tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35909250911357785152024-02-19T16:20:48.415-08:00Trees Are WoodA tree at its very nature is just wood and can't help behaving like it. This is me embracing my inner tree.Slacker Momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08381443249399305145noreply@blogger.comBlogger129125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3590925091135778515.post-49799039169910607222011-03-23T13:09:00.000-07:002011-03-31T15:04:21.947-07:00Movie Review: TangledAs this movie is about to hit DVD, many of you have probably already seen it. But if you're reading my movie reviews, you definitely aren't after reviews of what's currently in the theaters. The fam went to go see this movie at the second run theater as a send-off to Daddy leaving for Texas. Howdy grumbled, "Do we HAFTA see 'Tangled'?" to which I cheerfully replied, "Yes! And you're going to like it!"<br /><br />Thankfully, I was right, although, you won't get him to admit it. The closest you'll get is that it wasn't "too bad". While this is a Disney movie, it should be clarified that this is a movie with John Lasseter as executive producer. He's the man behind all the Pixar movies. If you're going to a Pixar movie, you know without a doubt that you are seeing a movie with heart, soul, and humor that is safe for all ages. Such is the case with "Tangled".<br /><br />Mandy Moore is the voice of Rapunzel, the girl who has spent her life locked in a tower in an effort to keep the world away from her magical hair. Zachary Levi plays Flynn Rider, the rakishly charming thief who inadvertently jumpstarts Rapunzel's foray into the real world, much to the consternation of the woman who has kept Rapunzel hidden all her life and passes herself off as the sweet girl's mother.<br /><br />Rapunzel is all green-eyed wonder as she discovers life outside of her tower. Everything is new, everything is an adventure. And even the toughest of rogues can't help but fall for her sweetness. Flynn tries hard to ditch the girl as she is keeping him from escaping with his stolen treasure but eventually, even he falls under her charm. And no movie would be complete without a plucky sidekick for comic relief. "Tangled" has two--a horse named Maximus, who is set on bringing down Flynn, and a chameleon named Pascal, who shows his emotions by changing colors. (I wouldn't be surprised if there's been a spike in chameleon sales since this movie came out.)<br /><br />This is the most expensive animated movie made to date ("Avatar" not included), but it was worth every penny. Several times during the movie I found myself caught up in the look of it all. I was just in awe at far they've come since the days of "Toy Story". The detail is just amazing. You can see every strand of Rapunzel's golden hair as it moves. In a close up of Flynn, you can see his stubble. But I'm not talking just a hazy shadow, I'm talking individual whiskers of differing length. It's a gorgeous movie on top of being so fun.<br /><br />The songs are great, of course. Mandy Moore has a voice that's just perfect for Disney and I was pleasantly surprised at how well Zachary Levi can sing. When Donna Murphy belts out her song, "Mother Knows Best", I pictured a very Jewish Queen Latifah singing her song from "Chicago"--"If You Be Good to Mama, Mama's Good to You." And that is a compliment.<br /><br />If you haven't seen it, go out and rent it. Better yet, buy it on DVD. It'll be worth the investment as you'll want to watch it over and over. (*****)Slacker Momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08381443249399305145noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3590925091135778515.post-86814721218448520552011-02-19T19:37:00.000-08:002011-02-20T14:21:15.687-08:00If It Wasn't For The Last Minute...I am definitely a works-well-under-pressure kind of gal. Most of that is by necessity as I put everything off until the last minute and have no choice but to get everything done under a serious time crunch. It's been this way my entire life. There was never any "preparing" for tests. There was only cramming the night before and remembering all the useless info just long enough to ace the test and then forgetting it all immediately after.<br /><br />The funny thing is, I used to really freak out and storm around the house stressing about how I hadn't started yet and so I was doomed to failure. That's just my way. I did this one time and I got so worked up about how it was 1am the night before the big test and there was no way I could pass it so why bother studying? My roommate at the time had no choice but to be witness to my melodramatic doomsday-ing. After listening to me predict my inevitable failure a dozen times or so, she concluded I must be right and she gave up and went to bed. But that was just the opening act. See, after I've stomped around a good bit and thrown a tantrum, I buckle down and get the work done. I stayed up late and crammed and got an A on my test. My roommate didn't. And I don't think she has ever forgiven me for bringing her down.<br /><br />Since then, I've learned to just accept that I am a last-minute person and it will get done. Will it be exactly the way I imagined? Probably not but the end product will be more than adequate and will pass everyone's standards (just maybe not my impossibly high ones).<br /><br />So it really shouldn't have been a surprise when I found myself on Wednesday making phone calls and sending out emails to people to invite them to Sassy's birthday party that was on Saturday. That's right--3 days before my daughter's party and I was just now getting around to inviting them. And it didn't end there. Here is a little recap from the last few days.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Wednesday</span> Realize I forgot to send out invites; break Sassy's heart that the invitations she'd been planning for weeks wouldn't be made after all; realize Howdy's party is the following weekend and go ahead and make phone calls for his party as well (Go me! I'm on top of something!)<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Friday afternoon</span> Oops! Apparently I left a close friend of Sassy's off the invite list. Send frantic FB msg to her mom, begging for daughter to be able to come; agree to let her stay well past party time in order for her to be able to make it<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Friday evening--9:30pm-ish</span> In the middle of a Pampered Chef party that I'm hosting at my mom's house, it suddenly dawns on me that today is Friday--the day.before.the.party. Games are not planned, cake is not baked, treats for goodie bags are not purchased; momentary panic then laugh it off and continue party. Before leaving party, convince mom to bake the birthday cake since she is better at it than I am (truth)<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Friday night/Saturday morning--12:45am</span> Finally get home after spending hours chatting with friends; dread the flight-of-the-bumblebee cleaning job that awaits me; discover Hubby has been waiting up to help me clean (love that man); spend a few minutes cleaning and then try to convince Hubby that we should just call it quits and finish in the morning; Hubby insists on cleaning (hate that man); crawl into bed at 1:45am<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Saturday morning (aka D-Day)</span> Wake up and alternate between random cleaning (sweep kitchen, dust TV, clear table, clean kitchen counters...)and searching the internet for game/party ideas. Make a frantic run to the dollar store to get party props; stop at mom's and see that she bought everything for goodie bags and is going to put them together along with the cupcakes she's baked (love her); hurry to get back before Hubby has to leave for work; fail to find games on the internet; declare myself a creative genius for coming up with great party games myself; proceed to throw it all together<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">12:15pm</span> After failing to convince Hubby that the kids would be better off with McDs for lunch, reluctantly take a break to feed the Minions; force down a sandwich while finishing games<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">12:45pm</span> 15 minutes to party time; discover that I wasn't finished prepping; slight panic while acknowledging that I should have known better than to think I was done BEFORE party time<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">1:05pm</span> Send the first 2 guests upstairs to play with Sassy while I finish booklets needed for all our activities<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">4:11pm</span> With the exception of the one friend who is staying late, the guests are gone; pick up trash/discarded plates and cups; big sigh of relief that party is over<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">4:17pm</span> Head downstairs to see Hubby who was hiding out in the basement for the entire party (minus the singing of "Happy Birthday); flop down on the couch and announce to Hubby that the party was a huge success; conclude I must be the most awesomest mommy ever<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">4:19pm</span> Purposely block out the reminder that Howdy's party is only a week away and I will soon be doing this all over again.Slacker Momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08381443249399305145noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3590925091135778515.post-9010184249800224732011-02-17T09:59:00.000-08:002011-02-17T11:15:41.503-08:00House For Sale<span style="font-weight:bold;">FOR SALE:</span><br /><br />Two story Tudor home with basement. Glass block windows give it lots of character and provide free air conditioning--year round. Highly sought after hardwood floors in the living room and first floor bedroom. A good buffing would take care of the roller skate marks the children left behind and the grooves the furniture made when the wife moved her furniture around every 2 months. The open kitchen has been decorated in retro, 1970's, gold shower paneling--except in those areas that the wife was able to rip it off the walls in ragged, broken patches. And speaking of open, you'll never have to worry about cupboard doors getting in your way again as all the doors have been removed. If you should decide to rehang them, the doors are still available, only without the hardware as the wife (again) removed it all in anticipation of a painting project that never got underway. Don't be alarmed by the missing piece of countertop--the husband has replaced it with a bit of plywood after another ill-advised home project attempt by the wife.<br /><br />The bedroom on the first floor boasts 2 windows that both open--something you won't find on most of the first floor and therefore highly coveted. It has a quaint little closet that also features those glass block windows--perfect for making sure you are alert in the winter mornings. After all, nothing wakes you up quite like putting on clothes that are a crisp 34 degrees.<br /><br />In the bathroom, you'll notice that there is a new shower/bath surround. Don't concern yourself with the lack of hardware on the bathtub plug--a rubber stopper works just as well. The empty metal box along the far wall used to house the radiator but now serves as a post-modern decorative accessory. While the vanity looks stunning with its marble counter and rich, cherry cupboard, you may notice the lack of running water in the sink. Not a problem as the family has proven that brushing your teeth at the kitchen sink works just as well.<br /><br />Heading upstairs, you'll find the carpet is similar to Berber. The light, tan color is handy for helping you see each spot that needs to be cleaned. Wouldn't want you to miss a floor stain, after all. To the right is the first of the 2 upstairs bedrooms. Granted, it is only marginally wider than the twin size bed crammed inside but it's perfect for a baby or perhaps a Pygmy dwarf. Don't be alarmed at the 10 inch gaps between the stair posts, hardly anyone has ever fallen through. The last bedroom is the jewel of the upstairs. Bigger than any other room in the house, it has plenty of space for kids to spread out all their toys and can easily fit over 1,000 Legos in the walking space. As all the ceilings are slanted and low in the corners, it even has a built in doorstop, ensuring that when your kids throw open the bedroom door, it will only dig deeper into the ceiling instead of making a loud noise. Don't worry, the painfully bright yellow walls will grow on you. While the result of a paint chip mix up, they have since proven to be great for assisting in waking the children up in the morning. No more sleeping in when the sunlight hits those neon reflectors! The radiator warms up the room but not so much that you can't feel the fresh air seeping in through the single pane windows, assuring that you'll always feel the great outdoors--even when you're snuggled in bed.<br /><br />Don't let the lack of overhead lighting discourage you. With a dozen or so strategically placed lamps, you'll have the house lit up in no time. And with the old wiring system, you'll never want for entertainment. Just try to figure out which breaker will trip when you run the hair dryer and the microwave at the same time. Or how about the washing machine and the bathroom heater? Or even the upstairs heater and the downstairs radio? Good times.<br /><br />Before we head down to the basement, let's stop in the laundry room located off the kitchen. The flooring is hardy, indoor/outdoor carpet squares. This ensures that anything spilled will be well hidden. In fact, unless you happen to walk in there barefoot, you'd never even know that your dog peed in there because he was too wimpy to go pee in the rain.<br /><br />Be sure to watch your head as you go downstairs to the basement. The ceilings clear 7 feet, but unless you're a giant, you'll have no trouble moving around down there. You'll notice most of the carpet squares have been removed, leaving only the concrete floor. Don't worry, throw rugs will help keep some of that frigid cold from seeping into your bones. The bonus room behind the stairs is great for storage, as long as you don't need a door as that has been removed. And the room at the other end of the basement would be a great office. Just be sure not to block the one side of the closet as it's your only access to the water heater and boiler. And there's a bonus--the boiler is an antique! Original to the house in 1947, it even features the old asbestos coating, several inches thick. They sure don't make them like that anymore!<br /><br />You'll notice the cozy bathroom is actually about 6 inches higher up due to the hidden plumbing beneath the floor. Again, unless you're freakishly tall--like over 5'10--you'll be able to fit as long as you duck your head when leaving the room. The shower is just the right size for one person, as is the rest of the room. You'll never have to worry about anyone crowding you while you're trying to get ready in the morning--no one else will fit in the bathroom with you.<br /><br />Pay no mind to the slight mildewy smell. With enough bleach and Lysol, the smell will go away. The hose running through the hole in the back door and snaked around to the shower will ensure that--assuming that it no longer rains like a waterfall and the city fixes all the drainage systems in the neighborhood--it will no longer flood in the basement. If you're concerned about it, just make sure that you keep all precious items at least 2 inches off the floor.<br /><br />Through the back door (Don't worry that it's a hollow door--the odds are pretty slim that anyone will ever try to break in.) you'll find the back patio. You'll find plenty of room here, as evidenced by the owner's mountain of garage sale items that fills half the space. The yard is maintenance free provided you don't mind long grass. The owners recommended you don't leave small dogs back there as theirs had a tendency to get lost in the foliage for days on end. The garden space on the side of the house has produced lots of fruits and vegetables. The crows and the slugs seem to truly enjoy the harvest. And the owners were careful to leave all the dead plants in there for "compost".<br /><br />The 2 car garage is currently so full that it can only be navigated by a narrow walking path--proof that there is plenty of storage space. And if that isn't enough space for you hoarders out there, the owners will throw in their 1992 GMC Safari van for free. They're not entirely sure it runs, but for the last 4 years, it's worked great as a storage shed!<br /><br />The front yard is pretty low maintenance as well with the side being covered by 2 truckloads of dirt and gravel. Nothing to maintain there as long as you're a fan of morning glory and blackberries. The far side of the yard features 2 young oak trees. As they seem to be sickly and not growing, you'll never have to worry about raking up those annoying leaves.<br /><br />Act now to get this great deal. Thanks to the lousy economy and the housing bust, the owners now owe much more than the house is worth. Don't make the same mistake they did--get it now while it's worth almost nothing! And if you call in the next 10 minutes, they'll even throw in their lawn mower for FREE! While it's not actually working, it makes for a great lawn ornament. Don't wait--call NOW!Slacker Momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08381443249399305145noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3590925091135778515.post-87407307712512111712011-02-09T12:04:00.000-08:002011-02-09T22:20:32.677-08:00You Can't Rely on DogsI thought I would share with you another slice of my disaster magnet life. Again, let me stress that I am an intelligent, highly capable, somewhat educated woman. But for some reason, minor disasters seem to follow me everywhere. I'm like the Pied Piper for mishaps and mayhem.<br /><br />This particular event happened when I was pregnant with Bubba and I was given a baby shower over at my mom's house. After it was over, I started loading all my goodies and loot into my station wagon like anyone would--while my Mom and sister went into the kitchen to chat. I know what you're thinking. How could they be so thoughtless to not help out a pregnant woman, especially a daughter/sister? In their defense, I'm sure they were only looking out for me. You know, trying to help me keep my strength up or some other garbage like that. <br /><br />So I'm loading up my car which I have backed into the driveway and I have a LOT of stuff. I have very generous friends. I don't want my purse and keys to get buried in the back so I leave them on the passenger seat while I'm loading. At night. In the dark. By myself.<br /><br />I toss in the last gift and that's when I do something monumentally stupid. Just as the hatch is closing, I decide I need something out of the back and I reach over to stop it from closing. Wait for it...I close the door.on.my.FINGERS. I know, brilliant, right? It gets better. I think, maybe I can just pull my fingers out so I tug really hard while trying not to cry because it frickin' hurts. I get 2 of my fingers out but my index and middle fingers are still stuck and now, with the others out of the way, the door closes that much tighter.<br /><br />Here is where I need to stop and explain something. My parents house is basically in the shape of an "L". I was in the driveway at the top of the L, my mom and sister were in the kitchen at the end of the small part of the L--all the way at the other end of the house. My dad was in his room at the corner of the L, watching TV with Howdy tucked into bed beside him. <br /><br />I've now got my right hand stuck in the back of my wagon and I want to cry because it hurts but I know everyone is inside. But I should just be able to yell for help, right? I yelled. And yelled. And yelled some more. Nobody heard me. Actually, that's not entirely true. The neighbor's horse started running around in circles in the pasture. I could only hear it though because it was too dark to see. Also a dog started barking somewhere in the neighborhood. I was hoping that he was starting one of those barking chains like they did in "101 Dalmatians" and that help was on its way in the form of canines who were trained to fetch car keys and help idiot humans.<br /><br />I kept yelling for my mom, dad, sister, <span style="font-style:italic;">anyone</span>, but no one came. I did finally get through to someone though. From my dad's open window I could hear Howdy calling, "Mommy?" Yes, you read that right. My dad's window was OPEN and he still couldn't hear me. He's not the most alert man during the daytime but put him in front of the TV at night? Forget it.<br /><br />I tried not to panic. I figured, I'm pregnant and have a lot of stuff to carry out. Surely my mom or sister is going to come into the living room soon to help me and then they will find me, grab my keys off the passenger seat where they were now taunting me, and get me out. Nobody came.<br /><br />I started to get desperate. I thought, if I could throw something at the house, maybe the noise would cause someone to come out and investigate. So I took off my shoe and threw it. Did I mention that my right hand was the one that was stuck and I'm right handed? And also that I throw like a girl? My shoe landed about 3 feet shy of the house. Which meant I needed to try again, right? The next shoe made it farther but it only made a slight tapping noise as it hit. I may have started to cry at this point.<br /><br />How long was I going to be stuck out here? I'm 8 months pregnant--things could happen. Dad had a grandkid tucked next to him and a sitcom--he wasn't going anywhere. Hubby was at home, knowing I'd be home whenever us girls could stop flapping our jaws long enough for us to actually say goodbye. Mom and sis were doing who-knows-what at the far end of the house. Surely someone had to be wondering about me. Right?<br /><br />They did eventually start to wonder about me. After almost a half an hour. I saw my mom come into the living room finally and I started shouting. Luckily, the window was open so she heard me pretty quickly. She got the keys and opened the door for me, saving my fingers from having to be amputated. By that time, they had gone numb and when the circulation started moving again, they really started to hurt.<br /><br />My dad had indeed heard Howdy calling for me but just figured he was asking a general question about where Mom was, not that he was trying to alert anyone to my predicament. As far as the barking chain? Yeah, it so doesn't work. I never saw a single dog. I always have been more of a cat person. Did I learn a lesson from all of this? Definitely. Now I have someone else load all my stuff for me.Slacker Momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08381443249399305145noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3590925091135778515.post-91956411346972906822011-02-07T20:10:00.000-08:002011-02-09T22:23:51.813-08:00Land of the LostDid you feel that gravitational shift last week? You know, the one that caused life to come to a screeching halt? Huh. Maybe it was just me. <br /><br />Last week Hubby left for Texas. Again. For the last year, he has traveled there almost every month to do a craft fair in Canton. It's great for him because he gets to stay with his brother and evenings are spent playing cards and games with his 3 brothers and his friends. He makes enough at the craft fair to pay for his trip and then it's a business write off.<br /><br />In the meantime, life isn't so great for the Queen, who is at home with nothing to do but mourn and throw herself pity parties. Let me just take a moment to say that yes, there are times when it's kind of nice that there's no one here directing my schedule or asking me if reading my 3rd trashy novel of the day is really necessary or wondering why I'm sleeping in when the kids have been parked in front of the TV since 7am. I will admit that there are the occasional benefits but for the most part...it sucks.<br /><br />When Hubby is gone, life gets the brakes slammed on. It's like we're stuck in a holding pattern and we won't get permission to finally land until he's back. I hate to sleep alone and so I avoid it. I tried the whole "hey-kids-let's-all-sleep-in-Mommy's-bed" thing before. It doesn't work. So I stay up reading until I've got one eye closed and the other one crossed and the words are nothing more than disjointed letters floating around in front of me. This means I get to sleep anywhere from 3:30am to 5:30am. And then I can't wake up in the morning. The kids come in around 8am and ask if they can watch cartoons. You mean you want to fill your head with obnoxious cartoons that will no doubt rot whatever brain cells you actually have left in those heads of yours? As long as you don't wake me up, go for it.<br /><br />After I drag (literally) my carcass out of bed around 10 or 11, I make a halfhearted attempt at being Sainted Mommy and make my kids do their chores, get dressed and even turn off the TV while I decide to skip breakfast because it's too much trouble and sit on my laptop checking out Facebook. During the day, I wander the house aimlessly, occasionally I will find it in me to take care of the dirty dishes or put in a load of laundry. Today I managed to scrub the kitchen floor, even though the rest of the kitchen isn't looking too hot. I encourage the kids to play outside while I sit in the relative silence and lose myself in mindless activities. After lunch, I get the kids going on their video game time and then I drop like a stone back in bed for an hour or so where I make up a small bit of the sleep I didn't get that night.<br /><br />I have friends that check on me, make sure I'm still alive. I think they just want to reassure themselves that I haven't gone catatonic while rocking in the corner and drooling. They do try to coax me out of my cave but it doesn't usually work. Life is simpler here. Nothing is expected of me until I walk out the front door. I get up, get dressed, feed the kids. Outside these walls, I am expected to hold an intelligent conversation, maybe even listen to someone else. That's just too much to ask.<br /><br />Dinner time is always interesting when Hubby is gone. I hate to cook when he is here and it's even worse when he's not. Time loses all meaning during his absence so I generally don't realize it's dinner time until 5:30 or 6:00. Then I have to figure out what to make for us that will be relatively quick and most of us will actually eat. Whenever possible, I invite myself over to my parents' house for dinner. I'm much more inclined to eat whatever someone else is going to cook and they live really close.<br /><br />I re-order my Netflix queue just before Hubby leaves so that I can watch a bunch of the movies that I know he would hate to sit through. The only problem is, it feels wrong to watch a movie without him. Two nights ago, I finally did but only because the movie was from the library and I didn't want to pay any late fines. I sat in my living room by myself and watched it. And it was funny so I was by myself and laughing out loud. That's just not right. <br /><br />I crawl into bed around midnight, sometimes earlier when I'm really exhausted, and most of the time I have every intention of getting some rest. Never happens. There's no hunk of man candy to snuggle up to, no one to kiss me good night, no one to listen patiently while I suddenly rattle off the twenty things I forgot about earlier that are too important not to be shared at 12:30 at night. I could care less about having the bed all to myself. When he's in it, I'm stuck on him like Velcro and when he's gone, I sleep on his side. Getting the whole bed to myself is highly overrated. <br /><br />I don't know how single moms or military moms do it. Hubby's only been gone for a week and already I'm walking around resembling a shell-shocked nuclear fallout survivor. While I am perfectly capable of running this house and taking care of the kids without him, I DON'T WANT TO. Where is the fun in that? And trust me, he makes everything fun. <br /><br />He's supposed to come back on Friday, 4 more days. It's hard to believe we actually lived in 2 different states for 2 months while I was pregnant with Sassy and Howdy and Bubba were just little. How did I survive?Slacker Momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08381443249399305145noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3590925091135778515.post-45301803284442447332011-01-28T09:52:00.000-08:002011-01-28T10:20:50.477-08:00Mommy Has Left The BuildingAfter tucking the kids in last night, Hubby came downstairs and said, "Bubba said you wanted to talk to me about something?" In our house this means that one of the kids is trying to finagle their way into being allowed to do something which I must then debate with Hubby. My response to this particular request was, "Huh, wha? <span style="font-style:italic;">I'm</span> supposed to be talking to you about something?" I had no clue what it was we were supposed to be discussing. I racked my brain trying to remember if Bubba and I had talked about anything but my mind was a complete blank (I know, big surprise, right?). Then suddenly I had a vague recollection of Bubba talking about wanting to earn money by walking dogs. At least, I think that's what he was talking about.<br /><br />Apparently there is a lesson that my little minions have yet to learn about their Mommy. If Mommy has a book in her hand and her eyes are on it, you no longer exist. Hubby is catching on, I believe, but I have had to admit that, although I did just answer questions and nod at correct intervals, I couldn't recall a single word of the conversation that we just had and could he please repeat everything he just said? Reading is sacred escape time for me. I don't just read my books, I am completely absorbed in them. The world could come crashing down around me but as long as I can still read the words on the page, I wouldn't even flinch.<br /><br />So I was lost in my book when Bubba started chatting away. He didn't talk until he was 4 and it's like he's always trying to make up for lost time. When this kid starts talking, he doesn't shut up! Most of the time I play Sainted Mommy and listen to everything he says, make eye contact and respond appropriately. But last night was Hubby's night to tuck in the kids which meant after riding herd on the minions to complete their chores, I checked out. When Bubba started talking about wanting to earn money (to buy stink bombs, by the way), I listened dutifully for a moment or two but that book was calling out to me. It was a sound I couldn't resist. I do remember Bubba asking me something which I might have responded with a generic "I'll talk to Daddy", but I really couldn't be sure. I do know that I told him we would talk about it in the morning, to which he answered with a very firm, "AFTER breakfast." Sure, sure, honey...whatever. <br /><br />The only thing is, what was "it"? Were we still on the dog walking thing? I do remember him asking if he could babysit toddlers. Heavens to Betsy, let's pray I didn't encourage him in that one. Were we going to be discussing stink bombs? 'Cause that one's pretty cut and dry--no stink bombs in my house. I really have no idea what he said since I'd been lost in fiction. He pretty much lost me at "hello". I love the kid, I really do, but he can go on and on. And on. And don't forget--there was a book involved.<br /><br />So far today, he hasn't asked if Daddy and I have talked about "it" and I hope he doesn't remember. But I'm thinking I should probably set down a cardinal rule that if Mommy's nose is buried in a book, go ask Daddy.Slacker Momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08381443249399305145noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3590925091135778515.post-5447245447928368942011-01-27T18:32:00.000-08:002011-01-27T19:22:17.695-08:00You Blew It, KateA few years back, I was totally hooked on <span style="font-style:italic;">Jon & Kate Plus 8</span>. Come on, those adorable little munchkins with their germaphobe mom and slacker dad? How could you not get sucked in? I stopped watching just before they actually moved into a house that could hold all of them as well as all the camera crews that practically live with them, but I kept up with the Gosselins via the internet and People magazines (you know, reliable sources). So while I missed the airing of the marital breakdown, I read about it plenty.<br /><br />Let me confess right now to having a secret affinity for Kate. I mean, seriously--the woman ran that house like a military general. Kate--with her obsessive floor mopping, precise laundering system, aversion to anything resembling stickiness on her children's hands, and insistence on feeding her children organic--was my idol. You did NOT want to mess with that mama. So when things went downhill fast, I was on Team Kate. It wasn't long before Jon revealed himself to be a Grade A d-bag and I knew I had chosen the right side. And for a small while, I think most of America was on her side.<br /><br />As anyone who has read their weight in entertainment magazines could tell you, if your husband has just ditched you and is now parading around town with a bevy of hoochie mamas, the first thing you do is cry foul--publicly. Just look at Nicole Kidman when Tom Cruise went psycho, or Jennifer Aniston when Brad Pitt left her for Miss Sexy Pout, or even more recently, Sandra Bullock and Capt. Scum. Get the public behind you and your career will flourish.<br /><br />She was so close! Yeah, Kate had some sympathy there for awhile. You had to feel sorry for a woman whose husband left her to raise 8 kids while he reverted back to his college frat days. But then she had to go and blow it. First, were the rumors of her involvement with her bodyguard. There was no proof so that was easily swept under the rug as mere gossip. Then she went and was photographed repeatedly in her bikini and got hair extensions. I realize that if you look that good after having 8 kids (thanks for the free tummy tuck, Doc!) then you really want to show it off, but when you're trying to keep America on your side, less publicity is the goal here. The nails started hitting the coffin when she joined <span style="font-style:italic;">Dancing With The Stars.</span> Girlfriend revealed to everyone that she is a whiny media hog who, incidentally, can't dance. There were also rumors of her getting her own talk show or co-hosting <span style="font-style:italic;">The View.</span> The handful of faithful supporters she still had were just barely hanging on at this point.<br /><br />There was probably a infinitesimal chance of her redeeming her image after all this but she managed to effectively slaughter that chance when she appeared on an episode of <span style="font-style:italic;">Sarah Palin's Alaska.</span> She and the kids spent the day (correction--they didn't even last the whole day) with Sarah Palin and her family while they went on a camping trip. They picked a spot near a river, and like the weather here in Washington, it was overcast, cold and drizzly. They did get a good fire going, though, and the kids tried their hands at fishing and making s'mores. They seemed to be having a ball and didn't let the weather bother them at all. Kate, however, was a royal nag. She whined because she was cold. She whined because she was hungry. She whined because it was <span style="font-style:italic;">dirty.</span> She kept trying to convince her kids that they didn't really like it and they should all head home. When that didn't work, she resorted to telling her children that if they liked camping they weren't really Gosselins--they were Palins. Eventually that guilt trip worked and they hiked it back to the house leaving the Palins to finish their camping trip.<br /><br />Are you kidding me?! Your kids are having a great time outdoors and you ruin it for them? How selfish are you? Do you have any idea how great I think it is when my kids actually want to STAY outside? In the summertime I can only get them to play outside by telling them they have to play outside for an hour before they can play any video games. Newsflash, Kate--you are the MOTHER. You no longer get to do what you want, when you want. Do you know how many birthday parties, carnivals, cheeseball movies, and theme restaurants I have endured for the sake of my children? Suck it up, woman! No one who goes camping with children is doing it for their own benefit; it's a pain in the cellulite-filled hiney! We do it because our kids enjoy it. We do it because they learn about nature and have a great time. You know what those kids are going to remember about their one attempt at a camping trip? That mommy spoiled it for everyone.<br /><br />Kate, while I won't lower you quite down to Jon's level, you have officially entered d-bag territory.Slacker Momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08381443249399305145noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3590925091135778515.post-52845832415238602362011-01-04T20:58:00.000-08:002011-01-05T10:33:26.994-08:00Until Next ChristmasThe holidays are over and gone, the tree has been tossed into the yard, the ornaments are packed away and the Christmas pies and cookies are settling nicely onto my hips. This year I worked on shipping and delivering frames all the way up to Christmas Eve so the holiday seemed to go by in the blink of an eye. It wasn't until after I tucked the kids into bed on Christmas Eve that I even found the time to wrap any presents and put them under the tree. The lack of gifts had my kids worried to point that they asked me if they were actually getting any presents this year.<br /><br />But Christmas was a success. Now that I've recovered, I have a few moments to reflect on the season, in particular, a few things I found to be on the wrong side of ridiculous. (My apologies in advance for my less than stellar phone pics.)<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEih51zN6q8TYNXLP09sHgOyvGMT3lgW_mbDQ1DTNwCAvSDOLhTcRlEqfgod32yfb3TXd1pEeM6S64epM69BxNh_5R95Ve1gqjO3CW8TiejsqPt0_e3Dq62gBqZGcz3HWfQBnIsRRSiXB43x/s1600/downsized_1210002125.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEih51zN6q8TYNXLP09sHgOyvGMT3lgW_mbDQ1DTNwCAvSDOLhTcRlEqfgod32yfb3TXd1pEeM6S64epM69BxNh_5R95Ve1gqjO3CW8TiejsqPt0_e3Dq62gBqZGcz3HWfQBnIsRRSiXB43x/s320/downsized_1210002125.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5558568613940479586" /></a><br />This is quite possibly the most obnoxious "Christmas" tree I saw all season. Hot pink? Really? How exactly does that make you feel jolly? Can we just agree to steer clear of trees that aren't green or white flocked?<br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7nV7bTqOD38wHr5m-lyIE1l3QfxzVeUw7f-Buv7RUqK6bbjipX_jOsJExWe3-9E43EreEGeDpzpu4fx_Y-pMmQhJWkKxhkSU3fh9TdGsqB5Mlk_cG0Fm-2Kc6zGpm3HXDQEU-NSmAVU6l/s1600/1223101843.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7nV7bTqOD38wHr5m-lyIE1l3QfxzVeUw7f-Buv7RUqK6bbjipX_jOsJExWe3-9E43EreEGeDpzpu4fx_Y-pMmQhJWkKxhkSU3fh9TdGsqB5Mlk_cG0Fm-2Kc6zGpm3HXDQEU-NSmAVU6l/s320/1223101843.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5558570260453446706" /></a><br /><br />This beats out the florescent tree. It's a card you can send to your friend and her cat. Her CAT. I don't know what's worse--the person who would actually buy a card for a friend and her cat, or the woman who needs a card for herself and her cat. (And by the way, who at Hallmark greenlights these things?)<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPMgSMnJzjDcoJ0XXYh8l3xTz6P-aVZUCPGlmdc3HzDxQC61oEhWGX5apsLwgjlz-50csZXuRfbBkX7ai6VeaMTejB7PLagmeMQzCHBT8ZbQrDO7bIjpgDwVUxPd9PJj9l-_9iP07s11JP/s1600/downsized_1221101913.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPMgSMnJzjDcoJ0XXYh8l3xTz6P-aVZUCPGlmdc3HzDxQC61oEhWGX5apsLwgjlz-50csZXuRfbBkX7ai6VeaMTejB7PLagmeMQzCHBT8ZbQrDO7bIjpgDwVUxPd9PJj9l-_9iP07s11JP/s320/downsized_1221101913.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5558572233472125490" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />But THIS one earns the shiny, bedazzled ascot for the most ridiculous thing I saw. This is a display of VALENTINE'S <s>crap</s> merchandise--only 4 days away from Christmas! It's hard to see but on the left side of the pic are 2 aisles of Christmas decorations. BECAUSE CHRISTMAS HADN'T COME YET! I was still out trying to get my shopping done and they were trying to shove February down my throat? I can get behind all on my own, thank you. I don't need anyone's help. Sheesh!<br /><br />Despite the over-the-top decorations and highly aggressive selling calendar, I managed to enjoy the season. But I'm curious--what obnoxious or ridiculous things did you see this Christmas?Slacker Momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08381443249399305145noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3590925091135778515.post-65129221750202234172011-01-04T14:39:00.000-08:002011-01-05T10:30:50.369-08:00Movie Review: Too Many to CountSo many movies, so little blog time. With the craft shows over for now and Christmas behind us, we've had a lot of free time to catch up on our movie watching. We've seen some really good ones lately so I thought I would give you the condensed version of my movie reviews.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Calendar Girls</span> stars Helen Mirren (love her!) and Julie Waters as lifelong friends who are members of a stuffy ladies' society. When Waters' husband dies of cancer, they get the idea to create a calendar to raise money to buy a new sofa (or "settee" in Brit speak)for the waiting room at the hospital. The twist is that they will appear nude on the calendar with only strategically placed pastries or watering cans to cover their bits. It's based on a true story and it's sweet, sad, hilarious and touching. (****)<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Repo Men</span> Rated R for good reason, this one stars Jude Law and Forrest Whitaker as the titular repo men--only these men don't repo cars or tvs, they repo organs and other transplants. In the future, if you have a bum knee or a weak heart, it can be replaced with an artificial one--as long as you keep up with the payments. Law is one of the best at his job until an accident forces him to get an artificial heart. Life falls apart around him at this point until he can no longer make those payments. There's plenty of blood and fighting before and after Law goes on the run to avoid being reclaimed. I'm not usually one for sci-fi but it was interesting. The twist ending, however, left me disappointed. (***)<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">The Back Up Plan</span> stars Jennifer Lopez as a woman who gives up on finding Mr. Right and goes through artificial insemination---just before she meets the man of her dreams, played by Alex O'Loughlin. This guy could be THE ONE, but how does she explain to him that she's pregnant? Predictable, funny, sweet---everything a good rom com should be. (***)<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Despicable Me</span>: Steve Carrell is Gru, supervillain. In an attempt to steal the moon and one-up an annoying new villain named Vector, Gru adopts 3 little girls to aid in his evil plan. He, of course, is not fit to be a father while the 3 little orphans can't help being anything but adorable. Needless to say, there will be some Grinch-ish redemption before all is said and done. I loved this movie--so cute, so funny and Carrell is great as Gru, reluctant father. (****)<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Toy Story 3</span>: These movies just keep getting better and better. In this final(?) installment, Andy has grown up and it's off to college for him, where childhood toys are not welcome. What will happen to the Woody, Buzz and the gang? I can't give anything away except to say that it won't just tug at your heartstrings, it will give them a mighty good yank until you're weeping at the sight of a stuffed cowboy doll and a plastic spaceman. (*****)Slacker Momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08381443249399305145noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3590925091135778515.post-85478297881361533272011-01-03T18:39:00.000-08:002011-01-05T10:30:50.370-08:00A Day That Ends In Y<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhO6cOVg62qSjGvESgaFCiw4ayUl11OsEwP66rwxSGmPBEsjo4QZwZUpchJGPBtHvA8DFVfFuCx3VN10CO03VWsyWEEZeiTPi2T5UJn3dP-Nq8P_bxhwA0HFF-dcpxzncCFoTwLaSYqQ3Wk/s1600/DSC05896.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhO6cOVg62qSjGvESgaFCiw4ayUl11OsEwP66rwxSGmPBEsjo4QZwZUpchJGPBtHvA8DFVfFuCx3VN10CO03VWsyWEEZeiTPi2T5UJn3dP-Nq8P_bxhwA0HFF-dcpxzncCFoTwLaSYqQ3Wk/s320/DSC05896.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5558158254445142322" /></a><br />I woke up the other day and dragged my tired body upstairs to find that my wonderful Hubby had set my water kettle on for my tea. How sweet and thoughtful he is! Except...he turned the wrong burner on. Instead of turning on the back burner where the kettle was, he turned on the front burner...where my Pampered Chef rectangle stone sat. "That can't be good," I thought in all my brilliancy. So I tried to push it off the burner. That push was all it took. The darn thing split open like a pistachio. While Pampered Chef warranties against breakage, they don't say anything about warranties against negligence or just plain stupidity. Which kind of sucks because stoneware comes in a light shade of sand and it takes years of greasy foods and high fat meals to get the thing seasoned just right. <br />But after recovering from the shock of seeing my favorite cookware shatter into 3 puzzle pieces, I prepared for my hot water which was now heating up on the correct burner. Reaching into the cupboard, I grabbed a mug that had been put away upside down--meaning right side up. It wasn't that I wanted this particular mug for my tea, it was just that I couldn't stand to see it sitting in the cupboard WRONG. So I flipped it over. Only to discover that it was my tea mug from the day before that I had never got around to drinking. I had set it up in the cupboard with the intention of heating it back up and drinking it at some point. Well, because I am just that good, I managed to spill tea EVERYWHERE. It spilled all over the 2nd shelf as well as the bottom one, AND--because my cupboards have no doors thanks to another moment of my brilliancy--it also spilled all over the counter. The tea that spilled on the 2nd shelf leaked down onto the 1st shelf which spilled over, adding even more to the mess on the counter.<br />So with a shrug of my shoulder, I cleaned up the mess. I wanted to blame it all on the fact that it was Monday but the truth was this kind of thing happens to me all.the.time. Really, it's just typical stuff for a day that ends in "y".Slacker Momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08381443249399305145noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3590925091135778515.post-43129924324738631772010-12-13T11:58:00.000-08:002011-01-05T10:30:50.370-08:00It's Raining, It's Pouring...After some encouragement from friends, I've decided to add a new feature to my blog. I thought I would share little slices of life that may have occurred recently or even anytime in the last say 20 or so years. While I consider myself an average, normal person, I seem to be a magnet for slightly disastrous events. For some reason, my friends find them amusing. I find them mildly annoying at the very least and for the most part just life as I know it.<br /><br />One thing I can't seem to get away from is a flooding house. My first house was in TX and it had a tendency to flood when the spring flash floods would hit (but that's a story for a different day). Here in WA it rains.a.lot. And I'm lucky enough to live in a house with a basement. Not every basement floods but mine does. If it's just the typical drizzly rain that soaks everything but never collects, we're fine. But I happen to live in a neighborhood that has worthless drainage systems that somehow find a way to empty into my pipes when they get too full. Just outside my back door, there is a drain that is supposed to funnel all excess water out to the ditches. Instead it acts as a faucet that pours all the water in the neighborhood right to my door and into my basement. After 5 years of living here, you would think I would be on alert whenever it rains but no. We usually discover the flooding when we head downstairs and find ourselves ankle deep in ice cold water.<br /><br />The last time it flooded (before last weekend anyway) Hubby was away on his monthly trip to TX. I came downstairs to check on the kids and stepped right into water. I hollered at the kids, "Why didn't you TELL me it was flooding!?" They had no idea what I was talking about as they were lost in video game land and oblivious to the real world. So I pulled on my rubber boots (I keep them close to the back door for just such an occasion) and went to work--after I called Hubby to complain about his being away, leaving me to mop up by myself. <br /><br />Unfortunately, we've been getting ready to move and that means serious purging. Being the smart, efficient woman that I am, I'd been piling all the garage sale stuff by the back door, as well as some of the boxes I packed for moving. So the first order of business was to move all those boxes out of the way before anything else got ruined. Sloshing back and forth through the water, I moved everything away from the door and into my craft room--scraping my finger in the process hard enough that 2 months later I still have a scar. <br /><br />In order to get all the water out, I have to hook up a pump and run a hose around to my bathroom shower for drainage. Great--except the shower was full with even more garage sale stuff--had to empty that out next. As I'm rushing back and forth with arms full of junk that I just don't have the heart to see ruined (hey, that game might bring in a whole dollar at a garage sale!) water is still pouring in and making it's way under the stair case and into my closet. I kick it into high gear when I see this. Reaching into the shower stall for another armload, I accidentally hit the faucet and TURN THE SHOWER ON. I scrambled to get it off but still managed to now get my top half, as well as an odd collection of paper dividers and throw pillows, wet. Because that's what I need when dealing with a flood is more water.<br /><br />In spite of myself I got the shower emptied, got the pump and hose in place, and started rerouting the water. Eventually that kept anymore from coming in but I still had the water in the house to deal with. <br /><br />During Hubby's previous TX trip, I'd finally gotten around to laying out the 10x10 carpet piece we had, even going so far as to make sure it was laid out underneath our freezer and bookshelves that were downstairs. Now this rug was a sopping mess that had to be taken out before it started to mold and stink up my house. Let me just tell you that a rug that has been doused in about 75 gallons of water is VERY HEAVY. But I drew on my inner Wonder Woman and managed to not only pull the darn thing out from under the furniture but to drag it into the bathroom where I shoved it into the shower stall so it could dry out (well, as much as it could dry out with all the water coming in from the pump). The rest of the day was spent literally sweeping water out the door, mopping up the floors, drying out what I could and spraying everything with Lysol in an only mildly successful attempt to kill the mildew smell.<br /><br />Eventually I got it all done and things went back to normal. Until it rained again.Slacker Momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08381443249399305145noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3590925091135778515.post-75614990450137199922010-12-13T10:41:00.000-08:002011-01-05T10:30:50.371-08:00Movie Review: Prince of PersiaA period action movie that has an interesting plot and a hunky guy with chiseled abs? What's not to like?<br /><br />Okay, so that's not really a review. Let me start again. Jake Gyllenhaal takes a break from brooding, independent films to try his hand at the action genre and he does a decent job. He's Dastan,the adopted son of the Persian king. Raised on the streets until being noticed by the king, he grows up continuing that street tough persona--fighting dirty, lax in his responsibilities, smirking at everyone he looks at. When he helps his brothers invade a holy city (against his better judgment), he comes into possession of a mystical dagger that holds within it the sands of time and can be used to turn back time. Gemma Arteton (from "Lost in Austen" and "Clash of the Titans") plays Tamina, guardian of the dagger.<br /><br />After being framed for his father's murder, Dastan must go on the run--with Tamina and the dagger, of course--until he can figure out who set him up and who is after the dagger. Is it his brother who inherited their father's crown? Is it their uncle who is a trusted advisor to them all? Along the way, they run into plenty of action in the way of ancient assassins, desert thugs and even ostrich races. Alfred Molina appears to be having a great time with some comic relief and Ben Kingsley looks suitably questionable with his black eyeliner-rimmed eyes.<br /><br />There's a lot of action, a lot of killing of bad guys (but surprisingly little blood). If you really try hard, I'm sure you can come up with a lesson here. Something along the lines of trust your heart and trust your family, I suppose. But really, the movie is just junk food for your brain, why spoil the fun? (***)Slacker Momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08381443249399305145noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3590925091135778515.post-18322555835319631292010-12-13T10:12:00.000-08:002011-01-05T10:30:50.371-08:00Movie Review: When In RomeAnother predictable chick flick, but what can I say? I'm addicted. This one stars Kristen Bell as Beth, an art curator who, with a father who's been married multiple times and a boyfriend who recently dumped her, isn't sure she even believes in love. When her sister's wedding takes her to Rome, she meets Nick, played by Josh Duhamel, and they hit it off. Unfortunately, it looks like he's already taken and was just playing her. Beth gets a little drunk and wades in the Fountain of Love. Local lore states that if you drop a coin in the fountain, you will find love. While in the midst of her drunken rant, Beth decides to save a few of the coins from their miserable fate and in doing so she puts a spell on the original owners of the coins so that they fall in love with her. <br /><br />Back home in NY, Beth starts being stalked by a weird mix of crazies and losers (played by Dax Shepherd, Danny DeVito, Jon Heder and Will Arnett) as well as Nick. Again she really hits it off with Nick until she discovers that all these men are under a spell due to the coins...and one of the coins may belong to Nick. Of course she doesn't want the loonies chasing after her but can she live with herself if Nick is only with her because of a spell? Cue inner soul searching and a mad dash across town to release Nick from the spell, thereby setting him free.<br /><br />Do we know how everything will end in the first 5 minutes of the movie? Yes. Are we supposed to care that the coins she grabbed all happened to belong to men? No. (Seriously, do that many men really toss coins in a fountain hoping for love? And especially THESE men?) Are we supposed to care that all these men just HAPPEN to live in NY (with the exception of the artist who moved there just for her)? No. But that's the thing about rom coms--you need to keep an eye on the big picture and not fret the details or you lose the fun.<br /><br />I enjoyed the movie and would watch it again but it won't make it next to my worn out copies of "Ever After" or "You've Got Mail". (***)Slacker Momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08381443249399305145noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3590925091135778515.post-61259511420168726682010-12-08T15:04:00.001-08:002011-01-05T10:40:49.344-08:00The Mystery BoxGoing over my checkbook the other day, I noticed a charge that I didn't recognize. It was from a company called The Green Group--pretty generic, right? I asked Hubby and he didn't know what it was from either. Now here is how vigilant we are about credit card or identity theft--instead of reporting it, we just assumed we had bought something while we were at our show in Spokane even though neither of us remembered purchasing anything. (I can see my mother shaking her head at this.)<br /><br />Honestly, we both forgot about it until I got back from Portland. I received a notice from the post office saying I had missed a package while I was gone. It was from "The Green Group." Before I could remember that charge on my account, my first thought was I was being sent some kind of collection notice or something. Then I noticed that I had missed a "parcel". Well, that's definitely bigger than an envelope and bill collectors wouldn't spend the money to send something bigger (would they?). I checked the box for redelivery and then Hubby and I brainstormed some more on what it could be. Still couldn't come up with anything.<br /><br />Two days later a box is brought to us. Hubby calls me in to the kitchen. "Should we experience this together?" Uh, <span style="font-style:italic;">yeah</span>. So he cuts through the tape and is about to open it when a thought occurs to me. I stop him from revealing the contents and ask, "What if it's a present for one of us?" It's not unheard of for us to buy each other Christmas gifts at the craft shows to surprise the other with later. We both looked at each other, then looked at the box, temporarily at a loss as to what to do. If one of us did buy the other a gift, we didn't want to ruin the surprise. But we didn't really want to haul the box to a third party just to have them tell us what was inside. So we agreed that if it was a gift, the recipient would just be happy, even if we did spoil the surprise. So Hubby pulled back the flaps and there it was...craft supplies we had ordered from eBay.<br /><br />Yeah, I know. Totally anticlimactic. But I've still got Christmas to look forward to!Slacker Momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08381443249399305145noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3590925091135778515.post-91802973205249942542010-12-08T14:39:00.000-08:002011-01-05T10:30:50.372-08:00Movie Review: The Book of EliThanks to my friends at Netflix, Hubby and I watched this one last night. Before I get to the review I think I should note that any DVD that doesn't include extras should get an automatic star deduction. Extras are almost as fun as the movie itself--if they're done right.<br /><br />The Book of Eli is an apocolyptic drama starring Denzel Washington, Mila Kunis and Gary Oldman. Denzel plays Eli, a man who has been wandering the country for 30 years carrying a prized book--which are rare to begin with in these post-war days and even rarer is that it's the lone copy of the Bible. His sole purpose is to literally wander. He figures some day he'll know when he can stop but in 30 years it hasn't happened yet. Along the way he picks up Mila, who tags along initially to escape her life and then because it's the only way she'll survive in such a brutal world. Gary Oldman is a baddy who wants to keep the Bible from being discovered as it might undermine his plans for local (if not farther reaching) control.<br /><br />Like all post-WWIII movies, this one is filled with stark landscapes, abandoned vehicles, and rag tag survivors dressed in layer upon layer of muted clothing, despite the fact that they all look like they are living in desert conditions. (Think <span style="font-style:italic;"></span>Mad Max, The Road, <span style="font-style:italic;"><span style="font-style:italic;"><span style="font-style:italic;"></span></span></span>or even <span style="font-style:italic;"></span>Waterworld.)<br /><br />In an attempt to distract you from the barely there plot that takes its time revealing itself, the director throws out plenty of gory scenes of violence where appendages are lost while Denzel slices his way through crowds of bad guys, without injury to himself of course. And if that isn't enough to keep your attention, it's a beautifully shot movie. Yes, the colors are muted in that now familiar way that suggests poverty and tragedy, but the shots are impressive. <br /><br />Even as a big Denzel Washington fan, I wasn't bowled over by this one. It was just too slow for me, nothing much to invest in. For all the good reviews I read about it, I was disappointed. (**)Slacker Momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08381443249399305145noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3590925091135778515.post-64190396066625898082010-12-05T09:40:00.000-08:002011-01-05T10:40:49.345-08:00Happy Birthday to Me!With my birthday coming up in 4 days, I know you all have been stressing over what to get me. I thought I would make things easier on you and just present you with a short list for you to choose from. That's just the kind of considerate person I am!<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">1. You can never go wrong with chocolate.</span><br />Ok, technically that's not true but it's a good start. Just be sure to avoid dark chocolate, white chocolate or any of those ones with the weird cream fillings. If I get the creams I may eat a few but for the most part I will be left with a box filled with broken-in-half chocolates that no one will eat because they've now been mangled in my attempt to figure out what was in them. You're best to stick with nuts and caramels. That's the good stuff.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">2. I could never have too many books.</span><br />Forget the worm analogy, I'm more of a book fiend. Especially if it's a tragic memoir, a love story that will leave me sobbing on Hubby's shoulder, anything involving mythological creatures or just trashy romance. And used works just as well as new. I could spend many hours and many more dollars in Half Price Books. <br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">3. Everyone loves a good chick flick.</span><br />Maybe not everyone, but they work for me. Especially anything Jane Austen, or something that would play for 6 hours on BBC. If it's a period romance, there's a good chance I'll be hooked.<br /><span style="font-weight:bold;"><br />4. If all else fails, give the gift of peace.</span><br />If I had to choose one gift over everything else? It would be time to sit and write. Time to tap away at the keys while purging my brain of all that the voices have been plotting while I've been doing my daily chores. I would ask to be cloistered away somewhere with only my laptop, some peanut M&Ms (my drug of choice) and a hot cup of peppermint tea with no interruptions and...best of all--NO GUILT. I would ask for the freedom to sit and write to my heart's content. No obligations, no cooking (well, no feeding anyone since we all know I never cook), no phone calls and no running errands. Ahhhhh...now THAT would be a gift to remember.<br /><br />Is this enough to get you started? If not, let me know and I'll send you my categorized and alphabetized Wish List. I just finished color coding it so it's all ready to go! Happy shopping!Slacker Momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08381443249399305145noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3590925091135778515.post-89253374056769444752010-10-21T17:25:00.000-07:002011-01-05T10:30:50.373-08:00Names Have Been Changed to Protect the InnocentAs my kids are getting older, it seems like they get funnier. Our conversations involve things like whether or not babies come from kissing and do I REALLY let Daddy do that thing that makes babies? And while I have no problem embarrassing myself or being for all intents and purposes a complete idiot, I do (on occasion) feel a little bad about exploiting the antics of my children for a cheap laugh. Okay, I really don't feel bad at all but I do worry that they are going to forward their therapy bills to me when they get older as it will all be my fault.<br /><br />When I first started blogging, I used alias' for my kids in an effort to provide them with a microscopic amount of self-respect. Then I decided that most people who were reading my blog probably knew them anyway so I might as well come clean. I'm finding that I'm swinging back to the other side of the fence again and feel the need to protect their identity. It's probably not necessary since I have approximately two readers of my blog but it's my blog so I'll do what I want! :)<br /><br />So let me re-introduce you to my beloved children. Howdy is a sweet, freckled 11 year old who is obsessed with Legos and video games and sometimes girls (not that he'll admit it to me). He is also a perfectionist thanks to his Mommy's brutal genes. Bubba is my 10 year old who has a diagnosis of high-functioning Autism. He's a brainiac who likes to negotiate EVERYTHING and has no volume control on his voice. He's also the snuggliest of the 3. Sassy is my 7 year old and the only girl--poor thing. She is a rough and tumble tomboy who loves dressing up all girly but won't hesitate for a second to tell the boys exactly what she thinks. Hubby is my darling spouse of 15 years. I never dreamed that there could be someone so perfect for me and I am thankful that I have him (most of the time). And then there's me. You know me. Probably more than you ever wanted to know if you follow this blog...or even spend 5 minutes with me. I have no filter between my brain and my mouth (or typing fingers) so beware--things tend to get a little personal around here.Slacker Momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08381443249399305145noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3590925091135778515.post-80550020147893228382010-10-21T10:11:00.000-07:002011-01-05T10:30:50.373-08:00Men Are From...?Wednesdays have become the traditional day for all my dad's friends to come and hang out in his shop. The hot dog griller is fired up and loaded down with "homewreckers" while men of all ages make the weekly pilgrimage bearing their half racks of beer. There is the occasional woman but for the most part it's just the testosterone crowd. If you can't handle drinking, swearing, crudeness and lots of male humor, you might as well skip it. <br /><br />I stopped in yesterday to wish my daddy a happy birthday and I found myself just observing the group. People watching is one of my favorite things to do and this group was particularly fascinating to me if only because it just emphasized how different men and women are.<br /><br />Here is what you will find on a Wednesday. Men of all ages, shapes and economic backgrounds are standing around the shop, brought together by a shared love of cars, beer, and my dad's warm friendship. While there are a few stools, most of the men stand around, beer can in hand, and visit with the guy standing closest to them. They may not know each other's names, may never see each other outside my dad's shop, but they can find plenty to talk about for the 2 or 3 hours that they are there. It's rarely personal, consisting of car stories, work stories and woman stories. After hours of talking and laughing and having a good time, they head home to their wives, girlfriends, or mothers, some not even knowing the names of the men they had such a good time with.<br /><br />Now let's imagine the scenario with women. First of all, women would never get together in a shop. They'd find somewhere with chairs and sofas so everyone could be comfy. They may have drinks and food as well, but everyone would take off their coats, be introduced and the hostess would make sure everyone was comfortable before offering everyone their choice of beverages, coffee or tea. They may start the evening not knowing each other but by the time they head home, they know everyone's names, their kids' and husbands' names, their birthing stories, the little quirks their spouses do to drive them crazy (in both good ways and bad) and their favorite movies, foods and hobbies. In the space of a few hours, women will open up with each other and share things that would make men cringe to even contemplate.<br /><br />I'm not saying one way is better than the other. I've been in the groups with women where far too much was shared but I've also been there when we laughed so hard we cried. I've been among men and heard them gripe about their wives but I've also seen them rally together to help out a friend. No group is better, just different. Those differences are what bring us together and yet also cause so many problems. While it would be nice to see men opening themselves up to their friends, do we really want to hear them comparing stories about passing that kidney stone or what happened at their last prostate exam?Slacker Momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08381443249399305145noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3590925091135778515.post-4999158961522646592010-07-29T12:27:00.000-07:002011-01-05T10:30:50.373-08:00Guilt, My Old FriendIt's been so long since I've blogged, I'm not even sure where to begin. I don't mean to go so long between blogs but it seems like I blink and another month has slipped through my fingers. However, my brain is constantly working, drafting blogs, stories and general observances about life. As I've said before, the voices in my head never shut up long enough for me to have any peace. <br /><br />Then again, there is the matter of the guilt that likes to take up residence in my soul. My life is one big errand or project after another and if I actually have five minutes to sit at the computer, it should be spent doing something productive, not something fun and satisfying such as blogging or working on another one of my "books" (in quotations because other than the first, they are all just works in progress).<br /><br />My main problem is that I'm just not disciplined enough to get up early and schedule that "me" time. I'd rather sleep. I'm tired all the time and it's hard to give up on a few extra z's. Yes, I have a rather hectic life (which I find amusing because we don't actually DO anything) but I also take medication that causes fatigue. I counteract it the best I can with vitamins and a very precise schedule of when I take it but I'm still tired most of the day. At any given point in any day, I could lay down and sleep for 2 hours...and still go back to bed and sleep just fine at night. Some days I have to take a nap because I physically can't keep my eyelids open or I can't get my eyeballs to both focus on the same thing. <br /><br />And there is always so much to do. I've neglected my Facebook life for almost 2 weeks now and haven't been watching a lot of TV--in fact, I hardly ever watch it at all anymore. But I find myself starting to resent bedtime because it means that I have to stop whatever it is I'm working on or put off for another day what I WANT to be working on. It's that "there's never enough hours in the day" dilemma. But I am honest enough with myself to admit that more hours would just mean more time to do errands or other such things that make me feel like I'm being productive as opposed to selfish.<br /><br />Guilt and laziness plague me as you would know if you are a regular reader of my blog. I try to be absolutely honest with myself when I do blog and I have accepted my faults and weaknesses. So why is it so hard to confront them and change things? It would be as simple as waking up an hour earlier so I could have some time to write but no matter how much my soul screams out to do just that, my body won't comply.<br /><br />Why are the simplest solutions the hardest?Slacker Momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08381443249399305145noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3590925091135778515.post-3652105610456570682010-06-02T11:11:00.000-07:002011-01-05T10:33:26.995-08:00Yes, Mother, I Am In Fact Brain DeadMy mom asked me that question yesterday when I informed her that CJ had missed his flight to Texas. Now a missed flight does happen to people on a rare occasion but she knows all too well that this type of thing happens on a regular basis with us. <br /><br />Usually I am the main offender. I'm the one who always flakes out on very important appointments or locks my keys in my car. I have to hand out spare keys to my relatives like they're candy just so I'll have someone to call on to rescue me. I pulled into a parking lot one day and my kids said, "Hey, this is where you locked your keys in your car!" The last time it happened, they all said in unison, "Again?!"<br /><br />Things like this just have a way of happening to me. Like the time I closed the back door of my wagon and managed to get my fingers caught in it...at night...while pregnant...and no one inside the house could hear me yelling. Or the time I was babysitting and I locked the baby in the car and had to call the police to rescue us. (No, I never told the mom. You're all wondering now, aren't you?)<br /><br />Missed flights are such a common occurrence that all I can do when it happens is laugh. On our recent trip to Vegas, we couldn't find wi-fi to confirm our itinerary but I knew that our flight left at 12:15 in the afternoon from L.A. So we made our plans, drove our rental car back to L.A. and got to the airport in plenty of time. Only the ticket agent couldn't find us in the system. It turned out that we were supposed to arrive in Seattle at 12:15. I, of course, started laughing. Thankfully, the agent was really nice and super helpful and we made it back home that night.<br /><br />Yesterday's incident I refuse to take blame for since I had nothing to do with booking the ticket. CJ did all that himself and we knew his flight left at 7:55am on Wednesday(today). He asked if I could check him in online. I tried but it wouldn't work. I double checked everything and tried again--still no luck. That's when I saw the date. He was supposed to fly out yesterday morning at 7:55am. He'd missed his flight by about 5 hours. After some serious scrambling, we finally got him to the airport around 4pm where we were informed there were no more flights going out. He would have to come back in the morning for the 7:55 flight we thought he was booked on originally.<br /><br />He made that flight with no problem and hopefully will make it home in 2 weeks without incident. However, considering that he is flying to Texas every month now and the whole family is flying in August, I have no doubt that we will find ourselves in the airport once again laughing at our stupidity while the ticket agent just stands there looking in bewilderment at the two idiots who missed their flight.Slacker Momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08381443249399305145noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3590925091135778515.post-41909929380513727382010-04-25T22:39:00.000-07:002011-01-05T10:33:26.995-08:00Confirmed BachelorHere is a conversation that occurred on Friday between Sassy and Bubba:<br /><br />Sassy: "Bubba, why don't you like girls?"<br /><br />Bubba: "Because they like romance."<br /><br />Sassy: "Why don't you like romance?"<br /><br />Bubba: "What...kissing? Love? Yuck!"<br /><br />Sassy: "And you don't like kissing?"<br /><br />Bubba: "No! It makes me think of girls!"<br /><br />Hmmm...I'm getting the feeling that he has something against girls. I wonder if he knows that I pray God will find him a wife...Slacker Momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08381443249399305145noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3590925091135778515.post-68408911094842843432010-04-21T09:57:00.000-07:002011-01-05T10:30:50.376-08:00Maturity is Highly OverratedI wonder if there will ever come a time when my mental age will catch up with my chronological age. Chronologically I'm (pardon me while I throw up) 35, but mentally, I'm still in my 20s. When I look in the mirror I can see the little tell tale signs that I'm getting older. I'm starting to see the first signs of wrinkles,especially between my brows from my habit of scowling when I'm driving or thinking. The gray hair that has plagued me since my teen years is more abundant and even more resistant to Clairol. My body, while never firm and perky, is starting to give up the fight.<br /><br />I can look around my life and see other signs of my age as well. I have a mortgage--not my first. My 15 year anniversary is coming up. My baby is now 11. Hanging out with other "young" couples makes me realize that I no longer fit into that category.<br /><br />The evidence is all there, glaring at me like a neon sign, but I still can't seem to wrap my mind around it. In short, I am in denial.<br /><br />There are times when I look around and think, "I can't possibly be old enough to be running a household that consists of 3 children, 2 pets, 2 businesses and an entire yard. I mean, I just graduated from high school a few years ago!" (The truth is that I graduated 17 years ago, but who's counting?)<br /><br />I have friends who have careers and it makes sense to me because, after all, they are "older" than I am. I have friends with houses that are all put together, not cautionary tales in remodeling the way mine is. But that's the way it should be because they are obviously "older" than I am. And of course some of my friends have new cars that they are making payments on, but I don't because I'm not "old" enough.<br /><br />I don't think of myself as my "high school self" any more because, let's face it, we all get better post high school and no one wants to cling to that yearbook image. But for some reason, I still struggle to come to grips with the fact that I am approaching (shudder) middle age. Forty is just around the bend as well as my kids' teen years. How did growing up and becoming an adult sneak up on me like that?<br /><br />My saving grace is that saying, "You're only as old as you feel." If that's really true, than I still have a few more years before I have to start thinking about facing reality.Slacker Momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08381443249399305145noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3590925091135778515.post-42337873509564136992010-04-08T19:29:00.001-07:002011-01-05T10:30:50.376-08:00G.I. Jane? Yes. Joe Barbie? Forget It.A word of warning for you, dear readers. I have pulled out my soapbox and I am climbing on top. I've decided it's time to address the infuriating double standard that exists among our children. Truthfully, this double standard even exists among adults, but my concern for the moment is only for my kids. What I'm talking about is the fact that girls can be boys but boys are not allowed to be girls.<br /><br />Let me elaborate. My daughter is a princess, as most young girls can be. She loves to dress up, wear jewelry, make-up and nail polish, play house and Barbies. She is a girly-girl. But she also likes to play Pokemon and Star Wars, have pretend battles with her brothers, play with Legos and soldiers. For Halloween, she dressed up as a commando soldier complete with faux six-pack and stuffed pectoral muscles. Everyone's reaction to my daughter's choice of costume and leisurely activities? "How cute, you have a little tomboy."<br /><br />But here's the flipside. My boys (one or both, depending on the activity) in addition to all the rough housing and normal boy-type games, have enjoyed dressing up in sissy's dresses and jewelry, having their nails painted, playing Littlest Pet Shop games, and even playing house. The typical reaction to this? "You need to be careful so he doesn't get confused." I've had close friends actually imply that I need to watch out that these activities don't lead them to an alternative lifestyle.<br /><br />I'm going to take a moment to scream at the top of my lungs in frustration before going on. Okay, I feel better. <br /><br />Are you kidding me? Do you actually think that my son wanting to play a game of dress up is going to make him gay? Why is it okay for my daughter to do everything the boys can do and no one is worried that she's going to end up a lesbian? Why do boys have to always be rough and tumble creatures? Why can't they be free to explore their softer side?<br /><br />I would love to be able to start a Men's Liberation Movement. Women have been demanding equal rights and equal treatment for years. Now it's time for the men. I want my boys to be able to do anything the girls do without fear of being judged. At the ages of 9 and 11, they already know that the things they do at home are not looked favorably upon in society. That's just not what "boys" do. To anyone who makes boys feel like they can't enjoy things that are typically considered "girly", I say take a long leap off a short bridge. It breaks my heart to see my son debate with himself over whether or not to have me paint his nails (even if I'm using green or blue) because he's afraid of what other people will say. He should be able to do it because it's fun, not worry about being judged for it.<br /><br />If my daughter wants to be a Pokemon, Power Ranger, Luke Skywalker or Army ranger, she's applauded for being a strong, tough girl who knows her mind and as well she should be. But if either of my sons wants to dress-up, sew, bake, dance or wear jewelry, he does so knowing that he will be teased mercilessly. I've had enough. Boys can be sensitive. Let them be sensitive. Has anyone ever considered what would happen if our boys learned sensitivity, creativity, compassion, and artistry when they were young? How would things be different if every tough, macho man out there also knew how to be sweet and tender? <br /><br />I grew up playing with Tonka trucks, watching He-Man and Transformers and hiding out in the woods playing soldier. When my husband was growing up, he learned to cross-stitch and paint and he was invited to girls' slumber parties. I think we can attest to being one of the most stable married couples around. Why not give our little boys a chance at growing up with the same opportunities and allowances that we demand for our girls?Slacker Momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08381443249399305145noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3590925091135778515.post-43943438549056235782010-04-04T13:25:00.000-07:002011-01-05T10:33:26.995-08:00GOODwill? I Don't Think so.Thrift stores are dangerous places. I'm not just talking about the army of germs that roams freely through the merchandise waiting to infect those who go in unarmed with hand sanitizer, or the real possibility of slicing your hand open while digging in the clearance bin all because someone carelessly tossed aside a dolphin shaped glass candy dish that exploded on contact. The danger I'm talking about is nothing so obvious. No, this is much more insidious, stealthy even. The danger lies in the allure of...possibilities.<br /><br />As a crafter, and a fan of Martha Stewart when it suits me, thrift stores, second hand stores, even garage sales are indeed highly dangerous. I have to prepare myself before entering. I know what my goal is, I remind myself of my target and vow to not stray away from it. I gird my loins, bypassing the carts that I know I will have no need of and march bravely past the registers and into the heart of unknown finds.<br /><br />I start out at a brisk pace but it doesn't take long for that musty smell of old books, mildewed clothes and long forgotten tchotchkes to envelope me, fogging my brain. My target starts to waver a bit and before I know what's happening, I find myself wandering the book aisles. It's just a detour. "What could it hurt?" I reason with myself. After all, I buy books anyway, might as well buy them at a discount.<br /><br />When I am satisfied that I have read every title available and plucked out a few that will fit perfectly on my overflowing bookshelf, I finally move on. First through the shoes where, even though they almost never have a pair in my size that has any sole left, I eye every pair. I can't help but steal a glance at the furniture which is next to the shoe aisle. I have no room for anything in my house but if I found the right piece--the one that just needs some paint, maybe a few screws, perhaps a replaced slat of wood--I would find a place for it.<br /><br />I do have enough will power to skip past the electronics section but that only leads to the glass trinkets. I can feel my knees go weak as I get closer. I used to be able to justify shopping down this aisle because I could find stuff for the crafts I would sell, but not anymore. I have no reason to go down this aisle and yet, I find I am too weak to resist. What if I found a bride and groom figurine to add to my collection? What if I really do have a use for that elephant pitcher that pours through the trunk? Maybe I'll find an abandoned set of china in just the right pattern that they're selling at a steal? <br /><br />The wood aisle is actually worse because I know that with a little paint, many of those discarded shelves and plaques could actually be cute. They have potential. That candle holder is broken on the bottom? Put a flower ring around it. That wall sign has a crack in the corner? Glue a few decorative buttons on to cover it. There isn't anything I can't improve with a little bit of paint and hot glue.<br /><br />I don't dare go past the baskets, that's just tempting fate. They are my Achilles heel. I am a strong, intelligent woman but I can be brought down by a clever wicker weave. See, I don't have to have a use for a basket for it to worm it's way into my hot little hands. It's as if they have a secret password into my brain--they know how to call out and tempt me until I am helpless to do anything but take them home and add them to the pile of baskets that have escaped from the forgotten bins of the second hand store and have been adopted into my welcoming home.<br /><br />By this time, I've had to go and get a cart because my arms are turning purple from trying to balance all the items that I feel too guilty to leave behind. After all, if I won't give them a home, who will? If I'm lucky and I manage to shake out of that dust-induced coma, I will skip past all the ladies' clothing racks. Being an average size girl of average build there will be tons of garments for me to choose from as long as I'm willing to invest in some bleach, Spray 'n' Wash, and a few buttons to replace those that have popped off.<br /><br />The guilt of pushing a loaded down cart up to the register when I only meant to spend five minutes in the store is soon forgotten as I realize that several of the items I picked out have the correct color of tag for the half-off discount. Half off what was already a great price? Can it get any better than this?<br /><br />As I load my treasures into my car, the fresh air seeps into my muddled brain and the fog starts to lift. I sober considerably at the thought of having to explain to my husband why these particular items were just too big of bargains to not buy. It's only when I'm pulling out of the parking lot--my bank account emptied, the smell of an old person's attic permeating my entire van--that I remember that I was only supposed to run up to the store to find my son a pair of pants and I never even looked at the kids' clothing.<br /><br />The thrift store defeated me again.Slacker Momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08381443249399305145noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3590925091135778515.post-79274943075608043972010-04-02T09:58:00.000-07:002011-01-05T10:30:50.377-08:00Autism AwarenessToday is World Autism Awareness Day and April is Autism Awareness Month. It was just a coincidence that last night I watched a movie called "Adam", about a woman who starts to fall for a man who has Asperger's. It came from Netflix and it's been sitting here for more than a week but I finally watched it last night.<br /><br />Take my advice and watch this movie. It's just beautiful. Hugh Dancy plays Adam and he does a wonderful job. Rose Byrne is Beth, the woman who moves next door and finds herself drawn to him in spite of his quirks and oddities. It's a story of friendship, of love, of learning to adapt, of living in a world where you don't quite fit in. It's a great story.<br /><br />Honestly, it didn't matter to me what the story line was, I had to watch it to see how well they portrayed Asperger's. I was very impressed. Hugh did a wonderful job of conveying the social awkwardness, the lack of empathy, the halting, stuttering way of talking and moving, the singular focus on one subject, the fear of change, the incapability of eye contact. He was just lovely as a man who is still a man despite not fitting in with those around him.<br /><br />I have to be honest and tell you this movie made me cry. It does have some sad moments but I know the reason it made me cry was that I was seeing my son on screen. Not the son that I have now, and not the son who was first diagnosed, but my son just a few years ago. Bubba is not the typical Autistic child. While he may have regressed into a non-verbal, screaming machine with no eye contact and little regard for danger or people around him, he has made amazing strides to become a social, talkative boy who has--for the most part--learned to cope with transitions.<br /><br /><br />When Bubba was little, I never in my wildest dreams thought he would be where he is today. In my most secret dreams, the ones I didn't want to speak out loud for fear of jinxing them, I prayed that one day he would grow up to be as high functioning as Adam. I prayed that he would be able to hold a job, make a friend or two, maybe even be able to live on his own with some assistance. In all your dreams for your children, you just want them to live a happy, normal life. "Normal" takes on a whole different meaning when you are living with Autism.<br /><br />Watching the movie last night, I cried. Okay, I sobbed until I thought my heart was going to break and I'm crying now. I cried because I recognized Adam. I cried because I recognize the frustration--of both Adam and the people who are trying to understand him. I cried because I know how painful it is for someone with Autism to be faced with change. I cried because I was familiar with his movements, his way of speaking, his bluntness, all the unspoken social nuances that went right over his head. I cried because he found a friend. I cried because he found someone to love him just as he was. I cried because he had to deal with a world that is harsh. I cried because he managed to make his way in that world, carving out a niche that suited him and his differences. I cried because I'm grateful that Bubba has progressed beyond what I ever dreamed possible. I cried because most Autistic children aren't like that. I cried because I have learned more from my son than he's learned from me. I cried because God has entrusted me with the care and upbringing of such a special soul.<br /><br />Living with Autism is not an easy task. It drains the mothers. It's hard on the fathers. It wears on siblings. I have days where I have to convince my other children that they do love their brother no matter how difficult he makes life sometimes. There is nothing more heart wrenching than to hear your child say they wish they didn't have a brother. That's a knife to the heart with a wicked twist for good measure.<br /><br />No one chooses this for their life, but it's my life. He's MY son. I love him 'til it hurts. I pray every single day that he will grow up to find someone who will love him just as much.Slacker Momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08381443249399305145noreply@blogger.com0