It's a Christmas Miracle

My husband is, as we speak, putting on a new toilet seat. This is the miracle. Because I bought the thing nearly three years ago when one of the feet on the inside of the lid of the old toilet seat disappeared, so you can't sit on the closed toilet seat without feeling like you're about to fall over into the sink, but the new one has been sitting there, in its box, since I got it. First it sat in the hallway outside the Hubs' office room, and then, tidying up, probably for Christmas Eve two years ago, I put it into the bathroom, against the wall next to the toilet. And there it sat, collecting dust. When I was cleaning the bathroom just before -- it is Christmas, after all -- I asked him if he might possibly change the seat today, and he said brightly "You know? I was just thinking about doing that!"

Omigod. Men.

(I can't do it myself, btw, because I no longer have the hand strength to unscrew the plastic bolt that holds it there, and didn't even when I bought the new seat.)

One of the odd things about Christmas Eve dinner is that even though we make the whole thing and eat it here (unlike Thanksgiving), is that it's much less work all the way around. It's just a much easier meal, I guess. The Hubs will have to take out the table later, but he can even wait for the SnL to help him, since he'll be here by five. Last year after dinner, the two of them put it away in a flash. Ahhh. Mothers who have only sons may perhaps dream of a daughter in law to go shopping with, or like that. Mothers of daughters dream of someone who can help their husbands lift heavy objects and therefore avoid untimely death.

There's not much I need to do at this point. K is making a squash sauce for one of the two pasta dishes, and when she's done, I'll make the pie. (I got strawberry pie filling. Actually, if strawberries were in season, I could make this filling easy, because I used to make strawberry pies years ago and it's not that labor-intensive to make.) Anyway, so I need to make the pie, and then there's not much more I can do until later. I've got the tablecloth and napkins in the dryer, not that I didn't wash them last year, but then I left them in the basement, so a freshening up was in order. This year, I'll put them away in a drawer in the living room with the other Christmas stuff. And maybe by next year I'll have a real table that doesn't have to be folded up and stuff, and I'll even invite the new ILs, which is to say, R's new ILs, which is to say the machetunim.

Oh, okay, when I left school yesterday, before I went to the supermarket, I made a quick run to the smaller, emptier Macy's in Paramus:

I don't have a firm plan yet, but I knew it was the red that attracted me, so I started with these few pieces: two pasta bowl sets (since we serve two pastas on Christmas Eve) and a smaller serving bowl, which I'm going to use for garlic bread. (I know it's small for bread, but ain't it pretty?) And the whole thing will look nice on the table with my red napkins and white Corel. Hmm, must remember to gather some mugs beforehand. (I have no coffee cups, just assorted mugs hanging on a rack. I'm going to get Fiesta coffee cups and dessert sets, though, probably in rainbow colors. Remind me to write about my mother's dessert sets, which my sister has now, which is fine.)

Okay, so. My stomach is good today, I don't have my knee brace on since I'm not even leaving the house. Dinner and gifts tonight with our newly expanded nuclear family.

Merry Christmas to all who do that sort of thing, and the most peaceful of days to all.

January Already?

Ah yes, it's January already. Yesterday the Wii Fit told me that my "Fit Age" was 56, on year older than I am, but actually it was only 11 days older than I was yesterday. Time makes fools of us all.

Rolling right along, I spent some time with the Chum today, who repaired my broken Mickey Mouse statue -- I can't find the entry where I wrote that it was broken -- more or less; it would have been perfect but I smeared the glue a little and now his chest his glue-shiny instead of matte like the rest of home. But I have him in a better place now where I can see him everyday, but not close enough to see the glue, and I'm hardly planning to sell him, so all is okay. And if I want, I can put him on the living room shelf next to the Lladro shepherd my mother glued the head back onto 35 years ago.

So here's my idiot move of the day, or more precisely, my noticing the idiot move I made on Christmas. I bought a Sigg metal water bottle each for my niece and nephew (Hubs' side) and my Chum. I put each one in a gift bag, same size, but matching patterns for the kids and a different one for the Chum. (Or not, as it turns out.) I added an amusing datebook to the Chum's bag, and a $100 AmEx gift card to each of the kids'. Gave the kids their gifts on Christmas. Gave the Chum hers today. She pulled out the water bottle, raved, I said "There's something else in there" and she pulled out a $100 gift card. OOOPS! I wonder which of the kids got stiffed? Anyway, I called my sister-in-law right away but had to leave a message; I want to send out the gift card in the mail tomorrow (the Chum knew it wasn't for her; we don't gift on that level) but I want the kid to know it's coming and which one to send it to. Oh me.

[This paragraph was removed by me.]

Technically, today was the last day of the Christmas break, since it's back to work on Monday, and school's closed every weekend, but I'm going to let that vacation vibe linger for another couple of days. I'm getting my nails done tomorrow and R is coming over Sunday, by which time we should know if her upcoming housing change is going to happen, or not. When I talked to her on the phone before, the boyfriend got on and thanked me again for the Barnes and Noble giftcard we gave him for Christmas and told me what he bought with it today. It was very cute.

I'm going to go have some leftover white pizza for dinner, and then I'll know for sure if that's what's got my stomach going or not. Sometimes you have to make the sacrifice for the sake of knowledge.


WATCHING FAMILY GUY :: ENTRY #1953
READING: Jonathan Strange & Mr. Norell by Susanna Clarke

Husbands Is the Cwaziest People

I did not make much progress on the kitchen yesterday, other than to wash out the containers I got for pasta and rice and stuff, but I mentioned to the Hubs that I was planning to clean out the one cabinet we keep food in -- it's very high and inconvenient -- as well as a set of shelves next to the fridge where we keep most of the non-perishables. He said something about going through the spices in the cabinet, and looking for anything else he might have bought at some time and seeing if he still needed it.

At this point, my spices look like a picture in a magazine of a perfect kitchen, and the two cabinet shelves above them are practically empty. Not only did he get rid of anything expired or unused, he emptied it properly, into the compost when appropriate, and put all the boxes or cans or bottles in recycling. Now he's got a football game on the little kitchen TV and is going after the set of shelves.

I know you think now that I have some sort of perfect husband, but let me remind you, this is the same I guy I asked to replace the toilet seat over a year ago, and the new one, in its package, is leaning against the wall next to the doorway to his little study. The CFL bulbs I bought to fit into the fixture in the bedroom ceiling, which I can't reach, are still in their package on the dresser. Why is he going through the kitchen stuff? I suppose it appeals to his sense of order. Which is all wonderful, until I sit down on the toilet one day and the old seat slides off on the side by the almost-broken hinge. On the other hand, all the leaves are raked up out front, which is also good.

I finished the Supreme Court book, very good. I never read The Brethren, so I can't compare. Now I'm reading the cat-in-the-library book, so, quite the change.

Yesterday morning after my haircut and errands, I started setting up the Wii Fit. A very intriguing device. I think what it is is actually a biofeedback device disguised as a game, which is not a bad idea. Anyway, so it did the evaluation of me -- I'm overweight, who could have guessed -- and then the funniest thing happened. If you are a Wii person, then you know that the characters who are playing the games on screen as you move them around are little avatars, cartoon people that you design, usually to look like yourself, called Miis. (One of them is a Mii.) My Mii has shortish hair, green eyes, glasses, a crooked smile, and a blue shirt, since I generally wear denim. I had the sense to change the body style to a little fuller when I originally created it. But when the Wii Fit finished my evaluation, all of a sudden, my little Mii changed to match, and there I am, not so much fat, but a lot bigger than I was before. It was pretty funny, I thought, although I shudder to think what the Mii would look like if the thing had gotten my real weight, instead of the scale-on-a-carpet distorted result.

My little house, which I have always jokingly referred to as The Mouse House -- ironic now, isn't it? -- is cluttered. Most of the piles of stuff, which my mother and sister have always called "our mountains" are out of sight, but the fact is that there is just not a lot of free space here. It's not uncommon that when I'm Wii bowling, for example, my swing will knock magazines off the coffee table, or more likely, my wrist into a corner of my desk. But there were literally only two Wii Fit activities I could do without moving something. So I had to move the loveseat back a few inches, which makes the room look a little off balance, but it's not like anyone's coming here, and if anyone is, it's likely to be one of the girls' friends who's here to play Guitar Hero, and so needs the space.

K is a little under the weather, which makes her alternate between bouts of cranky and super sweet. It's like never knowing who's going to walk into the room next. Once again, I refer you to the most realistic cartoon character of all time:



It's nearly five o'clock and essentially dark, so I feel like it's seven. We've been having very gray weather lately, sometimes with rain and sometimes not, but very little sun. It's depressing, I don't have to tell you.

I'm a little hungry, but not going into the kitchen while the Hubs is still working there. The little kaboomster did not fall far from the daddy kaboomster tree.


WATCHING SNL (from last night) :: ENTRY #1911
READING: Dewey by Vicky Myron

The Difference

I won't go so far as to to say that this is the difference between men and women -- I'll tell you why in a minute -- but this may be one of the essential differences between the Man and the Woman in this house.

R was due in from Mexico yesterday. She had a very long layover in Charlotte, during which time I talked to her twice. I asked her to call me when she arrived in Newark and was with the driver I asked her to get, and again when she was in her apartment. I should point out that I was not stressed or crazy at any point during her trip, although two months ago, I would have been a wreck every day. Anyway, when the Hubs went to bed, I told him that if he heard a late night phone ring, it would be R calling to tell me she was home. He nodded -- maybe -- but said nothing, because in his world, this is a statement and does not require a response. O.Kay.

I got her calls on schedule and fell asleep immediately. Somewhere in my head I thought that first thing in the morning I would email the Hubs and work and his parents so everyone knew the kid was in. Of course, I woke up this morning and completely forgot to do that.

I went out and did some stuff and came home to a phone message from the FIL just asking nicely if she had gotten in all right. I called them back right away, but got a busy signal. And then I forgot about it until a few hours later, on the way to Target with K, I suddenly said "Oh! I didn't call Gramps back!" and she called him and left a message. Later when we were home, I called them again to make sure they had gotten the message and knew she was in etc. etc. and all was well there.

The Hubs got home from work around six. I said, "Oh, R called around midnight last night; she got in fine." He said "I figured I would have heard if it were otherwise."

Well ... yeah. If I hadn't gotten a phone call and couldn't reach her, you can be sure my screams would have awakened him at some point. But he could always go to sleep when the kids were out, or flying, or driving to Canada, or whatever. He trusts that he will hear if it is otherwise. I, however, NEED TO KNOW.

And it's not a gender thing because clearly, his father also needs to know. My parents too would have needed to know. Even the Hubs' sister, someone I always thought was the most laid back person on earth, recently told me that she can't sit still when her children travel (like me.) So I have to conclude that it's him.

I don't know ... is it better to be like that? Or is it just weird?

WATCHING TWO AND A HALF MEN :: ENTRY #1835
SUMMER BOOK #7: Salt by Mark Kurlansky

Just Hanging Out

It's the slow moving, quiet weekend I expected. Here's a look at the new tattoo from yesterday:



That's the back of my right leg.

No other news. I upgraded Quicken on the Mac yesterday, which is only interesting because as I was going out to get it, I said to the Hubs that I was going to the big computer store and did he want anything? And he said, yes, a digital camera. Now, for him, this is as if he had answered ... oh, I don't know, a steak and fries? (Vegan, remember.) Or as if he had said, yes, a pink tutu. In other words, 100% out of character. He does not use cameras, never has, even one that I got him for Christmas once many years ago at his request. I asked a little about what he wanted to do with it (take pictures on his long walks), so I picked one up for him, an inexpensive entry-level camera -- who knew G.E. made cameras? -- but with a decent zoom and a macro option. I put it on his desk when I got home, and he was surprised when he came in. He thought maybe I'd get it for him for Father's Day, so I said, Consider this Father's Day, then. Gah, he's so impossible to figure out.

Speaking of which, I've been trying to figure out Flickr and what do with it, and I just can't. I don't get it. But I am trying to switch over to using Photoshop Express online so that I can do without Photoshop Elements on the computer, and that's okay, except you can connect it to your Flickr account and I don't see the point, since the P.E. program gives you a site to store your pictures at. Maybe it's a summer project.

I should pay bills today, which would be simple because I've actually already got the checks done and it all just needs to be put in envelopes and stuff, but I'm not in the mood. Maybe later. I think it's nap time now.

WATCHING BEVERLY HILLBILLIES :: ENTRY #1762

Miles to Go

Not miles, maybe, but I still have to get my lunch and breakfast ready for tomorrow morning. I just got back from physical therapy and really, I am too old for this shit. I just feel a bit worn out, but it's not bad, really. Some of the exercises were very hard, but I was surprised at some of the ones I could do.

The Hubs did indeed order new glasses last night, and said he was surprised at how narrow the glasses are now, as in, so little actual glass in front of his eyes. Well, yeah, dear, no one else but you is still wearing aviators, and those suckers have lots of glass in them. He ordered progressives so he won't have to take off his glasses to read, so we'll see if he's willing to take the few days to get used to them or if he hurls them across the room after the first hour.

I woke up very, very tired, and have remained so all day, and hungry. How nice that tomorrow is the end of the work week here. On Friday, I have another day of people doing things to me (as I did on Monday), starting with the podiatrist, and then getting an eyebrow wax, and then -- I hope -- finally getting that other tattoo. This appointment is a little earlier -- 2.30 -- so with any luck, the artist won't be up to his elbows in someone else's huge work at that time.

Did I mention that I'm very happy with my new haircut? Perhaps I'll produce a photo, if I can. Most amazing of all is that I appear to be able to reproduce the style that I walked out of the salon with. Yes, I got the "product" he used -- but he used two, and refused to let me buy the more expensive one, said the other one would do me fine, and it has -- and a bigger hairbrush. I also replaced my blow dryer, which was on its last legs anyway. I guess this would look like short hair to most people, but since I've had very short hair before, it doesn't look that way to me. It looks like my last haircut, but without the bulk, and so far, without the frizz. I could not believe that it never puffed up at all yesterday, even though it rained all day. And when I put on a baseball cap to go out in the rain after school, I didn't get hat-head. Clearly, a magic haircut.

After lunch, two kids just came in to use the computers with a pass from ... K. This tickles the kids here no end, when they bring me a pass signed by "your daughter [giggle]" Or they love to tell me all day that they were just in a class and the substitute was "your daughter [giggle]." Sometimes they are fond of telling one or the other of us that she looks just like me, to which we always respond that they should see her sister, who is the one I have traditionally been told looks just like me. I don't believe either one of them does, but so it goes.

On a more serious note, a word about Senator Kennedy and his condition. In November, 1991, when my brain tumor was diagnosed, they said they couldn't tell exactly what kind of tumor it was until they saw it. (This was not strictly true, I later found out, but I digress.) I was told, though, that it was one of three kinds of possible tumors: 1. an acoustic neuroma, which is never malignant, but the removal of which would leave me deaf in one ear; they told me this was "unlikely" because of the size and location of the tumor; 2. a meningioma, which is sometimes malignant but very difficult to remove, because this is a cancer of the membrane that covers and wraps around the brain, and the tumor itself can grown into the brain; or, 3. a glioma, which would always be malignant and always be difficult to remove. I was totally rooting for the acoustic neuroma, which is what I turned out to have. (Years later, I read the pre-surgery report which stated firmly that it was an acoustic neuroma, but they wouldn't tell me that ahead of time just in case it turned out to be one of the others, although they knew for sure it wasn't.) Anyway, as soon as I saw the word glioma in a news report, I knew this was not a good thing.

I remember, of course, the death of President Kennedy and Senator Robert Kennedy, but I also remember hearing the news reports of Ted Kennedy's plane crash and the Chappaquiddick incident. The plane crash happened in 1964; I remember hearing about it on the news while we were in the car driving up to visit family in Massachusetts. The Chappaquiddick incident happened in July 1969, the day before the moon landing, so I would have been home. I remember that week as very, very hot, and my father finally conceded to using the air conditioner that had come with the house but that we had never used before; we all spent that week bundled up in sweaters in front of the TV to get any news of what was going on in space. So we heard about that tragedy, too.

I am so sad for him and his family. But I don't know if this qualifies as the same kind of tragedy that has befallen this family so many times before. Many of those were odd, unexpected, unpredictable, unavoidable (except the scandals.) But illness, unless it's something incredibly rare, just happens, happens at random. Each one of us has to succumb to something at some point, and there are few illnesses of this magnitude that are in our power to prevent.

So that's tonight's serious. I need some couch time before I tackle the kitchen stuff.


WATCHING FAMILY GUY :: ENTRY #1759

But First ...

a moment to pause and think about Senator Kennedy. Say what you will about the man's personal morals, it's the way the men in his family were raised, and that's not what I'm talking about anyway. As Art says, Ted Kennedy has been our staunch hero in the Senate for many, many years. It was easy when he was young and was one of the many liberal senators backing Johnson's programs, but he has not wavered, and has defended the position that is right to me, and others, even when we are the minority, even when we have presidential administrations that do anything they can to minimize his effect. We are lucky to have had him there all these years. I wish him the best.



And so. It is raining and cold and icky here all day. I don't think I've ever actually turned the house heat back in this late in May, and I ain't a gonna do it now. (I do have the electric baseboard heat on in the family room, though, because otherwise it's 60 frickin' freezing degrees in here.) And they actually did fix the A/C in the library yesterday, so it was a balmy 65 in there today, but I.Am.Not.Complaining. At least the air felt nice and crisp to breathe.

My sister has yet again canceled a trip to the Apple store, as anticipated. I'm just saying.

So after school today, I went to the town's newish recreation center with the Other Chai and we walked around the little walking track a billion times, and lived to tell the tale. Okay, we did 18 laps, which is a mile. And didn't die. So that's a good thing, and maybe we can do that some more. Walking with someone is a good idea, you just have to have someone to walk with. There's the rub.

Okay, the Hubs has just left for his first appointment with a medical professional in maybe 25 years. (Oh wait, he went to the dentist when K was about 3, so that's 22 years.) We'll see how that works out.

And I'm outta heah.


WATCHING MASH :: ENTRY #1758

WOLS

If this day were going any more slowly, it would be moving backwards.

I contacted another vendor, spoke to the Assistant Superintendent about some other money thing, called in several kids to try to shake their overdue books loose, went through everything on my Google Reader twice, had the coffee in my thermos, and then I looked at the clock: 10:04. Gah. That's only halfway through third period! Isn't it time to go home yet?

Now, this is going to sound crazy, but what I need are some papers to grade. This is because the Other Chai is giving my some projects one of her classes did that she and I taught together, and I'm grading the technical part, and I pretty much cleared my day today so I could get that done, but she hasn't given me the papers yet. I've got my little rubric all ready to go. (A rubric, for the uninformed and/or over a certain age, is like a scoresheet. This is the way we need to grade papers now. Each kid gets a copy of the rubric beforehand so s/he knows what we're looking for and what they're being graded on, and then they get the completed rubric, showing them what they did right and what they did wrong, when they get their papers back. Only I didn't give them my rubric at the beginning this time, but it doesn't matter; they're only getting a point for what they did -- what I told them to do -- and no points if they didn't do it. It's not complicated. My other recent project, the one where they write their autobiographies in historical context, has a hell of a rubric, because designing rubrics is The Perfect Job for an obsessive-compulsive list maker. Hey, maybe that's what I should do when I retire: become a professional rubric maker. Or not. There's only so many times in a day that you can stand to say or hear that word.)

I was also looking online at the Apple site to see what they're offering now so I know what to tell my sister to look for when we go shopping on Saturday. It's not hard; she doesn't need anything with the word "Pro" in it, and she certainly doesn't need a MacBook Air, because really, who does? It's a super-lightweight and thin computer, but is otherwise no big deal. Not a big hard drive, no internal CD/DVD drive, not enough ports. Not worth it to me. But now I'm wondering if I could get them to put more memory and a bigger hard drive in my computer, and what that would cost. I'll have to look into it.

Okay, that took five minutes. Now what?

Okay, a bell rang. Third period is over. I thought you'd want to know.

.
.
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It's fifth period, aka first lunch. I have second lunch. Will this day never end?

Oh, here's an amusing moment I had last night. The Hubs says that next Tuesday after work he's going to the optometrist. This must mean that his eyes are literally falling out of his face, because I gave him the doctor's card five years ago when his second to last pair of glasses broke. (He's now wearing wire-rim aviator glasses.) Maybe more than five years ago. I'm sure he has not gotten a new prescription or pair of glasses in 20, maybe 25 years. He is actually going to see a medical professional. Anyway, so I figured he'll have the exam and then order a new pair of glasses and refuse to get them when he finds out what glasses cost in the 21st century. So I warned him not to drop dead when they tell him how much the glasses will cost. He said, deadpan, "So what are they now, 20 or 30 bucks?" This was something my father always did; when you came home with something new, he would say "How much did you pay for that two-dollar dress?" when you had gotten it in a fabulous sale for $35 or something. So I answered the Hubs, "Yes, Jack, glasses are now up to 20 or 30 bucks, that should do it," and he laughed. Boy, is he in for a shock. I realize he won't need what I have -- maybe he will -- but my glasses run in the $400 to $500 range, and I get the cheapest frames I can find, or put new lenses in frames I already have. He'd better not re-use those awful aviator frames. He has one backup pair left, which I swear he wore in high school, which he wears when he's watching TV in bed. This is what he looks like in them (the one on the left, but taller):



Well, we'll see what he comes home with.

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6:15. So I went to the orthopedist, and I have rotator cuff tendonitis, and I got a cortisone shot in my shoulder, for which I rewarded myself with a pastrami sandwich for dinner.

I won't go into the stress I got in today's mail -- maybe tomorrow -- but I think I will put an icepack on my arm, which is a little sore from the shot, and then, I'll be back tomorrow with more fun.


WATCHING MASH :: ENTRY #1753

VaCaDay 1

It is an unbelievably beautiful day here today, which means even I got out of the house. Not like other people, to spend time outside, because hahahahaha, but I was out and about in the world, doing this and that. Everybody else is walking like mad, and I hope to try to get back to some of that this week as well. The Hubs walked maybe 8 miles this morning? Something like that, and K walked 4 or 5, I think. I am very proud of both of them, and all this getting outside has turned the Hubs back into Dr. Jekyll, as it were, the good one. After his walk, he spent hours and hours building a great big cage -- one that he can open a door and walk into -- around his tomato garden, because for the last few years, the squirrels think he is planting all those tomatoes for them. They'll just have to eat sparkplug wires instead this year.

Excuse me for a moment; time to order the Chinese food.

(Musak plays while you hold on.)

Okay, I'm back. One of my missions today was to go to the tattoo place and consult with them, and make my appointments, which I did. All is going according to The Plan. They suggested some other fonts and told me what to look for in a font, and when I got home, I succeeded in downloading some fonts and getting them to work in Word, so now I have exactly what I want. I'm getting the one on my lower arm done on Thursday of this week, and the one on my lower leg done on May 2 (just in time for the FIL's 80th birthday party two days later, heh heh.)

My big task for tomorrow is to put away all my clean clothes and a few new shirts I got today, which is more stuff to fit into my closet that I don't have room for, so something's gotta give. I'm not thinking about it today. We could go to Target tomorrow, as one does, on a Sunday, but why bother when we can go any day this week? I just love VaCa.


WATCHING SCRUBS :: ENTRY #1732

Saturday

I had such a nice afternoon. My sister and Wonderful Niece came over, and K and I brought them to see R's apartment, where they had never been, and then we all went out to lunch near there. She lives in a very charming small city. Lunch was excellent. We went to a Thai place but it was closed, so we went to a Mediterranean place just up the street, and it was all delicious.

But it was very cold and windy walking around on the street, which was not so pleasant. Afterwards, though, we took a ride around and looked at some of the big houses -- this city has a very old upscale neighborhood, with gigantic Victorians -- and then dropped R off at home. After we got back to my house and the Sibs and Niece took off, both K and I dropped off into deep naps.

K is sick with what sounds like an upper respiratory infection, just blooming, as it were, today. She is coughing and coughing, and feels just awful. She was pretty medicated this morning, but now it's making her miserable.

Speaking of coughing, the Hubs coughed and hacked for a good two hours or more last night. It's hard to believe that this is just from stopping smoking; it sounds as if he's got something else or he's giving himself something else. All that coughing can't be good for his throat. I didn't even remember this until last night while I was listening to him go on, that his grandfather had throat cancer. It's not what he died of, though (that was an embolism after routine surgery, like gall bladder or something), but I asked the Hubs once many years ago if his grandfather spoke with an accent, and he said he didn't really know. I thought this was odd, since he was close to his grandfather, who died when the Hubs was fourteen, but he explained that his grandfather had had throat cancer when he, the Hubs, was a baby, and so he never really spoke after that. He had that hole in his throat, and I guess he could make himself understood, but he didn't actually speak. And here's his devoted grandson, not at all concerned with what's going on in there in his own body.

And this, folks, is what therapy is for. For me, I mean. I haven't called yet because things have been relatively quiet, but last night was stressful, and I've got to make that call this week. Stress is not good for me. I'll be curious to see if I have a little mini-relapse this week, as I did a few weeks ago after another stressful weekend. Although he seems fine now. He was working out in the yard when we came home, and that relaxes him.

Okay. Finished Truman, finally, and also Persepolis, very good. My sister gave me two books today; I'm contemplating Open House, by Elizabeth Berg. It's so nice to be back into reading again.

WATCHING THE SIMPSONS :: ENTRY #1713

"Counting the Cars ... "

" ... on the New Jersey Turnpike; they've all come to look for America ... " (America, by Paul Simon)

Guess where we spent our holiday?

Really, it wasn't as bad as all day on the Turnpike and/or Garden State Parkway, just under two hours each way. Which is plenty. I just don't like going, although I'll admit this wasn't as bad as it could have been.

You see, I like the people I'm with, I like the restaurant we go to, I like the food. It's the whole experience I don't care for. Part of this, I think, is that the people in charge of the party -- the MIL and the FIL -- do not have the same sense of time that I have, because a) they just don't, and b) they are old. They are getting older faster, if you know what I mean. He doesn't hear well, which, okay, but she has a soft voice, and when she calls to him to do something it sounds kind of like tom and when he doesn't answer, she gets pissed off, and the next try is more like TOM! And he was always laid back, but now he moves so slowly that it's like he's moving backwards. To wit:

The reservation was for 3:30, which is exactly when we all got to the restaurant, all except my nephew, who had to work late and was meeting us there. He arrived at four. At which time, the ILs thought it was okay to order appetizers. We didn't even order our dinners until 4:30! Who's crazy here; is it me? You order your meal an hour after you arrive? The wait staff was totally going at our pace; they are very, very nice there and know the ILs well because they go there all the time. I felt like I was jumping out of my skin and wanted to scream "Let's move it, people!" which of course I did not. The SIL, mother of the delayed nephew, was trying to gently encourage her parents to order, but they wanted to wait for the kid. Who is a nice kid, btw, now that he's an adult and speaks to us. (He was always polite but simply never engaged in conversation from the age of ten or so.) He's a good looking boy, graduating from college in May, and is a good kid. Helped his grandfather to the men's room without being asked. (The FIL has a lot of trouble walking.)

And we get to do it all again in May, since we will be celebrating the FIL's 80th birthday. The Hubs and I will drive the FIL's sister and her husband down with us; our girls will go in their own car, as they did today.

Speaking of the Aunt and Uncle, whom I have mentioned before, the Hubs and I visited them yesterday pre-Easter (and to pick up the Easter Pie, a family and world-renowned delicacy made by the Aunt), and once again, let me say that these are two of my favorite people in the world. They have been married 56 years, and are funny as hell, like a comedy team, and they are loaded with the Black Humor, which I thought only came from my side of the family. I heart them totally.

So one of the reasons my girls like to go in a separate car is that their father has been known to freak out on the ride home. On one notable occasion, the traffic irked him so much he announced that he was going to drive the car into a wall and kill us all. So you can see that this troubles them a bit. He's a very good driver, but he has a habit of following the car in front of us too closely for my comfort, so it's not usually pleasant for me, either. And today I saw him consume a fair amount of wine, so I assumed I'd be driving home. But he drove, and damn if he isn't a better driver with wine in him than without. (He didn't drive back to his folks' house from the restaurant, I did, so he did wait some time after his last glass and getting behind the wheel.) As for me, anyone driving on the same day as having consumed alcohol is too much, but honestly, I had no stressful moments on the whole ride, and the traffic never bothered him, such as it was.

So now I'm just waiting for K to get back from dropping off R, and for John Adams to start on TV. And work tomorrow, oh boy.


WATCHING waiting for JOHN ADAMS :: ENTRY #1708

Too Much to Think About

Rough night last night. I could hear the Hubs in the other room, coughing and swearing. The quitting of the smoking has not gone well for him. I think he was healthier before.

Anyway. He is a person with a fair amount of bottled up anger that occasionally erupts, never directly against one of us, although we are sometimes caught in the crossfire. I think he is mostly angry at himself, and his anger, as I have mentioned before, is frightening, even though he has never and would never hurt anyone or even say anything directly mean to anyone. He just looks and acts crazy and scary. More so when I hear him swear violently two rooms away when I know he's sitting in there alone.

Anyway, it got to me and I was very upset and had trouble falling asleep. I was thinking about how stress will make me sicker, and this was stress I had no control over. I also got to thinking a little about how I feel that when I am ill I am a burden to others; I've been thinking of that off and on for the last couple of months. But last night I was thinking it's not that I'm a burden, it's just that I don't want to be involved with craziness. That sounds like it makes no sense. Here's more. I don't like my being sick to take center stage and make everyone else feel like they can't be sick if they have to be. Why would anyone feel that way? I don't know, but when I was a kid, I sure felt like being sick was first my mother's privilege, and only open to me when she was feeling okay. I think that's why both the Crohn's and the brain tumor were so strange to me, to be center stage like that. Anyway, I'm working on all my feelings about illness and so forth; I really could stand to go back to therapy, but I'm thinking that writing about it may do just as much good. (And I haven't even gotten to the parts about my sister yet.)

So tonight, I happened to pull into the driveway with stuff from the deli just as the Hubs was coming home from work; he pulled in behind me. He got out of the car and we were cheerful and joking, and he was like that when he came into the house, too. He went and changed his clothes, and went into his little study to read the mail, turn on his computer, etc. I went back into the family room. And I heard a might sneeze: once. twice. And then a vehement "FUCK! GODDAMIT!"

Well, they say timing is everything. I'm guessing he's allergic to something in the house, and that's why he gets sick when he comes home, and his cough is worse. He's always had a sneezing fit after he eats dinner, as long as I know him, but I guess it's worse now. So maybe he does have a legitimate physical condition -- god forbid I call it an illness -- but again, we'll never know, because he is my polar opposite when it comes to illness: he does not acknowledge it, he will not abide it in his body. Hey, I wouldn't mind having that choice too, but it didn't seem to be on my menu. So I guess he'll feel like crap until he gets better or dies, and when he does get sick, he'll get angry at himself or at microbes and he'll roar. At least I got that much figured out.

Good. Maybe I can fall asleep tonight.

WATCHING RAYMOND :: ENTRY #1693

Welcome To My Life

The inmates are taking over the asylum here. And I'm talking about people who belong in an asylum. The other day, all I thought I had was a psycho husband, and today, my darling daughter has been channeling her father.

Let me backtrack a bit.

You will recall last Friday, when it snowed, and the Hubs announced that he had been fired, and yada yada yada. Monday morning, of course, he got up and went to work, because he was not fired, his boss loves him like a brother and would fire everybody else in the office first, if he had to. But I guess work was not the Eden he would like it to be, because when he came home last night, after a short "hello," he said not a single other word all night long. Except for this little creepy detail: he was mumbling under his breath as he went about making his dinner and doing what else he was doing. Now, this was especially creepy because I didn't hear at all, but K commented on it, and said he does it all the time when he's angry. And I never hear it because I can't, and I had no idea that he was even doing this. So that was freaking weird.

The other one, the junior psycho, has been doing the snotty-teen-being-short-with-mom thing on and off for the last few days, which lost its charm totally, let me tell you, when she stopped being a teenager four years ago. Anything I say is answered with an eye roll. If I tell a story, she tells me that a) I have told it before, probably many times, or b) I'm so funny I should be on TV. (Eye roll from mom, at this point.) But what I can't stand is the anger. If someone is going to be angry about something, fine, but if I didn't create the anger, don't take it out on me. I learned long ago to control my temper as well as I could, and I think it's time for Papa Bear and Baby Bear to figure it out, too.

Anyway, so the kid and I, as it turned out, both had appointments with the dermatologist this afternoon. By the time we left there, she was in some pain (an acne treatment of some kind) and was so snippy and mean that I just didn't want to be around her at all. And like someone else I know, every snotty thing she said, and even any important thing she said (like that she hurt or had to go to the bathroom) she said so softly that I couldn't hear it, and I didn't ask her to repeat because that really ticks her off. (Oh. I. Am. So. Sorry. If. My. Fucking. Handicap. Is. Inconvenient. For. You.)

We got home and she vanished upstairs, leaving me to sit at my little desk here and wonder if just ditching them all wouldn't be a good idea. After all, the Hubs was yet to come home, so that joy still awaited.

And home he came. He said a cheery "Hello!" and then actually looked at me and asked me what was wrong. I did not have an answer prepared, so I said something about the dermatologist, at which point I heard K, in the kitchen behind him, tell him something about her treatment and why her face is all red. In a normal tone of voice. And there followed a semi-normal conversation amongst the three of us.

I am in the Twilight Zone.

He came back after changing his clothes, laughing, and told me about an email he was sending his father and Bcc-ing me. Um ... okay. You psycho.

So he seems normal tonight, the kid is turning back into normal, and guess what? My guts are churning. It's not food that actually triggers a Crohn's attack, you know. It's stress.

Oh, goodie. Goodie goodie gumdrops.

WATCHING FRIENDS :: ENTRY #1688

And In My Next Life ...

There's only so much you can plan for. Sometimes, you just have to give up and realize that whatever it is, it ain't happening in this life, so you might as well just decide that you'll put it off until next time. Y'know?

So far, I can only think of two things that I really want in my next life (as opposed to this one.) One, I never want to think, or worry, about money. I want it to be someone else's responsibility, and that poor soul can just go the ATM once a week and give me an allowance. Because that's a sweet deal, if you ask me.

Next. I want to marry someone who isn't a lunatic.

This is problematic, of course, because first it would depend on who my parents are in that life, because even though my father wasn't a lunatic -- not to me, anyway -- I certainly married someone with a whole lot of his quirks. For example, I wish that this life could have had a longer stretch of time when a heavy snowfall didn't mean looking out the window every ten minutes to make sure that the designated snow shoveler isn't dead in the snow from a heart attack. Jack, at least, let us go out and shovel with him. The Hubs does not do that, although I almost keeled over before when he told me that he was allowing two neighborhood kids to do some of it. So he's just doing the driveway and the cars, and of course, going over what the boys did to make sure it meets his standards.

His lunacy has few bounds, but I can't even go into that all now. He did come home and tell me that he'd been fired, but I don't believe that for a minute. He just likes to say that sometimes. (See "worrying about money", above. For years, when he said that, or that he was quitting his job, my first thought would be losing the house, or pulling the kids out of school. Now I know it's bullshit.) I'm also reminded of that t-shirt I've seen that says My next husband will be normal.

But the other problem with marrying someone who isn't a lunatic, and maybe there's someone out there who can verify this, is that I think that if you're a woman and you're not gay, then you're pretty much doomed to marry a lunatic by definition, or at least, someone who certainly seems to be a lunatic to you. So the answer to this is that in my next life, I would have to be gay, I think. Although this doesn't hold any particular appeal for me, I have to assume that if I'm in a new life, and it starts out that way, then hey, no problem. I would need a bigger bathroom, though, because the Hubs' only products are toothpaste and ivory soap, which take up very little space, and the more women you have sharing a bathroom, the more room you need for products. I'm just saying.

Hold on a minute, gotta go look out the window.

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He appears to be at the final stage of shoveling, which is that he clears the snow away from the street in front of our house, to the curb, so we can park on the street if we need to. Yes, he shovels the road in front of our house. Even my father didn't do that.


WATCHING GILMORE GIRLS :: ENTRY #1685

WT ... Huh?

So we had this weird snow yesterday. It stuck but it was never deep, and it made the sidewalks and roads very slippery. R called around five to say that she was already home, her office had closed early. (They are wonderful that way.) The Hubs called at about 5.50 and said that all the roads out of the town he works in were closed, so he had no idea when he would be home.

Uh ... okay ... huh?

Now, he works in the small city -- small by New Jersey standards, population about 42,000, but it's technically a city -- that is our county seat. On a good day, it's maybe ten minutes away, maybe fifteen. But when he said all the roads were closed, I realized that all the roads leading in or out are hilly, and probably the police had them closed off because cars couldn't get up the hills to get out.

I asked if he was in the car and he said yes, just a few blocks from the office. He didn't know when he could possibly get home, or what he would do, but he would call with updates.

Okay. {deep breath} I wasn't so much worried as I was trying to figure out what he would do. He could go back and stay in the office, where there's no bed or food or even TV, but at least he'd have shelter. I remembered a hotel on one of the level roads out (in the opposite direction of home) and I thought okay, when he calls back, I'll remind him of that option. So already, K thinks I'm nuts, because I very cleverly did all that thinking out loud.

I called my sister to pass the time, and to make sure all her people were home. When I told her about the Hubs' situation, she asked me if the roads could really be that bad, and I said I guess so, unless he's just playing the drama queen game. She said, Does he do that? And I thought, well yeah, how he tells me that he's quitting his job and so forth. At which point, guess what?

Yes. He walked in through the door. It was 6.15. Six frickin' fifteen. His ten minute ride stretched to a whopping 25 minutes.

"What happened?" I asked.

"It cleared up," he said.

Seriously. And men think that women are strange?

WATCHING THE SIMPSONS :: ENTRY #1678

It Has Finally Happened

I'm watching the Super Bowl. I don't think I have ever watched a Super Bowl before.

But I offered the Hubs the opportunity to watch it in the family room, as I do every year, because that's where the biggest TV is, and this year he took me up on it. Possibly because it's supposed to be such a good game, but also because he has an unusual viewing companion this year: K.

It seems that when she visited friends in Boston two weeks ago, most of the group there being guys, they watched both of the playoff games. It was the first football she had ever watched in her life, but then she felt somewhat invested, time-wise, and declared that she would watch the Super Bowl this year to see how it all came out. So the three of us are in the family room watching the game, and the Hubs is being wonderfully patient with our stupid girly questions, like K asking twice already -- she's having trouble with the concept -- of why you get four downs to make a first down, and then you get four more. It's cute, actually.

I didn't sleep well last night, and didn't take my usual weekend morning two hour nap right after breakfast, so I've been a little zombied all day, but that's okay, too. I did get all that work done in the kitchen that I wanted to do, so now everything looks nice and neat and accessible. I got rid of maybe two full bags of canned and boxed food with expired dates. I really don't know how this happens; it's not like I never look at that stuff.

Anyway, I went to take out the third bag -- okay, there were three bags -- and the trash cans were full, so I asked the Hubs where the extra one was. Unfortunately, this put him into Mr. Recycling mode, and he was disturbed to see that I had not emptied every expired can of its food so as to recycle the cans. Oy freaking vey. In a perfect world, yes, I would do this, but today, not so much. He said he was going to do it, and you know, I love having someone review my garbage choices; he asked if I minded and and I said "It's your choice." But then he didn't; it was just another one of those little opportunities to drive me crazy for a moment, like when he comes home after a bad day and tells me he quit his job. (He didn't. Doesn't. Says it, but never quits.) He just made all the garbage fit in the two cans already in use. Sheesh.

My house phone is still dead, but I got through to the phone company repair spooky voice-prompt lady via the cell phone, and she (what else would you call it) agreed that it was all on the outside lines and someone would come and fix it by Tuesday night and wouldn't need access to the house. Well, yeah, it's the same each time, every few years, and they have to fix it the same way. But the voice-prompt lady is very creepy, the way they have all the machine prompts sounding like a real person, with expression in the voice, and, of all things, compassion. At one point, I answered some question in the negative, and the machine voice said, "Oh, I'm sorry," and then went on. That just creeps me out.

Okay, back to the game.

WATCHING FOOTBALL :: ENTRY #1670

Call Me Crazy

But I think I should be wearing my winter clothes in the winter. No?

Here I have a lovely assortment of sweaters and sweatshirts and heavy-weight tops, and they are all just taking up space in my closet. Instead, when I go to work, I wear a tank-top or t-shirt with an open button-down shirt over it. Because on any given day, it is between 75 and 80 degrees at my desk in the library. The temperature varies all over the school, and actually, all over the library, but where I am, and anywhere else I could go, it's as if all the oxygen has been sucked out of the air, and out of the lungs of anyone who comes near. Fun.

The Hubs, I have not mentioned -- to anyone, lest they good-naturedly ask him about it -- has stopped smoking. He stopped exactly one month ago, and used no drugs or aids of any kind (of course.) And he is suffering. I have seen plenty of people quit smoking, and heavy smokers, too, but I've never seen anyone go through what he's going through. His cough is almost constant, way worse than when he was smoking, and he feels sick all the time. Now of course, there's always the possibility that he actually is sick, as well as not smoking, but we'll never know that unless he loses consciousness. He is almost never sick, so the odds of him picking up, say, pneumonia at the same time he stopped smoking are pretty slim. Even so, he looks terrible and feels terrible and is, needless to say, pretty grouchy, which I figure he's allowed to be. He says (of course) that he's not sick; I'm sick and anything he's feeling is just foolish compared to what I'm going through. I say bullshit to that, because he's never sick and he feels like crap and that counts. There's always someone worse off than you are, but that doesn't negate the fact that for you, you're sick.

Anyway, he's been sleeping later in the mornings, a little bit, as have I, so our whole morning routine for the last 30 years is different -- I think I mentioned that the other day -- and now K is finally substituting again, so she's added to our morning mix, but so far, we're pulling it off like seamless choreography. Anyway, I made sure not to get into the shower this morning before I saw the Hubs off, because I wanted to see how sick he looked (not bad today), but he came to the doorway of the family room to say goodbye and had this very tense, tight-lipped look on his face. I said "Oh, you look so tense! And so early in the day!" He said nothing, but continued to look like that, and after a moment, passed his thumb over his upper lip. "OH! No mustache!" I said, and then he smiled and laughed. So he is without facial hair for the first time in maybe 22 years. I said "I remember that face!" and he laughed again (so I hope that was the harbinger of a better day for him today), but he said with all the coughing and everything, he just couldn't stand to keep the mustache anymore. And this after losing the full beard last spring. So now he looks something like a little kid, but with white hair.

Also, I would have to say that my condition is improving. I still think it will be a while here, which is okay, but I have longer periods in the day of feeling all right, and when it's bad, it's not as bad as it was. I still get up in the night, but hey, really, when didn't I?

No real plans for the weekend here, other than certainly not watching football because I could care less, but the weather is supposed to be beautiful -- near 50 degrees, I hear -- so maybe I'll get to go out in the world. I would love to just take the half hour ride and spend a little time at R's. I think I may also have to stop by the gym and try to cancel my membership in person. I called on Monday and they said they would send me the form, but I haven't gotten it yet. I do love that gym, but it's just not for me, especially now, and there's just no point in a membership that I can't use. We'll see how that goes.

So that's it, made it through another week at work. I can't believe that there's only two more weeks until winter break, but of course, I kind of zombied through the last break (at Christmas) so it feels to me like we've only been back at school for three weeks. Even though it's really just that I've been back at school for three weeks; everyone else has been there since New Year's. Anyway, today I re-scheduled a whole variety of medical appointments for other things that I had to cancel because I was so sick. More on that another time, perhaps. But I'll be plenty busy that week off.


WATCHING FRIENDS :: ENTRY #1669

Keepin' On

So it's a day to day thing. I was up at 3 am this morning feeling not so great, but that's how it goes, so okay. This left me pretty tired most of the day, but at about 2.00, I suddenly felt just fine, so K took me on a short supermarket trip. I felt like I was in wonderland, and actually said aloud, with awe, "Hey! I'm in a supermarket!"

I got more phone calls and stuff done today, and got that TV picked up. It cost a little more than I wanted to pay, but hey. It took two guys in their 20s to get it out. So if the Hubs' manly pride and not being given the opportunity to do it himself is ruffled, screw it. It would have killed him, and then who would take me to the hospital when I need to go? When I thank him for doing stuff like that he shrugs and says "It's my job." Yeah, well, it's my job to look after him, too.

The hard job has been finding someone to donate all that food to, but someone who will come and pick it up. I think I've finally got it down to a local church, but the person who runs their food pantry wasn't in today and I have to call back on Monday. I called several places. But I know the church has an active group of volunteers; one is a retired custodian from my school and he would just do it if I called him, but I'll avoid that if I can; he's a little odd and slow, although very sweet. Hey, he's probably the guy they'll send to get it, but I'd rather not call him myself.

Another thing going on that's worth a mention is how my mother and and father in law have reacted to my whole illness. You may recall that I was miffed with them a few years back because neither of them ever said a word to me when my father died, which was very odd and hard for me to deal with. Well. Since I've been ill, they have called every single day, talking to the Hubs when I couldn't talk, but to me since I can. I am very touched by the sincerity of their feelings for me here (and have said so to them -- not that I'm moved by their sincerity, but that I'm so grateful for their daily calls and and concern.) It's really wonderful; it's a real parent-like behavior that I have frankly craved. I have been missing my parents terribly throughout this whole thing, the capable and strong parents they were before they became ill themselves. Truly, I was blessed to have them, and blessed to know it, too.

Okay, now I'm all misty, so I'll just post this and maybe have another bologna sandwich. I also picked up some soy-based pudding and cheese slices, and tofutti ice cream, so that can vary my diet a little.

Big day tomorrow.


WATCHING GILMORE GIRLS :: ENTRY #1658

Still Surprised

That mysterious human I married nearly 30 years ago came home not long ago, and told me that he had discussed our upcoming trip with someone who knows Gettyburg well, and that he now has the name of a hotel to stay at, and a list of things to do there. As if this wasn't shocking enough, he also told me that he has back-up plans in case it turns out to be a rainy week (since walking around the battlefield in the rain doesn't sound too appealing): if we cancel the trip due to weather, we will instead take day trips and see every museum in New York City we ever thought of seeing. If we want, we can even take a day and go to the Franklin Institute in Philadelphia.

WHO THE HELL IS THIS GUY, ANYWAY?

He's starting to scare me. Not that he wasn't kind of like this 30 years ago -- you know, I didn't knowingly marry Mr. Peculiar who never wanted to go anywhere or have social interaction; he developed that way over time -- but I've kind of gotten used to living with the person he became. I'm too old to change, but he's just shifting into third gear. Oy.

And this one may even be the topper: Next Wednesday, July 4, R is taking a trip out of state to visit friends, and has an 8.30 am flight that I was going to take her to. So I mentioned this to the Hubs after his excited presentation about the trip, and he said that he would take her! CAN YOU BELIEVE THIS? He didn't even drive them anywhere when they were teenagers and needed to be dropped off or picked up constantly. (Oh, he always offered. I'd be standing with my coat on and snow boots and keys dangling from my hand and I'd tell him I was going and he'd say "Do you want me to go?" and he'd be lying on the couch in shorts and a t-shirt. Uh, no. I'd like to get it done while the kids are still young, thanks very much.)

A quiet day today. So far, my vacation is being spent in K's company, since she has another week off before she starts her next class. That's a little strange, although she's pleasant company, as always.

WATCHING RAYMOND :: ENTRY #1511

Who's Harold?

[copied from dland]

First, a note to the empress, since it seems we cannot comment to each other anymore. Last time I tried to comment to you, I got a message that I was a poopy butt, or a poopy head or something poop related. Didn't know until now that you couldn't comment me, either. No clue there on my part.

I was a bit cranky when I got home and so was K, it seemed, so I avoided her and went to ShopRite, and now she's fine, although we're both very tired due to bad sleeping last night. Yes, I spoke too soon about getting three good nights' sleep in a row. Last night, after trying unsuccessfully to sleep on the couch -- at one point, Boo came into the room and stood next to the couch and the smell woke me up -- I put on the headphones and the go-to-sleep music and it did not block out the sound of the Hubs' snoring and teeth grinding. Ever wonder why sometimes older couples no longer sleep in the same bed? Yeah, I don't wonder so much anymore. Either that or I'll get the whole bed to myself when I kill him in his sleep one night.

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Half hour later. Okay, maybe I won't kill him. I just got an email from his blackberry -- he's at a seminar tonight -- that says "Blast from the past. I was just chatting with Harold Rubenstein." Who, you may ask, is Harold Rubenstein?

Folks, this is one of my all-time favorite Good Shirl stories. Here goes.

Back in the day, I went to graduate school full time at Rutgers University in New Brunswick and I lived in a dorm on campus. The Hubs -- at that time, The Boyfriend -- lived at home here in Bizarro Town with his parents and commuted to Rutgers Law School in Newark, Newark being about halfway between New Brunswick and B.T. Shortly after he started, he became friendly with a guy named Harold Rubenstein, who, it so happened, went to the law school but lived on campus in New Brunswick because he was some kind of dorm counselor. So he would be in class with the Hubs during the day and sometimes have dinner with me in the dining hall. Very nice, outgoing guy.

So the Hubs was coming to visit me one weekend, and Shirl casually asked where he would be staying and I said "Oh, with Harold," and I explained who Harold was. She was okay with that, but of course, he never stayed with Harold at all.

Harold did not come to our wedding for some reason, but shortly after we were married, we were having a little party one evening (when I still did such things) and I was telling Shirl about the planning and such, and she asked who was invited. I named this person and that and I said "And Harold." And she said "Harold? Who's Harold?"

I said "You remember, the Hubs' friend from law school who lived on campus near me. Harold."

And her eyes got huge and she said "YOU MEAN HE'S REAL???"

So yes, folks, in some ways my mother was a Totally Cool Mom. She had her moments, but you gotta love a mom like that, eh?


WATCHING REBA :: ENTRY #1343