Easter is almost upon us
Bree

Other then the scrummy candy baskets, I have never really liked Easter that much. It brings back memories of shiny white shoes, horrible lace tights, ugly straw purses, fancy elbow length sweaty gloves, and frilly..itchy dresses. (Which is why I have never forced my own girls to wear any of it)
Besides the ridiculous froofy crap I had to wear the entire Sunday, we always had to attend the longest Easter mass EVER. The priest droned on..and on...every year. The most excitement I ever got out of Easter service was the year some kid barfed a pile of chocolate all over his mother two pews in front of us. The only thing that got me through mass was Dad's promise of the annual egg hunt right after. There was nothing more enjoyable than annoying my mother while plodding through the grass...scuffing my shoes...losing the curl in my hair...and getting grass stains on my tights.
When I recall Easter dinner I can only think of one thing, well two really. First of all there was always some awful looking lamb cake. Initially, I was excited..hey..this was cake! But, no. It tasted like cardboard and foam...every year. The second thing I remember is cherry jello...doused in milk. (My mother always served it that way) It was awful. Strangely enough, I don't really recall turkey or ham (possibly because my mother often ruined it...or yelled so much that we all lost our appetites)
I like to do things simple. I don't require finery at my house on Easter. I'd rather answer the kids questions about religion myself too. I don't get all preachy, I try to make it more appealing. We don't do polished silver at the dinner table, or linen napkins either. We could eat hot dogs for all I care...because what really matters is that we are together.
There are still baskets and egg hunts...bunnies and a prayer...and usually there is still my mother. (As polished up as ever at age 87)
My youngest is completely excited about the Easter Bunny (unlike I used to be... traumatized by one Ronald McNielly at age 7...He told me the tale of how he saw this enormous hairy bunny sitting on the toilet while he went in search for his basket one Easter. Every year thereafter, I spent the night before the holiday behind a locked bedroom door..under the covers..afraid to breath (or pee)
Still, I'm sure the bunny will be visiting our house this year...after all there is plenty to deliver...eggs...peeps...jelly beans... chocolates...and all that Easter grass that's sure to clog up the vacuum (and it's been only recently that I finished finding Christmas tinsel)
Go figure.
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The Plague
Bree

Usually, it's the kids bringing home some obnoxious, infectious germ. This time it was my husband who introduced us to "Mongo the Mutant Virus"

Somewhere out there lurks some dribbly nosed infecto that spewed his or her viral demons all over some desk, coffee pot, or doorknob. Within one week of the unknown assailant assaulting the workplace...dear hubby came home with a scratchy throat.

This is ALWAYS a very bad sign. At this point I organized the cupboard for him, lining up Tums, Tylenol, Advil, Sudafed, Robitussin, and Vicks Vapo Rub. I knew that within 24 hours he was destined to become but a shell of a man...weak, pitiful, sneezy, stuffy, achy, droopy and tired. (The seven dwarfs of sickness all wrapped up into one feverish body) And I was right.

However, his B vitamins gave him almost superhuman strength (He managed to make it 3 hours into work before he completely deflated) Limping home up the steps, bleary eyed and hacking at least half a lung up...he dropped his superman cape and waved the white flag.

It's always difficult sleeping in the same room as a sick spouse. The coughing shakes the bed, the sniffling and nose blowing sound like broken water mains and foghorns, a gentle tug for the covers becomes an all out war, the tossing becomes so unbearable that one thinks of bunking with the children...until...there is that unmistakable sound from down the hall.

A cough.
Then..."Mommeeeeeeeeeeee"

Quickly, I dosed child number one with some form of horse tablet while securing the door with "Do not enter" tape. Meanwhile, child number two breaks through the barrier to announce a headache. Within 6 hours there was no school lunch to pack...no little book bag to fill. My house was under quarantine.

A very exciting array of pharmaceuticals lined the window sill. I had adult tablets and ointments; children's syrups, sprays, and lozenges; all in an assortment of flavors and colors...all of which smelled and tasted completely disgusting. There was Kleenex everywhere...boxes, wads, shreds...real confetti. I ran around with Lysol, hand sanitizer...and antibacterial soap. I made soup, tea...served juice, toast... and the entire house went to hell. I'm behind on laundry, cleaning, and myself. I look like a mad chicken with frayed nerves.

Happily, my hubby had kicked the germ rather quickly (Due to my constant love and devotion I'm sure) and child number one was sick in so much silence that I practically forgot that she was home...but child number two...agh...night after night sleeping in our room...hacking, crying, snorking. FINALLY, after 4 days she trotted off back to school. I was free! I disinfected everything...a new day had dawned...
until child number three came down.....
Coughing

The hazemat teams should be by at anytime to pick up the bio hazard drums full of Kleenex.
As for me..I'm off to the pharmacy. Boy, have they made a lot of money out of me this week.
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Insects and animals like me...they really do
Bree
As I have written before...I think the small furry creatures of the world are indeed out to get me. If not them...the insects for certain..or worse. I have been tortured by birds, dogs, spiders, bees, squirrels... and a giraffe. I have been left for dead on the back deck by a swarm of zombie mosquitoes. In addition, fire ants have invaded my bra, beetles have clung to my back.. pinching it into some form of road map, and last summer a crazy mad, floppy, snappy fish (I heard Jaws music in my head) circled me in the lake repeatedly as I swam across the water panicking... helplessly distant from our boat. (about 6 feet)

This entire pattern started with that darn giraffe. I must have been six years old at the time. I stood leaning quite unaware against a chain link fence at the zoo... licking my chocolate ice cream cone...watching the camels across the way, innocently asking if their humps were backwards boobs... when suddenly, I was assaulted. A long, wet tongue swooped down from above, slurped at my left eye, and slapped at my cheek...attempting to snarf what was left of my cone. I screamed, flinging ice cream at my mother while running wildly towards my father. A very large giraffe loomed, craning its long neck down over the fence...eyeing me and snorting.

It seemed after that I was a target. Birds pooped on me, dogs chased me on my bike (almost clear across the state line), black cats crossed my path, ducks snapped at my little dresses, and hamsters regularly thought of my fingers as french fries.

Not much has changed. Take yesterday for example. Within 15 minutes of walking out my front door I was terrorized by a wasp, and leapt upon by a flying squirrel.

My dear husband had decided to take us for a ride to the lake. We were approximately 16 feet from the driveway when I heard a slight buzzing sound. Leaning back in my seat I strained to listen more carefully. (Bzzzzzzz....nearer to my ear than I found favorable..or safe) And then there it was....the size of a bird...the mother of all wasps...crawling up my neck.

I screamed and flailed my arms wildly. My husband started swerving down the road while anxious parents called their children inside...wondering if he'd had a few too many beers. My daughter simply thought I was having a breakdown. I anxiously pressed the window down button. The wasp was frantically flying like a helicopter spinning out of control, and then with great aim and precision I backhanded it out the window. There were cheers, claps, and much rejoicing. (Well, there were laughs, eye rolls, and huffs) However, seeing the trauma this insect put me through caused my husband to take a slight detour to a friends house a few blocks away. He thought it might cheer me up.

Turns out they had new pets...

Squirrels.

I must admit that the pair of little creatures did look absolutely adorable. They were tiny hamster like creatures with huge, innocent eyes, fluffy tails....and long claws. And did I mention they flew?...well, sort of. Apparently their little bodies spread out like parachutes while they could simply glide across the room. .....or onto ME...like the first furry little guy did. One minute he was looking all sweet and I wanted to "ookie pookie" him...and the next, well..he was in full spring towards my face. My husband almost peed himself laughing while this little creature ran across my chest to shoulders and onto my back. I think it was calling its pal over because I saw it's mate staring me down, ready to lunge at my hair..and possibly nest. I was ever so thankful when my neighbor pulled it off and let it run onto my husband instead...where it promptly pooped.

I was afraid to leave..afraid to move. I was plotting a quick tumbling escape through the kitchen window. I could have sprinted for the back door but my friends horse, erm dog, was guarding the exit.

Thankfully their children corralled the little creatures and distracted the moose, erm dog, so we could say our goodbyes. The thing is.. I really miss our old neighbors. I would like to see them more often but I'm not sure their animals will allow me in next time.

We did made it to the lake though.

Not that I'd consider swimming in ANY lake again....freaky little nipping fish!









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How long has it been?
Bree
Today is my wedding anniversary. I was going to bake hubby a cake, but I freely admit that I am a chocolate cake batter addict. By the time the oven preheats I'll have gooey batter all over my face, and there would be nary left for even one cupcake. I'm thinking that I might go out and buy a cake...but I'm also thinking that my stomach is rumbling, and the sight of frosting turns me into some freakish sugar creature that simply cannot be held accountable for its actions. I think there's a Twinkie left in the cupboard though...but only because I don't like those...and that wouldn't be fair to him...serving the dear man a stale Twinkie after all of the years that he's put up with me.

I could make him a curry for dinner, but he's the master of Indian cooking. I'm real good at opening a jar of Patak's Tikka Masala, but he's much better at throwing random spices in a pot and producing an original fantabulous meal (sadly,one that he never recalls how to recreate)

Maybe I could buy him some beer...but wait, he likes weird stuff like Bishop's Finger, Black Sheep, Old Peculiar, and Hobgoblin. If I presented him with Budweiser...he might just cry. I can't have that...not on his new shirt, that I hope he will be wearing...that I bought for him out of love...even if he doesn't really like it.

Hmm, a picnic. The forecast says it's sunny and 70 degrees, a beautiful day, an even better evening to come...and that explains why it is actually completely cloudy, chilly and spitting large droplets of rain.

Dinner out? But where? He would be drooling over sushi (but I would be gagging) Oh, how I'd love me some of that garlic bread from that wonderful little Italian place down the road. Sounds romantic eh? (But it's in the mall...in the middle of the the food court)

Maybe we can take a romantic stroll in the woods near the house. (Surrounded by bulldozers, logs, and mud..since the city has decided to tear down a great deal of pines and flood the rest of the enchanted garden, making way for a "friendly" pedestrian path...I wouldn't be surprised if they added vending machines..ack)

Wait a minute...I have just been reminded that we already do have plans. Our youngest daughter is throwing us a wedding. Apparently we are getting remarried this evening. There will be cocktails (chocolate milk) hors d'oeuvres (pop tarts..finely sliced in quarters) and a fine dinner assortment... bologna, Cheez Its, and jello...lime...probably expired, as I recall hiding it in the back of the cupboard at least a year ago.

The bride will be wearing a fine wrap around Charmin Ultra soft gown, a Cinderella blue tiara, and be carrying a colorful bouquet of plastic purple and red posies (From the very exclusive miniature Playmobil collection) I think there is a scepter involved somehow as well...a Wizards of Waverly Place glowing green wand perhaps.

The groom will no doubt be presented in his favorite black Thundercats tee shirt, along with his comfy denims, and no shoes.

The bridal party shall wear Abercrombie and Fitch. (I just KNOW it)

The minister will no doubt be King Romo (pride of our Domo collection) with witnesses ranging from Barbie, Ken, Polly Pocket, and other fine assorted plastic or fluffy citizens of our home.

I can't wait to see where she has arranged the honeymoon.
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The Birds
Bree
One of the things that I noticed about many of the people that I met when we lived in England was that they were bird lovers...bird watchers...had bird tea cups, tablecloths, figurines, and multiple yard feeders. Almost every British person I knew had a small set of binoculars on standby in case a rare, yellow tailed plumata, or speckled, trumpeting breward happened to fly by. (Of course I've made these names up as the only real bird I ever recognized in England was Tweety from Looney Tunes cartoons) I eventually came to associate London with the gray pigeons of Trafalgar Square. Visiting was always like a scene from "The Birds". It was difficult to walk because there were so many birds. They flew so close to my head that I swore their wings parted my hair in an entirely different direction. The robins there, well they didn't look like robins to me at all. I expected full, orange breasted, large, brown birds with irritable bowel syndrome (well they always seemed to have that precious malfunction while sitting in the oak above my mustang anyway) But these were tiny little brown chicks. (Maybe they were anorexic, or lacked color because the sun rarely shone..I best duck before my husband throws something at me...he's so very British) Sometimes, in our cottage garden, I would catch sight of a most beautiful little yellow bird (unfortunately it was not Tweety) and wander out to get a better look (it would have helped had I not had the binoculars backwards) A remarkable thing that I noticed was that the birds didn't seem to fear humans or tend to attack so much there as they did in the US (where I lived anyway, they either feared you or tried to peck your eyes out) I recall a time when I was quite young skating along the walk when down swooped the biggest blue jay ever. (maybe it was a pterodactyl, I'm still not certain) At the time I figured that it was about to sink its claws (they did look the part) into the back of my favorite pink gingham dress and lift me off to the skies (only to eventually drop me to a terrible death high above the town dump) Of course it didn't, and I suspect it was protecting a nearby nest...but I never used that path again. I could tell you about the time that I wore a metal bucket over my head, armed with a mop, ready to do battle with a fine feathered home invader...but I won't. (Actually, I cannot specifically recount all of the "edge of your seat" action as I chickened out and spent an hour hiding in the cupboard while I rang my uncle to save me) I was quite the hero once though. There was a time that I boldly thrashed my way through tall, blinding, wild grasses to save a crying toddler trapped in quicksand from a swooping pair of evil vultures. (Okay, so I stumbled through the backyard because my husband hadn't cut the grass in a month so I could grab my son out of his wet sandbox before two blackbirds decided he was a little to close to their favorite "pooping" tree.) Birds and I don't mix.
Which is precisely why..yesterday I called upon my son to save us all from the menacing creature that invaded our screen porch. It had evil, beady, red eyes...the wingspan and talons of an eagle...a beak that would surely break your bones. (I think it was a sparrow) Anyway, in all his bravery, my son boldly went to our sliding door..ready to remove the beast. (He cracked open the screen, throwing a few crumbs of bread out towards the exit saying "there birdy, birdy") I did one better...I growled at it. My daughter leaped in mysterious ways in front of the window...hoping to frighten the creature off with some form of tribal dance. Fat Ted (dog #2) bounded out to save us all...only to eat the bread my son had thrown and then run out back to roll in rabbit poo. It took awhile...but eventually the bird found its way out...and we all breathed a sigh of relief, weak from our battle.

I'd go out there now...but the darn squirrels are gathering. There was a time when I was chased by one..I'd tell you about it, but eh...use your imagination.
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From kindergarten to SATs..
Bree
It seems like yesterday...the day I first walked my son to kindergarten. I remember so very clearly how frightened he was. He looked so tiny among the other students. He clung to my arm and kept looking up at me for reassurance. I tried to be brave for him even though I felt like I'd burst out into tears at any minute. This was my dear little boy...off to school..his baby days were over.

Yesterday I was sitting in the car waiting for him...my son...after his SAT tests. He will be 18 years old next month. No, I didn't have to be there..he can drive, but I wanted to support him..much like I did on that first day of school so very long ago. As I waited for him I got all teary eyed. My mind was reviewing all the years that had passed. I saw him at age 5 in his little bumblebee tee shirt carrying a fistful of dandelions to me. I saw his face as he learned to ride his bike for the first time, lost his first tooth, rode in an ambulance sick with flu, climbed abandoned army tanks with glee, sang in his school plays, struggled to carry a book bag half the size as he was, opened his birthday presents, and told me how much he loved me a zillion times a day.


I waited for him nervously, scanning the students spilling from the doors of the school. I searched a mob of heads looking for a slight glint of his red hair, the awkward gallop he acquired when he walked quickly... a hint of a boy with a fistful of dandelions.


But that boy was gone.


Striding confidently towards the car was a handsome, tall young man. His hair, now a fair strawberry blond didn't fall limply into his eyes anymore. The braces were gone as were the over sized round Harry Potter-esque glasses he used to wear. A heavy book bag was slung over one shoulder with ease.


I wondered where the time had gone.


He didn't greet me with flowers or kisses anymore. I smiled at him and he kind of grunted, probably more embarrassed that I'd turned up there for him. He didn't need my hand or my hugs...he didn't really need me at all. I wasn't alone though. A whole slew of mothers and fathers had shown up for their kids. All the kids looked annoyed while the parents looked somewhat sad. Maybe one day they will all understand.


Maybe one day my son will bring me dandelions again....
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Tractors and Tulips
Bree
When my son was little I could dress him in anything...sailor suits, (my mother DID force me to) dinosaur overalls, (Barney was his hero) thrift store tee shirts (Hope he doesn't see this) or any item of clothing pertaining to monster trucks, Batman, tractors, Hot Wheels, or fast food chains (Wait, that last entry is still valid)
My daughter loved cute little fruit dresses.... with happy, smiling cherries, dancing bananas, and merry melons. (Obviously, I never had these...so she did) Rose, daisy, and tulip buttons lined her sweaters, while bows of every type and color adorned her hair (She was quite easy to spot in a crowd) In fact she loved wearing everything... even if it belonged to her brother. You could have given this child a tattered fishing hat, and she would have sworn you her eternal love.
Then one day something horrible happened to them both....junior high school. (But, thankfully there was a gap between the 2 so I managed not to pull all of my hair out at one time)
My son started shoving his Superman shirts at the back of the closet, his Ninja Turtle underwear vanished (although I think that was the result of theft..dang beady eyed little neighbor boy) and his Mighty Morphin Power Ranger PJs developed an abundance of mysterious large holes making them completely unsuitable to wear (unless one intends to flash a great deal of butt cheekage)
One afternoon my daughter donated almost everything she owned to her younger sister. She then declared that she had no clothing. Luckily for her (or not) her Grandma had decided to send her a load of funky clothes to wear. (I say funky because I think they were from the 70s) There were mustard colored tights with wildly checkered skirts, buster brown turtle necks, saddle shoes, striped peddle pushers, a powder blue vinyl coat, and a ski mask..really.

And thus the transformation began...

One day I was shopping at WalMart, and the next I was being pulled into the mall.

I should buy stock in Abercrombie and Fitch, maybe Hollister. The teens are drawn to these shops like moths to a flame. Both shops play deafening music, have low lighting, and spray their clothing with cologne (All, I'm certain to put poor sweet mothers like me into a trance-like state, thus agreeing to any purchase anything... just so we can leave)
How many different ways can one design the name "Hollister" on a tee shirt and expect kids to buy it? (Apparently more then 20 ways) Then there's raised lettering, small font, large font, fancy font, surfer font...you name it. I won't begin to address the colognes at 30 bucks a pop. Why bother discussing jeans at 70-90 dollars a piece? I swear it all makes me want to become Amish.
I would like to say that there is still hope in my home...my dear little 8 year old...

That was until she came down for school yesterday...with an Abercrombie moose plastered across her chest.

Sigh








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I used to be the Music Gnome
Bree

I know how strange that title sounds, but quite a few years back I was a regular poster on the official American Idol Forum...and yes, I really was called "The Music Gnome" I had a crazy weekly following. People from everywhere picked up on my first thread, and I ended up with an extraordinary group of followers. To say that it sometimes got intense would be an understatement. These Idol fans were absolutely and completely devoted to their top picks, and heaven help anyone that is less then complimentary about their beloved. I had decided to gather opinions from various family members, friends, and fellow idol watchers because my opinion alone would get me a right bashing....and a nasty headache. (You can't please everyone) In the end, one season of it all was more then enough...so I retired my idol keyboard and went underground.

However, I can't help but laugh, cry, scream, or snort in disbelief at this years crop of contestants. As itchy as my fingers are to lead me back to the bun-fights and adolescent drama of the forums, it really isn't worth the cost of more Tylenol...so I'm going to post my thoughts from the sofa...right here.

Short and simple...this is a synopsis posting of various opinions....not just my own. And BTW if anyone thinks that it is so easy standing there faced with a crowd full of people eyeing you down while your only weapon is a microphone...it isn't. (I remember)

So....WHO goes home tonight?

1. Aaron Kelly...Potentially a great young country voice. He seems to annoy the males in my household, while the females are split. He sang well this week, but he's not quite polished enough..yet.

2. Alex Lambert..His look SO reminds me of Paul McCartney. I do wish he would cut off that slab of long hair at his neckline though. I like him. His voice is unique, but he has got to lose the nerves. The opinions are mediocre from my old sofa.

3. Andrew Garcia..I don't think he can live up to Hollywood week. A lot of people thought that he was the one to watch...but eh...he isn't bringing anything new. The gang say he's becoming a bit of a bore.

4. Casey James..He's like a better looking Bucky Covington. His singing is really nice. The sofa sitters all agree he should be top 12.

5. Crystal Bowersox..VERY talented lady. However, I have heard from more then one individual that they are not so taken with her personality.

6. Didi Benami..The idol chatterbox likes her...but she is a bit shaky when up against someone like Lilly Scott..who has a similar twang.

7. Katelyn Epperley..Eh. She is forgettable...the couch potatoes were not fond of her poodle hair or performance.

8. Katie Stevens..What a powerful voice! Yet her inexperience is showing..mainly in song choice. She was also an early favorite. She has the voice...but can't master it.

9. Lacey Brown..She was on her last leg. But this week she was mesmerizing. I think it might have saved her

10. Lee Dewyze..Good rocker voice. The guys always seem to like a growler, but some of the ladies get to purring after his vocals too. They need a rocker in the top 12.

11. Lilly Scott.. I think she will go far. Very unique..seems comfortable and certain of who she is. I had heard a comment about her "scary little corn teeth" LOL but hey, each to his own.

12. Michael Lynche..Great guy. He is very like-able and has stage presence. I wasn't that moved by his song this week..but Kara sure was (maybe she was hormonal) A definite top 12 pick though

13. Paige Miles..Um no. That rendition of Smile was not good...which is a shame because I like her. Everybody seems to forget who she is.

14. Siobhan Magnus..Her name frightens me. The sofa dwellers seem annoyed yet fascinated by her. I vote top 12.

15. Tim Urban..He was good last night, which indeed might have saved him. The past weeks he has been very weak, but my guess is he gets a lot of the tween vote. Worthy of top 12..no...but lets see how many girls can dial in.

16. Todrick Hall.. The entire family got up for snacks, even the dogs left. Yet, he was very much praised last night. Maybe we were all hearing something else.

So...4 need to go. Paige, Tim, Todrick, and eh Katelyn. But who knows?

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Flying the friendly skies...or not
Bree

When I was 18 years old I had this horrific flight to Orlando. Somewhere 40,000 feet or so above Atlanta we hit an air pocket. The plane did this sort of nosedive. Beverages were flying up into our faces, people began screaming, and I started praying real hard. It wasn't the normal sort of gentle airplane turbulence...the kind that can lull you to sleep or make you believe that you are actually just cruising along an old desert highway. This was "Oh, holy heck..I'm about to become a statistic..the 1 in approximately 10 million that could die in an airline crash.

Obviously, that didn't happen, but I spent the entire Disney trip worrying about the flight back home. It took me 17 years to get on another plane after that.

As I get older, the fear gets worse. Even though I have had a few wonderful flights, I'm always the white knuckled traveler..the one sweating before I board..downing Xanax to keep myself from panicking mid flight..memorizing all the emergency exits...

I hate feeling that way, but I just can't seem to shake it. I chalk it up to my anxiety. It magnifies everything. What a crappy disorder to have.

My dear husband has been trying to wisk me off to Bermuda (Gee great, besides flying I have to worry about disappearing in the Bermuda triangle) I'm like that...a HUGE worry wort. I swear I am so envious of people that live life without a care. I have to plan everything...carefully.

It's easy to research the resorts, the attractions, the travel fares...but actually booking it? Hahahaha! I go numb, my eyes water, my mouth gets dry, a wave of lightheadedness passes over me. I am honestly that frightened of flying again.

Yep, I've read up on all the safety specs... I know the chances of air disaster, terrorism, or a flock of geese being sucked through an engine. Still...I always figure I could be that one case...the one that ends up on a plane lost somewhere over the Atlantic, being tossed like a rag doll in extreme turbulence, wishing I had a parachute.

I've even been in the simulated flights...no help.

I thought about a cruise...but no doubt I'd be the one motion sick the entire time...or doped up so much that I wouldn't remember any of it.

Maybe I should just get over to Lowes, buy a bag of sand or two and spread it across my back porch. I could get a few fake palms, a spiffy Target beach towel, some kind of blue cocktail mix with dandy miniature umbrellas, and a wading pool. Ah, that sounds so much easier.
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Used Cars
Bree
I'm not really keen on searching for a new vehicle, but it's that time again. Somehow, in what seems a quick flash forward... my son went from playing with matchbox cars to driving a real one. It was so much easier when he was younger. I could just stroll into Wal Mart, pick up a few shiny metallic sports cars, a truck or two, maybe an army tank, with nobody pestering me to take a test drive, fill out loan papers, or practically have to sell my soul for what I really want. Best of all, I could be in and out of Wal Mart in 10 minutes with at least five vehicles my son would drool over for under seven bucks. Now, keep in mind he still drools over the vehicles...it's just that they are a tad bit more then $1.49 each. Mustang convertibles, Corvettes, Chargers? Hahahahaha!
I guess him getting his grandma's old Ford Escort isn't looking as exciting anymore.
So we have a conundrum you see. Hubby would kill to have some sort of super-duper, sporty, fire engine red "man" car for himself...and pass down his own car (which is quite lovely and completely unembarrassing) to our son. "I" would like a Jeep Wrangler...a sporty, lifted, cool, "get out of my way I'm on a mission to shop" car. My son, well...he would like anything with a loud engine that costs over $20,000 it seems.
But I think I win.
Because if Momma isn't happy...ain't no one happy.
Hubby is being a dear, but I see the longing in him as he passes the convertibles, a glint in his eye as he hears the roar of a Viper, sense a spike in testosterone as his hand lingers on the hood of a Porsche. My son, well...he has decided that he would rather drive Dad's car then be caught dead in his Nanie's senior-mobile.
But now...the used car lots...eh. The car salesmen look desperate. They practically trip over themselves to get to you before you can get out of your own car. They loom, circle, poised with shiny keys, waving you over to their "best deal" while grinning almost manically, smelling of too much aftershave, hair balm, and Armor All. I've had enough before I've walked 3 paces.
So..you go the personal sales route. But who knows what you end up with...or worse, where you have to find it. I do not want to travel 30 miles to Bubba Bill's Farm and walk across a field of petrified dog poo, only to be taken back to some old green shed with an unhinged door to find his "pride and glory" is a souped up school bus. I'm not buying it.
The entire process is a migraine in the making. However, I do have another promising vehicle on the horizon. And I do know that it passes the test...how? Because my son just offered to give up the next 3 Christmases and 5 birthdays if I'd consider buying it for him instead. Not only that, but my husband clasped his hands together in glee, grinning like a fool after he drove it.

Now...if I could just get it for $1.49.
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Glossary of Sushi?
Bree

My husband loves sushi. I hate it.

It's that simple. Oh, it's pretty enough...lil rings of colorful neatly arranged pinwheels...sometimes with flower-like splatters of orange sauce, yellow fireworks, or creamy squiggles. Occasionally, there might be a long snake-like roll of little shrimp wrapped in seaweed or caked with snowy rice.

Although the presentation is quite appealing I still cannot bear the idea of raw fish. A few nights ago (while being held captive at the neighborhood sushi bar)..my hubby pointed out to me that some of it is in fact cooked (I brightened a bit) He said, "It tastes like chicken." (I like me some chicken) He says, "It's eel." (I turn green)

I didn't understand Dragon Rolls, Monkey Rolls, Volcanoes...I mean..WHAT is in this stuff? Upon further menu inspection I wasn't impressed. Hubby says, "Try this little cucumber wrap." Sure it looks innocent enough, but for all I knew that crunchy cucumber was disguising deep fried whale turds. So no thank you.

I ate some sort of hibachi steak and rice...I was still hungry when we left. While hubby was patting his belly, mine was growling. While he was ready to head home, I was ready to head to Food Lion for frozen pizza.

When I got home I heard the rants and raves of a host of my friends trying to convert me to the ways of sushi heaven. I'm still not buying it. Even the salads frightened me. (The ginger dressing was a surprisingly odd taste) (The spicy mayo made my left eye twitch)

Maybe I just didnt know what to order, was rushed (I did have to pee), was confused by steaming plates of greenery flying past my head (I have no idea what THAT stuff was)..so I decided to Google sushi. Thus I found "The Glossary of Sushi" The web page was ridiculous (as in SO much info) It was quite colorful though...and the pictures lured me to read on...but I tell you, words like ama-ebi, aoyagi, and beni shoga had me downright confused. At least a name with something like "California rolls" or "Philadelphia rolls" in it, I can relate to. (Well, until I find out it involves crab sticks and seaweed along with raw salmon and cream cheese)

I'm just not hip, not cool, not sophisticated enough I suppose.

Just take me out for some KFC

At least I understand the menu.



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