Tomorrow after children and patients and coworkers are all neatly tucked into their day camps and exercise programs and daily work routines, I will be getting into my car and driving to an undisclosed location for a meeting with The Player. This undisclosed location, I can tell you, is in the state of Indiana. Other than that, I can't tell you. Because if I told you then I'd have to kill you...wait, that's not right. I'm not a superspy. Just a woman with the desire to manage a baseball team.
On Sunday July 31st I will be returning from the undisclosed location just in time to celebrate Mutt's Day with my dog the Wolfster. Yes, July 31st is the day that every dog gets, as in "every dog has his day." Is that a saying or just a line from a bad rock-n-roll song by Huey Lewis?
The undisclosed location is not an underground silo. Because as I mentioned before I am NOT a superspy. And I'm not completely sure, but I'm pretty almost positively sure that The Player is not a superspy either. But I could be wrong.
About Me
- Kim
- United States
- Getting older is not for sissies. I'm not a sissy, thank goodness. I'm a physical therapist, mom, daughter, sister, friend, and I am looking forward to "what's next?"
Thursday, July 28, 2011
Wednesday, July 27, 2011
Take Your Pants for A Walk Day
Seriously, the Bizarre Holiday Website has lost it's cotton-pickin' mind now. Take your pants for a walk? Puh-leez!
How about Wash Your Hands Day, or Don't Forget to Breathe Day!
And still, no holiday celebrating the joys of hummus. Still waiting for October to be declared National...no International...no, wait, Universal Hummus Month. Yes, that sounds right.
I suppose that Congress is too busy texting photos of themselves celebrating Take Your Pants Off Day...no, wait, Take Your Pants for a Walk Day...I mean, doing the business of getting re-elected...or, rather they are busy, um, solving the problems of the economy, wars, global warming, and so on to declare any new holidays. Those busy busy folks, elected by the people for the people to forget the people. Oh dear, I seem to be forgetting something. Dear Lord, I'm not wearing any pants.
Perhaps I should run for office!
How about Wash Your Hands Day, or Don't Forget to Breathe Day!
And still, no holiday celebrating the joys of hummus. Still waiting for October to be declared National...no International...no, wait, Universal Hummus Month. Yes, that sounds right.
I suppose that Congress is too busy texting photos of themselves celebrating Take Your Pants Off Day...no, wait, Take Your Pants for a Walk Day...I mean, doing the business of getting re-elected...or, rather they are busy, um, solving the problems of the economy, wars, global warming, and so on to declare any new holidays. Those busy busy folks, elected by the people for the people to forget the people. Oh dear, I seem to be forgetting something. Dear Lord, I'm not wearing any pants.
Perhaps I should run for office!
Tuesday, July 26, 2011
Garbage Morning
Tuesday Morning 5:44
I awaken to sounds in the kitchen. Sounds like mice scurrying. Or a boy quietly trying to make himself some breakfast. I scurry upstairs and find the boy. He is wrapped in his blankie. He has made toast and is getting ready to butter it. He sweetly says, "can you make my toast? And some cereal?" I do that and he takes the plates upstairs to his room and disappears.
I go back to bed.
Tuesday Morning 6:47
I awaken to sounds in the street. Sounds like the garbage truck. It is the garbage truck. I vaguely recall the conversation I had with J-dude last night when we left for his last baseball game. It went something like this:
mom: J-dude let's not forget to take the trash to the street when we get home tonight.
j-dude: I wonder if I will get to pitch tonight. I hope we win. I can't believe it's our last game.
mom: Ok, then, thanks.
I vaguely recall that when we got home from the game and the ice cream party afterward the conversation went something like this.
mom: J-dude stop bugging your sister. Get upstairs and take your shower.
J-dude: I'm so happy we won. And that I got ice cream. And that I got to pitch. I can't wait until next season!
Tuesday morning 6:48
I sprint up the stairs to the front door. I unlock the front door and sprint to the garbage can. I fly down the driveway wheeling said garbage can to the street. I am wearing my crummiest PJs and of course no bra. Running in this state can be dangerous at my age. The garbage truck is going down the opposite side of the street as I am performing this frightening feat.
Tuesday morning 7:38
I finally hear the garbage truck coming down our side of the street. I don't dare look but I am pretty sure it has to be a different driver. The other one has certainly either 1. quit or 2. had a heart attack.
Next week, for sure, J-dude is taking out the trash!
I awaken to sounds in the kitchen. Sounds like mice scurrying. Or a boy quietly trying to make himself some breakfast. I scurry upstairs and find the boy. He is wrapped in his blankie. He has made toast and is getting ready to butter it. He sweetly says, "can you make my toast? And some cereal?" I do that and he takes the plates upstairs to his room and disappears.
I go back to bed.
Tuesday Morning 6:47
I awaken to sounds in the street. Sounds like the garbage truck. It is the garbage truck. I vaguely recall the conversation I had with J-dude last night when we left for his last baseball game. It went something like this:
mom: J-dude let's not forget to take the trash to the street when we get home tonight.
j-dude: I wonder if I will get to pitch tonight. I hope we win. I can't believe it's our last game.
mom: Ok, then, thanks.
I vaguely recall that when we got home from the game and the ice cream party afterward the conversation went something like this.
mom: J-dude stop bugging your sister. Get upstairs and take your shower.
J-dude: I'm so happy we won. And that I got ice cream. And that I got to pitch. I can't wait until next season!
Tuesday morning 6:48
I sprint up the stairs to the front door. I unlock the front door and sprint to the garbage can. I fly down the driveway wheeling said garbage can to the street. I am wearing my crummiest PJs and of course no bra. Running in this state can be dangerous at my age. The garbage truck is going down the opposite side of the street as I am performing this frightening feat.
Tuesday morning 7:38
I finally hear the garbage truck coming down our side of the street. I don't dare look but I am pretty sure it has to be a different driver. The other one has certainly either 1. quit or 2. had a heart attack.
Next week, for sure, J-dude is taking out the trash!
Sunday, July 24, 2011
The New Lamp
Saturday morning as I was driving home from dropping off the kids at their dad's house, I saw a big yellow sign. That sign called out to me. It said "Neighborhood Garage Sales." Did I go there immediately? No, no I did not.
First I went to the bank and got money. Then I went to the sales.
Usually neighborhood garage sales means park your car and walk from sale to sale until your arms are too full, then go back to your car with stuff. Repeat as needed. But with a heat index of over 100 at 10:00 a.m., I did some walking and some driving and some walking and some driving. The sales were in a neighborhood with new homes and no trees. A neighborhood that was a cornfield not very many years ago.
Once at a neighborhood garage sale I bought a suitcase at the first sale and then kept putting my purchases into it as I walked the neighborhood. That was in a neighborhood with lots of trees and shade and the day was not so ridiculously hot. I bought more stuff than I probably should have because, well, I had a place to put the stuff as I walked along. I don't recommend this tactic if you are on a budget.
Yesterday I bought some things that I really like. And I got some deals. At one house I bought a lunchbox for Sisi (who inevitably loses one or two each summer so getting one for 25 cents is a good idea), some little windchimes, and 2 cute refrigerator magnets. The total came to 85 cents. I told the guy I almost felt guilty. Then he got this look on his face that I recognized from having my last garage sale. The look said thank goodness people are still taking this crap out of my house for me. One man's junk is another woman's treasure. Or something like that.
The purchase I am most proud of, however, is a lamp. This is no ordinary lamp. No, the base is made of hand-thrown pottery. I fell in love with it immediately. I asked the woman about it. She said she had bought it at an art fair in Columbus, Ohio. I asked if it works. Yes it works, she said. Of course it works.
When I got home I found out that it did not work.
This is how much I loved the lamp though. I went back in time to 1969 when I was in 7th grade at Chiddix Junior High School. One of the few schools in our district that is still the same size and same school now as then. I had to take Shop that year. All the girls had to take a few weeks of Shop and the boys had to take a few years of Home Ec. In Shop we learned how to use a little table jig-saw, and how to use wood glue, and some other simple things.
And we made a lamp.
So I thought, if I did it in 7th grade at Chiddix Junior High School 42 years ago, surely I could do it now. I took the lamp apart and decided that I could indeed fix the lamp. And fix the lamp I did.
The only difference between 1969 and 2011 is that in 1969 I did not receive a very unpleasant shock that ran up my right arm and scared the bejesus out of me while I was checking to see if I had the wires connected correctly.
First I went to the bank and got money. Then I went to the sales.
Usually neighborhood garage sales means park your car and walk from sale to sale until your arms are too full, then go back to your car with stuff. Repeat as needed. But with a heat index of over 100 at 10:00 a.m., I did some walking and some driving and some walking and some driving. The sales were in a neighborhood with new homes and no trees. A neighborhood that was a cornfield not very many years ago.
Once at a neighborhood garage sale I bought a suitcase at the first sale and then kept putting my purchases into it as I walked the neighborhood. That was in a neighborhood with lots of trees and shade and the day was not so ridiculously hot. I bought more stuff than I probably should have because, well, I had a place to put the stuff as I walked along. I don't recommend this tactic if you are on a budget.
Yesterday I bought some things that I really like. And I got some deals. At one house I bought a lunchbox for Sisi (who inevitably loses one or two each summer so getting one for 25 cents is a good idea), some little windchimes, and 2 cute refrigerator magnets. The total came to 85 cents. I told the guy I almost felt guilty. Then he got this look on his face that I recognized from having my last garage sale. The look said thank goodness people are still taking this crap out of my house for me. One man's junk is another woman's treasure. Or something like that.
The purchase I am most proud of, however, is a lamp. This is no ordinary lamp. No, the base is made of hand-thrown pottery. I fell in love with it immediately. I asked the woman about it. She said she had bought it at an art fair in Columbus, Ohio. I asked if it works. Yes it works, she said. Of course it works.
When I got home I found out that it did not work.
This is how much I loved the lamp though. I went back in time to 1969 when I was in 7th grade at Chiddix Junior High School. One of the few schools in our district that is still the same size and same school now as then. I had to take Shop that year. All the girls had to take a few weeks of Shop and the boys had to take a few years of Home Ec. In Shop we learned how to use a little table jig-saw, and how to use wood glue, and some other simple things.
And we made a lamp.
So I thought, if I did it in 7th grade at Chiddix Junior High School 42 years ago, surely I could do it now. I took the lamp apart and decided that I could indeed fix the lamp. And fix the lamp I did.
The only difference between 1969 and 2011 is that in 1969 I did not receive a very unpleasant shock that ran up my right arm and scared the bejesus out of me while I was checking to see if I had the wires connected correctly.
You can buy these pieces at Walmart for $3.97 plus tax. Nearly doubling the price of the lamp but still well worth it.
The finished product.
I have a vague memory of having to take some auto repair class in high school. Watch here for future blogs when perhaps I will buy an old Jaguar and rebuild the engine. You never know!
Saturday, July 23, 2011
Another Reason I Should Get The Job
Is Mike Quade a Ferengi? Judge for yourself:
Ferengi:
Quade:
Ferengi:
Quade:
If appointed Queen Manager of the Cubs, I promise never to look like a Ferengi.
Friday, July 22, 2011
Breakfast in Bed
This morning I was asked by J-dude if he could make me breakfast in bed. I said "sure." A half hour later I am eating my toast and bowl of Raisin Bran. Sisi brought me my laptop and now I am blogging in bed.
Our living room is now back to "normal." The Christmas tree is finally put away after it's incarnations as Valentine's Tree, St Patrick's Day tree, Easter Tree and Fourth of July Tree. I had to promise to get it out by Halloween for Sisi to decorate for her favorite holiday, and then of course it will be a Turkey Tree before it goes back to it's original incarnation.
While we were moving couches back where they belong, we also took down the fort Sisi had built in the other corner of the room. It looks like regular people live here.
For a while, anyway.
Our living room is now back to "normal." The Christmas tree is finally put away after it's incarnations as Valentine's Tree, St Patrick's Day tree, Easter Tree and Fourth of July Tree. I had to promise to get it out by Halloween for Sisi to decorate for her favorite holiday, and then of course it will be a Turkey Tree before it goes back to it's original incarnation.
While we were moving couches back where they belong, we also took down the fort Sisi had built in the other corner of the room. It looks like regular people live here.
For a while, anyway.
Thursday, July 21, 2011
Turf Toe
Turf Toe is the official diagnosis of what happened to J-dude when he bounced in an unfortunate, painful, toe-jamming-twisting way on the trampoline Monday night. Poor little guy was in tears. RICE was in order: rest, ice, compression, elevation. (Acronym learned in PT school and used more as a Mom than in work.) Didn't look broken Monday but didn't look much better by Tuesday night. So Wednesday morning I made an appointment for him to see the pediatrician.
Of course when I picked him up from day camp to go to the doctor he appeared to be walking normally for the first time since the accident.
But the toe was still swollen and painful and Doctor Aaron diagnosed it as...turf toe. An injury common to football and soccer players who jam their toes on the turf while the toe is flexed. Apparently you can do it on a trampoline, too.
Thinking now that maybe I should have been an athletic trainer. It might save us some trips to the doctor as J-dude gets older.
The good news is that the treatment for turf toe is RICE, and if there is a hairline fracture in there as well you can "buddy tape" the toe...which is what I had been doing all along with a little Coban. (Buddy taping means you tape the toe to the next toe , to it's "buddy" so to speak.)
Speaking of buddies...Kathy and I went to see Bridesmaids last night. I rarely see new movies in the theater, and this one is hardly "new" but still in theaters. I laughed almost non-stop for 2 hours. Like any comedy, best to see in a theater with a bunch of strangers eating popcorn around you and laughing, too. A really cold theater on a hot summer night. Oh yea!
Of course when I picked him up from day camp to go to the doctor he appeared to be walking normally for the first time since the accident.
But the toe was still swollen and painful and Doctor Aaron diagnosed it as...turf toe. An injury common to football and soccer players who jam their toes on the turf while the toe is flexed. Apparently you can do it on a trampoline, too.
Thinking now that maybe I should have been an athletic trainer. It might save us some trips to the doctor as J-dude gets older.
The good news is that the treatment for turf toe is RICE, and if there is a hairline fracture in there as well you can "buddy tape" the toe...which is what I had been doing all along with a little Coban. (Buddy taping means you tape the toe to the next toe , to it's "buddy" so to speak.)
Speaking of buddies...Kathy and I went to see Bridesmaids last night. I rarely see new movies in the theater, and this one is hardly "new" but still in theaters. I laughed almost non-stop for 2 hours. Like any comedy, best to see in a theater with a bunch of strangers eating popcorn around you and laughing, too. A really cold theater on a hot summer night. Oh yea!
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