at that point.

Then he asked the girls if we had an ice cream man in the neighborhood. McKinley went on to give him a complete description of the color of the truck, the items painted on the side and the tunes it played. She's a talker!

Then he asked me if it would be okay if he gave them each a dollar for the ice cream man. He winked at me and said "You know, a penny for your thoughts. And that was definitely a couple dollars worth."