Traffic

It is the primary reason my husband, whose lived practically everywhere in his lifetime, begged his city-born-and-bred bride to move to the country last year. He HATES it. In fact, besides his propensity for watching Learning Channel documentaries for fun on Friday nights, it was the one of the earliest clues that I had married a man much like my own father, as the old cliche goes.

Every morning by 6 or 7 AM, my husband is trailing down the path toward work, a different construction site every day. All the while he's Christian cursing (you know, in his mind :0) ) every car that cuts him off. He is driving 38 feet of Super Duty truck and trailer, which decidedly won't stop on a dime. But little hot rods intent on dodging in and out of traffic are ignorant to this fact. And while my husband knows he would win in any collision, he doesn't really want the inadvertent bloody death of another human being on his conscience for the rest of eternity.

Yesterday, Greg's trek from one job to the next took him right through the heart of the downtown area just at the height of rush hour. At that point, he would rather have gone shopping for clothes at the mall for four hours with my daughter and her most talkative friends. Then treating them to tofu for lunch. And that's saying something.

He was sitting in the left southbound lane, waiting to turn eastbound with four lanes in all directions backed up as far as he could see. The northbound and southbound lanes have those annoying little "islands" dividing the directions for a full mile. The eastbound/westbound lanes are curvy and sport stoplights about every 50 feet, running the length of a large university. Fun, huh?

The corner is hard enough for him to make in his caravan of equipment without the five to six cars that run each red light, hoping to make some sort of progress on their 8-minute waits at the stop light. But he had finally hit the holy grail, perched in his number two spot behind a little old man who had pulled too far into the intersection during the last light. "That's a good thing," hubby reasoned. "He's out there so people will have to let him go." Ready, set, GREEN LIGHT...........

Funeral procession! Coming from the southbound lane going north, past my hubby on the other side of the islands. Car after car of mourners flanked by motorcycle police. He sat through two more lights. No sooner was the tail end officer making his way across the intersection than a siren could be heard in the distance.

Guess what building sits just adjacent to the university? A fire house. Yep. And guess where it was going? You got it. Northbound into the funeral procession. My husband's story had me riveted at this point. "How did they get through?"

Over the islands. It seems the daily commuters who had been northbound prior to the funeral procession had gotten over to the right to let them pass. And the procession filled up the entirety of the left northbound lane. Hubby just wanted to get home and eat a piece of meat. The fire truck was having to wind in and out of north and southbound lanes, over islands as the driver weaved side to side, filling in whatever small pockets of space the drivers, including funeral attendees, could concoct. Oh, and the fire he was going to......was in the general direction of the cemetery, whose main entrance is closed for major road repairs and requires a detour around a mile long block to access.

But that's not all. Oh, I thought so too. There can't be more, I thought. It sounds like a movie. "It looked like one," hubby deadpanned. The firetruck had rendered all lights red at the intersection via remote control in order to try to navigate his way up the road. Another 5 minutes passed before hubby once again got the green go-ahead - and the distant sound of yet another siren. Yes, folks, here came the ambulance, wailing through the evening wind. And going....you guessed it. Right past where hubby needed to turn. And I DO mean NEEDED to turn! He said by the next green light, he was practically pushing that little old man across the intersection from his high perch in his beast of a truck. After all, if his barely contained aggression were to cause this man some kind of fear or hurt, the man had every known type of emergency vehicle close at his disposal. Or my husband's tractor to scrape him off the roadway!

A Hodge Podge Of Humor

One thing I love so much about blogging is having a regular way to record all of those precious little "funnies" that otherwise go unrecorded. Oh, I have scraps of paper with the most outstanding events I never want to forget - SOMEWHERE. But years from now, I really wish I could go back and visit my kids' little years in some sort of detail, like one of my favorite blogs, Lots of Scotts. She relays the cutest stories of her kids and the wisdom she is learning because of them along the way. I may have long forgotten many of those precious preschool moments, but my busy young elementary kids still say and do plenty to keep me entertained.


WE'RE COUNTRY FOLK NOW, BOY!
Until this summer, I had never once had a tick that I know of. But since our move outside of town last year, my husband and I have had three between us. (I have NO IDEA how they have missed the kids.) Appalled at our last discovery, my 5-y-o declared with much frustration, "Another one! Are you kidding me?! This Place Is INVESTED With Ticks!"


GIRLS WILL BE GIRLS
After witnessing a younger member of our church do what so many toddlers do, Faith couldn't wait to get into the car out of earshot and tell me "Gross! J. was picking his boogers and eating them! That is just so......EW-ISH!"

THIS PARENTAL DISCERNMENT THING IS KILLING ME

A couple of times lately when I've called my youngest son into the room for some sort of instruction, I've noticed him leaving my lecture to call his sister in for my run-down as well. "I only needed to speak to Justice," I would tell her, and she would be on her way. Yesterday, I discovered what he was doing. "Faaaaith! Mom needs youuuuu!" he said, though I had suggested nothing of the kind. As Faith emerged to find me he yelled, "Ha ha, you're IT, now!" as he ran by her, brushing her arm with his hand. That little runt has been telling her I need her when he's tired of looking for her in hide-and-go-seek! And I had actually lectured her recently about not coming when I call her. Now I know why she wasn't!

NOTHING SAYS "I LOVE YOU" LIKE IN-HOUSE MARKETING

My older son, who loves all things technical, was looking around an approved website when he called out excitedly across the house, "Ooooh!....Oooooh! Oooooh! Ooooh! They're selling really cool sparkle pink lip gloss! And if you buy one, the second one is half price!" After questioning stares from his younger brother and I, he finally added, "Where's Faith? She's gonna love this stuff." Honestly, though, it warmed my heart for him to be so excited for his sister like that.

A LITTLE GUY'S MIND ON THE SUBJECT OF DEATH

Three years ago, my brother-in-law passed away from life-long diabetes as he ultimately succumbed to liver failure. He was the "cool uncle" to my kids that always did outrageous fun stuff - like the time he rented them a moon bounce for Easter. In his last months, he developed circular scab-like patches on his skin from the toxin buildup in his system. For some reason this past summer, the kids all talked about him an unusual amount and had some pointed questions about those last hard days. "Mom, why did Uncle Scotty have pepperonis all over him when he died?" It's so sweet to realize how innocently they take it all in.

HEY, DUDE, I'M JUST DOING MOM A FAVOR!

My daughter was gone one night as I was trying to go through old clothes to hand down. Not sure if she had outgrown a particular outfit, I asked my son to try it on because their sizes are close enough for me to tell that way. He gave me the eye roll and a little protest, but he is a good kid and does just about all that I ask. "No one will see you," I said. "It's just us here at home." So he held the clothes up to him just as his dad walked in from work. "O.K. Dad! I'm just helping mom out because Faith's not here. I'm just trying to wear my girl clothes like a man!" He cracks me up.

A PENNY SAVED MEANS A LOT LESS WORK!

My daughter wanted a chore to do to earn money for a book order from school. My youngest son, seeing the size of the job decided he could help to earn a little cash of his own. A little squabble ensued about whether he should get to share in the chore or the payment. Knowing his track record on this particular job, I told him "You can help, but remember a halfway done job only gets halfway paid." His response was not quite what I expected. "Cool, Faith! Let's just do the job halfway, then we can share our money and not have to do it all!" Lord, help me.

THAT "OTHER" DISCIPLE

My kids were quite amused by their last Sunday School lesson. Our friends, who happen to be the associate pastor and his wife, have a bright and lively three year old as their middle child. The teacher asked the kids if they were able to list all of the disciple's names, and, she reports, they did a rather impressive job. But she was particularly surprised that such a young boy knew that Levi was also known by another name - "Pull-up" (Philip).

Does This Blog Make My Butt Look Big?

Rhetorically speaking, of course. Please don't REALLY answer that!

A couple of months ago, my dad called to chat and catch up with us and just and generally see how we are doing as a family. Or maybe that was just his cover. WINK.

"Punkin" he said, with his term of endearment that generally precedes a flattering compliment. "I just want you to know that I think you are a FAN-TAS-TIC writer! You really are. I think your writing is about as good as any I've read."

"Thanks, Dad. Wow! That sure is sweet! I appreciate that!"

"Well, it is, Punkin. I can see our college money was WELL spent. Could I just make a suggestion, though? That blog photo is not your best one."

"Oh....really? I actually kind of liked it. What is wrong with it?"

"I just don't think it's one of your better pictures. You have so many that look nice, but that's not my favorite. I'm just trying to look at it like someone who doesn't know you might see it. It doesn't show you like you really look."

"I know. You've never seen me with brunette hair. And I think you've always liked it blond. Maybe that's it."

"No."

"Well, what IS IT about it that's not good."

"I don't know. It's just not my favorite."

"Is it the angle? Because it cuts off at the chest?"

"I don't know."

"It's probably that I'm 36. And you're not used to seeing wrinkles and age on your own daughter."

"That could be true. Let's talk about something else."

Now, I know my dad. And he really wouldn't ever say anything except to help me. So I have thought about changing my photo. I'm just waiting for my face not to break out. Which happens about as often as the summer Olympics. Sorry if that's not "real" enough, but there are just some things people don't necessarily NEED to see. Like Aunt Francesca in her skivvies, ya know what I mean? O.K. The truth is, my priority list leads with other things right now, like food and shelter and such things I'm still working on. But I will get to it. I also set out to have my blog professionally re-done. Then some financial "stuff" happened, and that was BEFORE taking out a second mortgage to pay for school supplies (o.k. I'm just barely kidding on that one), and well, it's going to have to wait. In the mean time, I'm using what Blogger offers to try to come up with a new look. The old one was getting, well, OLD.

In the meantime, I want to recommend the WONDERFUL lady who has started to work with me on my blog AND been patient and kind enough to understand me dragging my feet for LO, these many months. I chose her not only for her other blog work, but much more importantly for her professinalism, and would ask you to consider the same. She is a SWEETHEART to deal with. And I figure the least I could do is refer her to some of you while she waits on my slow sorry.........um, wallet.

http://www.justalittlecreation.blogspot.com/

Then when my pocketbook is a little bigger than my hind sight, I'll be contacting her again too, and things will begin to look a lot prettier around here.

Edit to add: I just noticed the side bar looks like it has up-side-down cr*osse*s. Please know that was totally unintentional and is cause for me to change my layout again just as soon as I get a chance.

A Lil' Bit Of R&R- Not Available In All Areas, Certain Conditions May Apply

So the hubby's been working insanely long hours trying to acquire an income after days and weeks of rain earlier this summer and ice earlier this year. And the temperature has been about as blistery as his nerves while working in it. So he surprised us today, by coming home early and suggesting a little family fun time was in order. Then he tried to convince us what a blast it would be watching him nap. I thought paying bills sounded slightly more fun, so I did while he slept a few minutes. At least until the neighbor boy noticed signs of life through our windows (that would be the shades briskly shutting) and took that as his cue to run over and ring the doorbell multiple times, because Boy Scouts are nothing if not thorough.

Once hubby was up, he decided he did feel in the mood to go and do something (besides kick the neighbor boy's pants!) as long as it was something that would require little activity and wouldn't fry him like an egg. He suggested the amusement park.

Just let that sink in.

At least his tired overworked brain cells gave him a taste of the daily confusion I experience as his suburban homemaker bride. We settled on dinner, a baseball game and a stroll through down town. We thought at least at the ball park, the crowd would be more mellow than the folks slinging sweat and comparing tattoos at the Tiltawhirl.

Um, we would be wrong.

You know those conversations you have from time to time that really aren't exactly conversations, but a repetitive script you don't realize you are participating in? Like when the waitress, smiling, leads you to your little corner of respite and asks "Will this table be O.K.?" And automatically you respond "yes, thank you."

Why did I do that?

I didn't understand until tonight the dramatic effect "Gray's Anatomy" has had on pop culture, but we were the only people to share a room with twenty or so medical personnel who have apparently taken the show way too seriously. I know because in their amplified drunken voices, they were "discussing" their LOVE LIVES! AND THE COMPLEXITY OF THEIR UNIFORMS! AND HOW A TWELFTH BEER MIGHT REALLY GIVE CLARITY TO UNDERSTANDING THEIR BOSSES DISDAIN FOR THEM! I MEAN, WHAT'S NOT TO LOVE ABOUT THEIR PROFESSIONALISM AFTER ALL! And did you know that complimenting a nurse on the enormity of certain ones of her body parts is completely acceptable (even welcome) while wasted?

My favorite was when the one girl at one end of the table asked the guy clear at the other end of the table (makes sense) WHAT TODAY'S DATE IS! "AUGUST 10th I THINK. I'M PRETTY SURE!" For some reason I apparently wasn't intoxicated enough to understand, this was an uproarious medical joke! Because the laughter from the entire group at the table didn't subside for a full ten minutes. Funny, funny stuff I tell you! At least it was to my kids, who were loving the fact that these people actually seemed to appreciate them quietly mocking their idiocy. "Who's gonna work on them later when they fall off the curb?" we joked. They were getting to laugh AT these people; not with them -what a treat!

I was just happy for the example. "See kids. Alcohol is bad. It's makes one very stupid." At least until we ourselves became part of the entertainment, in the form of my son's first-ever nose bleed. For no apparent reason, other than a more complete fulfillment of Murphy's law, his nose began gushing blood while situating ketchup on his plate. It (blood, not ketchup) was falling onto the table, into his plate, and smearing across him arm and hands in an attempt to stop it. Oh, the fun was really crankin' up now. I scooped him into my arms and had to carry him the length of the restaurant while blood was flying into food. Oh, no, I just wish I was exaggerating. All eyes were on us as a ripple of pale-faced onlookers put down their forks, nauseated, and waiters squinted at us with glares of "Great, there go my tips!" Of course, my son's only concern was "not the women's bathroom, Mom! Everyone will laugh at me! Don't take me in the girl's!" Yeah, I'm not so sure it's your XY chromosome they're gawking at right now, son.

Mercifully, hubby had the good sense to meet us at the bathrooms where we were able to make our great escape through the back doors, with nary a waiter willing to complain about it. As the nosebleed subsided, we made our way over to the stadium just in time for the national anthem and enthusiastic shouts of "play ball!" The game was GREAT! The atmosphere was FANTASTIC! The guy behind us was....SO WEIRD! I really can't even describe why. His conversation just sort of resembled, well, no one I've ever heard. "You see that guy right there. Hey, you see him? Yeah, balloons are blue all right. Uh huh." Let's just say, I don't really think a Bud is wiser when you've been sipping them since breakfast already. Luckily, though, we just "got" to hear his unusual take on puffy clouds and parakeets. It was the cute kids behind us who were faced with having to try to ignore or respond to his friendliness. Fortunately for us. And I mean that in the nicest possible way.

All in all, one good thing I can say about our evening is that, miraculously, the kids avoided having to see brains splattered all over the highway on the way home from the two bikers who decided to drag race through bumper to bumper traffic. And the memories from our night together will certainly be cemented firmly into adulthood! After all, the family who nosebleeds and walks through sticky puddles on the floor together.......well, whatever. Oh! And I didn't have to cook. That right there pretty much makes it ALL worth it, don't cha think!