Friday, April 18, 2008

It's Friday...where are the lunchboxes?

I pack the kids their lunches pretty much everyday.  I broke down and started to do it once I realized it doesn't take up that much more morning time.  I figured, if they are gonna eat junk for lunch, at least it's junk from home.

Initially, my big battle was for the kids to return the boxes to me, so I could refreeze their cold packs.  (A necessity here in AZ, like air conditioning and sunglasses.)  It got to be ridiculous, my foot stomping and cursing when they'd forget.  My morning would become an episode of Magyver, with me fashioning an ice pack out of common household chemicals and duct tape.  (Really just a baggie within a baggie and regular ice, don't bring it back home to me.) Arrrgh--They couldn't remember, I couldn't remember...the punishment was "you have to eat at school, then" but I thought about it.  I felt like this was a battle not worth fighting, not when the remedy was so easy. 

I bought some more freezer packs, so that would no longer be an issue.

My morning irritation-stress-level dropped enough so that I could actually enjoy our time together in the morning.  So zen.

Anyway, this last Monday, I looked for Ben's lunchbox, and it wasn't in the usual spot in the pantry.  I asked him to bring it to me, *deep breath* not-a-big-deal in my voice.  He brought it to me, and with a little dread, I realized it felt a bit heavier than it should.

Cautiously, I opened his lunchbox.

I think you know where this is going.

I looked inside, and there sat....half a tuna sandwich.

That I'd packed on Friday.

All I can say is that I have never been more grateful for the power of Ziploc, the ingenuity of cold packs, and the miracle of air-conditioning.

I also found another application for Lamaze breathing.

Monday, April 14, 2008

Decisions, decisions

I have been watching the series on John Adams that has been airing on HBO.  It's really well done, I highly recommend it.   The acting is fantastic (Laura Linney is sublime); the sets are awesome, everything is just amazing.

But the best part is this (and I can feel my husband rolling his eyes at me, right now):

The actor's name is Stephen Dillane, and he is portraying Thomas Jefferson.  I think he's dreamy. 
I missed the episode last night and it replays tonight, and therein lies my dilemma.

James Adams is on at 9.   A new episode of "Dirty Jobs" is on at 9 as well.

Mike Rowe vs Thomas Jefferson.  *sigh*
Choices, choices....  ;p

Sunday, April 13, 2008

14 yr old wisdom

I initially planned on telling everyone how I got told today, at work, by one of the guys in my previous entry, how I was *ahem* "...not like any of the other middle-aged ladies I work with....", because, I am, quote unquote, "...the coolest one." 

I think it was a compliment.  (It's been a rough week, and I am holding up as best as an old lady in a push-up bra can.)  

Instead, I have decided to share with you something Nolan said the other night. 

We were out to dinner.  Ben was yakking up a storm.  Ryan, who is looking to beat Ben at Super-Yakdom someday, was yakking up a storm.  Audrey interjected from time to time, and Mr W sat at the end of the table, pretending he didn't know us.  He was prepared to leave at any time, who does he think he's kidding?

I sighed and turned to Ben, and I hugged him, and kissed his cheek as I said to him that I am pleased he is who he is and that I wouldn't change him...but I can hardly wait until he calls me to tell me, "Mom. My son(daughter) won't shut up,"  and how I will laugh the evil cackle of a mother who feels that karma has been kind to her.

I looked across to Nolan, who by now has resorted to discreetly sticking his fingers in his ears.  Because that is so classy at the dinner table.

"No, wait,"  I said.  "It will be you.  You, who can hardly stand the yakfest that is my every day, will be the one blessed with a child/children that are just like Ben."  And I made the universal talk-talk motion with my hand.

Nolan started laughing, shaking his head, and not missing a beat, he said:  "If that happens, that will just be proof that God doesn't love everyone equally."

Mr W turned to me and commented:  "That's you.  That is ALL you."

I looked across the table and mouthed, "I love you, son." *wink* "You're my favorite."

He giggled and reached for my hand under the table, the gangly limb of his arm just barely closing the distance.

It was perfect.

As I looked around the table, I realized karma was being kind to me right now.

And I laughed the evil cackle of a Mom who appreciates it.

Saturday, April 12, 2008

I'm too young to feel this old

This week I was scheduled to drop slides at work.  It's something I like to do, and we get to speak pretty freely in there as there are only a few people in the room, and there is a bit of down time as you wait for your slides to dry before you can look at them.

I was working with two guys, one about my age (but younger), the other about oh, 29 or so.   They are quite brash, but they don't bother me.  It takes a lot more than boys being boys to scare me off. 

While we are doing this, we listen to music on the internet as it helps break up the monotony.   The DJ duties usually fall to one of the guys (they brought the speakers, it's a fair trade).  


We have some new trainees working now, and as my field is predominantly women, there are some who happen to be quite cute girls, ink barely dry on their college degrees.

The other day, one of the quite cute girls was in there with us.  I had changed seats earlier that day, so I was across from one of the guys and she was next to him, and the other guy was behind guy #1.  Still with me?

We're working along, and I'm amused, watching a mating dance that I've seen since jr high unfold.  I'm ignored, aside from a comment or two, of course, that is the natural order of things.  I am married.   With children.  Not on the radar for their purposes.  Which is fine.  Sorta. Sorta not, let's be honest.

It's all banter, banter, giggle, volleyball in high school, giggle, giggle, softball, giggle, intermural college team, giggle,(I think I'm nauseous); "Really?  Didn't you use kneepads?" guy #2 asks  (I can't believe she made any mention of her knees, in a room with these hounds) giggle, giggle, fucking giggle, (no, I'm not bitter), giggle. 

A song comes on, and one of the boys jokes, "I bet you weren't even a romantic dinner when this came out."   (eyeroll)

The song plays for a bit, and she recognizes the artist.  At that moment, guy #2 says, "This came out in 1987."

And she says, and SHE SAYS:  "I was FOUR when that song came out."  Giggle.

kill kill kill kill caw caw caw caw kill kill kill kill caw caw caw caw

Oh, someone shoot me in the forehead with some botox now, I can't take it anymore.  I'm sure there is some in my purse.  Next to my Geritol and Prep H.

I rolled up my sleeves, walked around the corner, and smashed her head right into the table.

(I didn't really, but thinking it, writing it, was really satisfying.)

Don't they know women only get better as they age?  That older women know what they want, and are  No appetizer needed, we'll take a big bite out of the main course.  We're fabulous.  We're hot.  I could run circles around my 24 year old self, life experience wise, all kinds of experience wise, and not even bat an eyelash.  Most of the women I know...ah, it's useless.

Some things are wasted on the young. 

It's the natural order of things.  Boys will be boys and all that.

Luckily, there are still pockets of a few good men.  I hear one snoring right up the hall. 


Saturday, April 5, 2008

There's a reason only teenagers should text

I was at work today, and I decided I'd send Mr W a text while I had minute.

It was, admittedly, on the racy side.  It wasn't pornographic, just in the "I'm gonna get you later" vein.  I do that from time to time, so he knows I'm thinking of him; so that he'll think of me and the suggestion that I sent him.

It's not a big deal, just fun.

A little anticipation never hurt anyone.

We engaged in a little saucy banter, and I went on with my work.

A couple of hours later, I had a minute again and I sent him another message.  It was in reference to what we'd been "talking" about earlier, and really pretty mild in comparison. 

Which wound up being a very good thing, because unbeknownst to me, Mr W had lent Nolan his cell phone.  Nolan had ridden his bike to a friend's house, and Mr W let him take it with him for the usual reasons.

When my phone rang, all I saw was Mr W's # and you can imagine my horror when I heard Nolan's voice on the other end.   "Mom, I have Dad's phone,"  he said. 


All I could think about was that while the last message I sent wasn't bad, the ones before...well, he's a bright kid, he'd know we weren't talking about anything I needed to pick up for dinner.  "Oh, okay,"  was all I could manage. 

I laughed and blushed furiously at the thought that he might've seen the other texts.  When I mentioned it to one of my coworkers, horrified, he reassured me that it wasn't anything to worry about; "'s totally natural... just an expression of affection from two people who care about each other, and there are worse things in the world than knowing your parents still are into each other that way."  I felt better, because I realized that what he said was true.  (But I couldn't help feeling that Nolan was gonna be scarred for life.)

I called Mr W and told him about it.  He was quite amused.  "What did you send me?"  he asked; I told him.  He laughed at me.  "Dude, that's not so bad, but if he happens to read the other messages..." 

"I erased them."   My hero!  I thought.  "Thank God,"  I said, as I breathed a sigh of relief.

I intended the messages to quicken his pulse and make his day.

I never thought I'd be the one winding up with palpitations.