No Christmas Tree, No Christmas Tree...

The kids had a great Christmas morning and I took all sorts of lovely photos of their wonder, joy and excitement as they opened their gifts, saw the big dollhouse and one of those cars you can actually drive (both compliments of angels in the neighborhood) but I can't view them or share them because I don't have them due to them being on my brother's camera that I stole right after this photo was snapped.

Stealing aside, I would like to point out that I actually purchased a new Christmas and Easter blouse. After three years of wearing my lovely periwinkle one in all of the holiday photos, I couldn't tell which year it was when I looked at the pictures as I am apparently ageless thanks to new camera technology. Fortunately, I can tell which photos are last year's as a little Chinese child began appearing with us at that time. Also, given my ego, I figured that royal purple suited me so I went out and found some.

So, I think I stole his camera because it was silver. As it isn't the same size as mine or the same brand, I must assume I took it because my brother negligently left it near the door. Or it could have been my lack of sleep for several days getting ready for the big event.

Now, I could have taken his card out and downloaded the pictures but then I thought about it. What if he had some of "those" kind of photos on it? Was I up to seeing his birthmark once again? Made the prudent decision. Hopefully, they'll send me a disk.

GPS, Where art thou?

Well, got a GPS for Christmas and will begin using it as soon as I can locate it. I have apparently "put it in a safe place" which, in my home, is liberally interpreted to mean, "don't have a frigging clue what I did with the thing, when I did it, why I did it or why I am now blaming you and/or the cat for moving it in a malicious manner."

Now, I believe I should have also asked for one of those clap-on, clap-off things. Would have been a good thing to attach to a bell and then to the GPS. Would make it a complete package for those of us who are, shall we say, a bit directionally challenged. Now, given that I often temporarily misplace full size cars in large parking lots, solely as a method of getting in my daily exercise I might add, this temporary confusion should not and does not come as a surprise to me, anyone who knows me or the cat.

The GPS does have this real cool feature called "Where am I?" that I believe I paid a bit more to get. I was quite jazzed about it, I recall. But, it's not like the device is going to phone its location in to me, now is it? Who cares if it knows where the heck it is?

Somewhere, there is an 18-year-old GPS engineer laughing his buttocks off because he invented the "Where am I" useless feature and probably got a royalty when I purchased the same. He's probably at MIT. I'd go visit the punk to ask him just what was he thinking but, of course, that would require an ability to find the place using something like, let's say for example, a GPS. I'm thinking the kid is safe.

Instructions May Change at any Time?

Just got a new computer monitor. I'm taking an educated guess that it wasn't made in the States. The give away is the fabulous instructions which address issues that American made producers apparently haven't thought of. For example, these helpful hints, clearly printed as a hard copy on real paper and in black and white, unequivocally state right at the beginning "Instructions may change at any time".

I'm sleep deprived right now but if I'm telling you - if those printed directions suddenly change into the Christmas story or a missive on the grazing habits of llamas vs. alpacas, I'm calling in the exorcist. It's just that simple.

These directions, sadly, do not address the question of how to use the product while sleeping like my "nearly flat screen" Broksonic television manual did. To wit, it instructed, "To watch television while sleeping, ......" Apparently, I am a bit deficient in television watching skills as I have, so far, only been able to manage the task while awake.

I do admire the marketing folks that determined that a conventional television could be sexed up by calling it a "nearly flat screen." They have my kudos and now I believe I will use this technique without further attribution as my own going forward. Awesome technique really. For example, bra size? "nearly Pamela Anderson" Yep, sounds like a winner.

I Dint Know He Could Write..

So, my darling son has learned to write. In sentences apparently. His spelling was a tad off but he wrote me the most heartwarming note yesterday. On his V-Tech Computer. Unfortunately, in the technical age, I couldn't file it away for posterity in a memory box although I sure wanted to. I did think about filing the entire V-Tech. For good.

We had been in the kitchen making cookies. The kind he likes - he's the first born son so of course I got him those little reindeer in a cookie things put out by Pillsbury that you throw on a cookie sheet, pop in the oven and then call them done. My kind of a togetherness project. But, as it is also the Christmas season, we set up shop and commenced baking our annual Peruvian Alphahores - a traditional Peruvian cookie. Now, Alphahores does not translate into "Peruvian cookie made in Alpharetta," No, it is actually an old Peruvian word for "you won't believe how much time and effort this is going to take ."

So, after the reindeer cookies had been done for an hour or so, I told the son he could not have a 4th or 5th cookie at that current time as he had not eaten anything else that day and, when his father got home, he would query him on how many cookies he had eaten. If he were to tell the truth, as is his fashion, I might be in the mix again. He appealed, using some pretty good logic but I still said no. So, he went into his play room.

A couple of minutes go by and he comes walking in with his V-Tech computer where he has written me a love note by typing it. I quickly shook off the powdered sugar I was wallowing in to excitedly read what he had written. As he has told me he wants to be a book writer, I knew this was his seminal moment and he needed my full attention and prideful support. Wow, this was apparently the beginning of his career and I would be instrumental in it.

He turned it around so I could see it and asked if I could read what he had written. I was so proud and I leaned in to see "I DINT LIVE MOM". Of course, the son was a tad concerned that he had spelled all of the words correctly. Could I please read it to him? I took a WAG at it and said, " I don't love mom?". Yes, he exclaims with excitement!! He told me he was proud I got it. Then, he asks, would I be so kind as to stop right in the middle of what I was doing to let him know if his spelling was all correct? Apparently, it was quite important to him at this stage to make sure that his writing is technically proficient. So, as the fabulous parent that I am and high on the sugar of at least 10 or so cookies and a whole lot of Diet Dr. Pepper, it seemed like a reasonable thing to do at the time.

However, a little later in the evening as I sat in the middle of a powdered sugar pile and reflected on life, the batteries in the V-Tech somehow just ran out. Odd how that happens. Guess that's what they mean by reindeer games. Next year, I'm thinking it's a big no on the Pillsbury cookies. Geez.

Laundry Tip of the Day

So I decide to wash a pair of socks by hand to wear the next day. Two major reasons- first, they are extra special socks (which means I paid full price and they have a neat pattern) and second, I coulnd't find any others in the house that were simultaneously clean and also had a mate. This is a tall order in my home.

So, I get up in the morning, tired as heck, and the socks aren't quite dry. However, due to my very inventive nature, I know all I have to do is to stick them on the end of the hair dryer and turn the thing on. Hot air works every time. And, it worked fine for sock number one. For sock number two, I looked at the sock as it inflated and begin to wonder if there was any way possible to just shoot the thing off the hair dryer by pressing a bunch of buttons on the dryer.

Now, I can't figure out any reason why I would ever need to shoot socks, nor why it sounded like a good idea to invent a sock shooter at 6:30 a.m. but my conjecture is that since I had not yet had any caffeine it was a reasonable thought. Or, I should have been an engineer. So, I tried it for a while. The turbo button just didn't do the trick nor did turning it off and on which I'm sure my still sleeping family appreciated. It did, however, melt my sock onto the hair dryer as well as put a hole in the side.

Of course, I peeled it off to see if I could still wear it to work which would save me the effort of having to go on a household sock hunt to find a pair of socks that matched and were clean. Unfortuantely it was too crispy at the top and the hole just got bigger and bigger. Cost me about 15 minutes total.

About 220 Cats

So the son and I are riding in the car when we start talking about our new cat Cody, or as Aidan calls him, my BROTHER Cody with the emphasis on BROTHER. We weren't discussing Cody's apparent death wish at this point because the identification of this predilection wasn't made until his most recent attempt to choke himself by wrapping a balloon string around his neck repeatedly. Fortunately, he announced his act by banging the still attached balloon against any object he could find in a remotely taiko fashion. Apparently, he got rhythm versus any measurable intelligence which makes him all the more fun. After all, I do like Japanese taiko.

Now, this act followed Cody's attempt to put his head in the oven when I opened it to take some food out even while I yelled, Cody, hot, Cody, hot, CODY, I TOLD YOU IT WAS HOT!!! Little sore on the paws but otherwise intact. He sat there for a minute contemplating his paws and I suspect he was probably just comparing the pain in his paws to how he felt a couple of days earlier. That time, he went running with great gusto to launch himself in a flying arc right off the back of a chair and over the second floor guardrail landing on the hardwood floor below. But, not so gracefully. That one left him off for a bit as he worked to regain his ability to breathe and remember where he was.

So, in any event, the son wants to know if we should get Cody a brother to play with as Cody does quite a bit of chasing, catching and killing figments of his imagination, rounding corners on the hardwood floors approximately 5 mph faster than physics will allow which leads to Cody spin-outs, and springing out from under the couch repeatedly with great hopes that there will be something for him to attack despite any record of success. I do have to admire his perseverance or lack of short-term memory.

I explained to the son that I do think it would be a good idea but that I first would have to make sure that we had the adoption fee and the money for downstream veterinarian visits and all that jazz. Being the inquisitive child that he is, he wanted to know how much it was so I let him know that it was $100. He thought that was fair, especially since he didn't have to come up with the money. But then the obvious question came - How much did Mia cost?

Now, that is a question that I have long been prepared for, having been asked the same by a fishmonger yelling down the aisles at Walmart the second week I had been back. The answer - priceless. But, this is the son I am dealing with. Priceless isn't precise and precision is key. So, the next obvious question is asked - how much, exactly, is priceless? After futility trying to explain that it is an existential concept that he wouldn't understand now because he has not yet developed the ability to think in the abstract, I decided to give it a go.

I used the approved adoption speak to carefully explain to him that Mia didn't cost anything. Rather, mommy and daddy paid some money to some nice folks who could speak Chinese and who could help mommy and daddy fill out a lot of papers so that the people in China could see that we were a good family that would take good care of a little girl. And, of yeah, we paid some money to the US government to get permission to fill out another form later that we would also pay for, none of which was apparently paid for by the obscene amount of income tax we pay each year. So,that's great, he says but exactly how much is that? I throw the trump card and let him know that it was about the same as it would cost to have a baby in the hospital if you didn't have insurance, assuming that 1. they would admit you and 2. you had no complications and 3. the baby had no complications and 4. you didn't use any of their toilet paper which they most probably bar code so they can scan that cost into the total cost of supplies.

For some reason, this doesn't do it for him. He thinks for a moment and carefully crafts his next question to make sure he asks a very specific, closed question that can only have one, precise answer as he has apparently discovered that asking his mother an open question allows her to provide superfluous information merely for her own amusement.

After some deep thought, he asks did it cost more money to adopt Cody or Mia and instructs me to give him only one answer - Cody or Mia. He was indignant when he was told that we spent slightly more getting Mia even though I pointed out that he should consider travel costs and the dollar's slide againt the RMB over the last four years before making any judgements. He let me know, in no uncertain terms, that there was a problem. In his vernacular, that wasn't fair. Cody is his BROTHER and Mia is his SISTER, so what was up with that.

A couple of minutes later I get the follow up question - if we didn't get Mia, just how many cats could we get?

Told him it depended on what country they were coming from, the travel costs involved and the exchage rate of the euro, peso and ruble at the time of said adoptions. Seemed to do it for the time being.

I take ____ as my wife

So during the Redtop Celebration we hold a mass. This year was particularly special as the archbishop of Atlanta was coming up to say the mass for us. Not only was he going to say mass but he would be helping us renew our wedding vows. Except the wedding vow thing was a bit of a surprise to those of us who either were chasing screaming kids or did not read the program, which should not be taken to imply, even if it conceivably is 100% true, that one of us doesn't ever, for any reason, read the program or instructions provided to him for any reason. When the shelves fall off the wall or the grill blows up, it is one thing but when it is the marriage vow gig, quite another. Now, that is not to say the grill has blown up. Well, at least not this one. Yet.

So we wore our very best mud covered jeans for the big event. When we realized what was about to happen, we got so excited we could hardly contain ourselves as our efforts were going into containing Mia. After all, the archbishop has only two ranks between him and the ultimate CEO and our original priest had five so these vows had to have some real superpower and, in my estimate, were probably 50% better than the original so we were good to go.

Meanwhile, the very dignified archbishop had come in and began the mass. Against all Catholic tradition, we came to a part where there were actually some people singing along with the incredible music that was presented. Would have thought the place was full of Lutherans, Baptists and Methodists it sounded so good. Which, of course, gave me the perfect cover to tell the son that we had just noticed that very soon we were getting married again and wasn't that exciting? He, of course, wanted to know why. I let him know that since he hadn't been able to attend the first ceremony, we were going to do it again so he and Mia could be there and share in the momentous event. Which led the husband-to-be-again to state, "Uh, actually you were there in Mommy's tummy."

Of course, my not so darling husband-who-needed-to-sleep-with-one-eye-open-to-be was using his "talking over the music voice" for his statement when the music had stopped abruptly. I immediately knew that quiet but effective communication of my thoughts was most appropriate for the setting. Again, being very conscious of not wanting to cause any disruption of the services or causing any undue distraction to others, I used the well-known quiet communication method of gaining the husband-now-maybe-to-be's attention by wacking his upper arm with my fist thrown at a 90 degree angle while muttering "shut up" in my best whispering-pretty-loud-in church voice. Which, of course, caused the ever vigilent son to exclaim, "Mommy, you said a bad word!" in his best in-case-you-haven't noticed, heck-yeah-we-are-actually-in-a-barn voice. So, I'm praying for singing but nope, the only voices that are lifting are the archbishop's and, unfortunately, our little clan's.

We notice the couples-to-be rustling around while I am, ever the diligent positive role-modeling parent, stating, "Robert, I am sorry I said a bad word to you. I was wrong. I will give Aidan the quarter I owe him for using a bad word on our return home. Could you find it in your heart to forgive me?" And, as the folks began turning to one another, the son again asks, apparently for addiitional clarification purposes what we are doing and I tell him we are getting married again, isn't it exciting, and couldn't he just turn around, be quiet and go along with the glorious program for Pete's sake?"

We notice folks picking up programs and would have done so if the son hadn't continued with his line of inquiry about the situation. He first needed to make sure I, and anyone within a 20 foot range understood that "there is a problem. First, who and where is Pete? Second, where was my dress? How could I get married without a dress?" And, as the folks opened their programs and we grabbed ours to begin, I told him in my best-imitation-of-a-viper's-hiss voice, don't need it, just getting married again, apparently now, how about just being quiet, and Robert begins to solemly repeat after the archbishop, I ....take....as my wife, apparently having missed the instructions that were cleverly hidden in plain sight and bold type in the the program that stated he was to fill in our names so that that he, Robert, would take Joan as his wife and so on.

Meanwhile, the son had one more, very important question that needed answering before he would participate. He just needed to know just who we were marrying? I noticed him eyeing one of the very pretty and nice gals there who he is a bit sweet on. I could see the glint in his eye as he considered the fact that I was apparently being pawned off on Pete and he might get to spend some quality time with the other gal. Didn't have time to answer him before the archbishop asked the kids to get up and give their parents some applause. The son stood up and looked at us like we had grown alien heads while Mia just clapped along.

Retop Redux

Last year we joyfully signed up for a marriage encounter weekend reunion at Red Top Mountain which provided fun activities such as Mia screaming for three hours before bedtime two days in a row, spending several quality family hours together bonding through scream therapy on I-75 due to a road closure, having only a tub of tapioca to eat for dinner the first night with the end of a plastic knife and Aidan and I having to enter our hotel room boot camp style, bellies to the multi-colored carpeting that had begun its life as a solid beige but had morphed into an abstract pattern of different colors for reasons we thought best not to consider. Of course, the sneak attack was our attempt to not wake Mia and it worked well except for the part where we got stuck in the bathroom.

Having not learned our lesson from either last years' excursion to Red Top Mountain or my contracting Lyme disease there 1987, we again eagerly signed up to go again this year. We figured the third time would be the charm.

This time, we shared a cabin with a very patient and very understanding couple and their two children. We did not bring tapioca as that would be tempting the fates. Instead, we brought a bag of chips for the potluck figuring we could easily dole them out should we again get stuck on the road. Given the fact that the other attendees actually cooked family specialties, our contribution could have been considered a tad gauche as the chips were in their original bag, so we carefully snuck them onto the table. I considered finding a kid I didn't know and then giving him a quarter to put the lovely chips on the table but I didn't have a quarter and since his parents were also there, I figured I'd get nailed on this one. Next year, the chips will go into Tupperware and will be presented as the product of my slaving over hot grease to deliver the best kettle cooked chips anywhere in America.

Our first activity included decorating the cabin so all the kids there could trick or treat from cabin to cabin the next day. Because it was raining, an additional element of fun was added. It's not every day that you get to stomp around in mud while trying to not freeze. Now, for the trick or treating, some of the folks in other cabins apparently considered the decoration a matter of contest with huge inflatables, a fully decked out haunted house and more orange lights than you would need to light New York City and half of Sydney, Australia. We went for a post-modern, minimalist look which was clearly not understood and appreciated apprpriately as the words "pitiful" and "did you guys forget your decorations" just seemed to keep coming up. Clearly they were part of the miscreants that skipped school on art appreciation day and could not identify the minimalist genre. Heck, we had some yellow tape from the Dollar Store that clearly warned of the danger of not "turning back now", a 8" bat that made a "genuine bat laughing noise" if you clapped, and approximately three feet of purple lights. Given that purple seems to be the color for the year, we really thought that extra points should have been awarded for that and as our "turning back now" tape didn't quite run the length of the porch, we clearly "did more with less", an admirable accomplishment given the economy. We also provided proof that a "genuine bat laugh" sounds amazingly like Santa Claus which gave our display the educational component that the others sorely lacked.

The second big activity included the kids decorating "blood" cakes made from red velvet mix. The decorations generally included icing that was a bit over one pound for each cake and those gosh awful sprinkles which apparently contain some drug given the universal kid response to seeing them. As everyone knows, the screaming for sprinkles on ice cream, cakes, waffles, pancakes and the occassional meatloaf just cuts across all cultures and continents. The other decorations included some Hersey kisses that looked strikingly like nipples. Perhaps Hersey was going for orange and white but were economizing on their dye. In any event, after all the kids were done and the cakes were placed on one table, it looked like udders of cows staring back at you. Udders with spinkles, but udders nonetheless.

And then we moved on to the renewal of our wedding vows.....

Americans Are Broad

I find it quite interesting to see how Americans are perceived in other countries. For example, here, are a couple of well meant homages to the American Woman. Exhibit A is on Shamian Island, Guangdong Province, PRC. This portrayal, although well meant, is clearly incorrect. In the traveling adoptive families, Dad carried the new baby while mom carried the money to pay for whatever it was and a third party was pressed into service to carry the camcorder. In fact, it seems to be an unwritten rule that it must be so and the Dads in our group, being quite an advanced and well educated bunch, even devised a manner to contort themselves to pee while still having their new child strapped on to their chest in the carrier. Just wouldn't be appropriate to post a photo of that but it involved learning to aim while leaning over backwards in an arc while also making sure not to fall over in to who knows what. I'm not sure if they awarded a gold medal for the best aim or not. All I know is that my darling husband didn't mention his winning any such award, which, of course, could be for a number of reasons that it would be best not for me to ponder. "Peeing while having a child strapped to your chest" would make an amusing Olympic Sport and should have been debuted in Bejing.

Next, is Exhibit B, Costa Rica. Not much to be said here other than that sure is a lot of bronze and it is nice to see that we are appreciated for our many, many assets. And, damn, I feel like an midget athlete by comparison and that feels good.

Clear to me - the rest of the world has the perception that N American woman can't find a good bra to save her soul.

Oreos for Unemployement

Now that it looks like I might have a valid job offer very soon, I'm thinking some realistic advice for the unemployed or soon to be unemployed is in order. This is in contrast to that given by by the currently employed folks who write for the newspaper. For example, they had one of those articles today that gave 71 ways to survive in a tough economy or through unemployment. Now, I understand how they are trying to be helpful and need to fill newsprint but most of their suggestions are along the lines of "find a time machine, go back 10 years and save everything you make," which is one of those ideas that, although good on paper, might be best described as "freaking nuts."

Yet another great proposal was along the lines of getting rid of your home phone if you have a cell phone. Now, perhaps this is a great idea for anyone under 30, but how in the heck am I going to make a cell call if the first step for me to make a cell call is to first locate the cell by calling it from the home phone? Unless I tie it to the wall with one of those phone cords, which as I think of it does seem like a rather good and doable idea, no one will ever hear from me again. This high technology did work for the television remote control in the bedroom which seemed to go missing daily. The remote that is, not the bedroom. Anyway, after I tied that remote to the bed with a very long piece of yarn, I could just reel it in when I couldn't find it. Technology at its best. Until the cat managed to take off with the yarn, bumping along as he went.

So, here are a couple ideas not mentioned in the article that I think are most helpful:

1. Put the kids to work. After all, they have more energy anyway. As you can see, Aidan opened his Oreos for Unemployment Store soon after the great lay off. Now, as any responsible parent would do, I made sure that he also got to understand economics and getting screwed by "the man" by first making him pay me back for his cost of goods sold before counting his profits. And, because I bought the Oreos at CVS which apparently only stocks Oreos that are made of solid gold, the cost of goods sold was roughly twice that which it would have been had the supply been purchased at the local Walmart. And, I would have ended up with a good payback had Walmart not had such a prominent display of their $2.50 Oreo's right at the entrance and a child smart enough to know that the $4.59 he had been charged was something like highway robbery or in his vernacular, "unfair." After explaining to him the art of negotiating before sealing a deal and how wonderful it was that he learned this lesson early, I relented and gave him the difference between the two so as not to be put in some type of SEC jail for price gouging. Heck, the kid even went door to door so I had to at least give him some credit for his energy useage.

2. Go on the unemployment diet. This diet consists of buying 3 sandwiches for $2.49 at BP for breakfast, 4 hotdogs/corndogs for $4 at QT for lunch and 4 tostidos for $4 at QT for dinner. Buy refills for the adult drinks. Get the kids the "free sample" cups filled with some bright red stuff while at BP, all the while pointing out that they shouldn't be drinking high fructose corn syrup junk which is why having them drink from a thimble is just one of mom's many, many ways of showing them just how much they are loved. Add a copious amount of relish to the food, daily vegetable requirements will be met and you'll feed a family of four for $75 a week, excluding weekends where you arrange to be fed by the parents or find a potluck, church picnic or large family reunion where you can just blend in and tell them you know "Ann" or "John". We have discoverd that ever reunion or family has one member with that name.

3. Steal. Now, although it is an idea, it must be pointed out that very serious negative karma will occur should one choose this path. In our case, we have done this without intention and we are going back to both stores in question but we discovered that you can a. walk out of a store with a huge box of baby butt wipes under the buggy and not find it on your receipt and b. walk out of a different store with a big bag of flower bulbs in your buggy even through the clerks personally walked over to both buggies in question and supposedly scanned all items. Who knew it was that easy other than CVS as they are clearly charging for this shrinkage when they sell Oreos?

The Bennetton Effect

So, as I'm working through this job search thing which I believe is called "Hades for Dummies", I come to a brilliant realization of just how well the Benetton Effect has helped my family in the past and could be of benefit now. I can go to work doing darn near anything and if they don't feel comfortable acknowledging me when I drive the school bus up on the curb a couple of times accidentally which is wont to happen when I drive almost anything, they have plausible deniability.

In fact, the set up is almost perfect. First, the kids on the bus will probably applaud the curb driving which will sooth my mangled, unemployed ego. Second, no matter what I do, the husband and kids can just look at me and give a good old shrug and exclaim loudly, "no idea who she is". If I dare protest, they can then launch that gesture where one uses their index finger to make circles around their temple while looking knowingly at the other party and mouthing "crazy". After all, I am the only one in the household that has blue eyes and blindingly white skin that screams if it even sees the sun. They, on the other hand, don't.

Now, the husband has clearly used this in the past. When I crashed the motorized vehicle designed to assist the handicap into Walmart's wall at high speed and reported this to him when I got home, he was quick to let me know that if he had been with me, he and his son to be would have just quietly left the store and waited in the car to see if 1. an ambulance came or 2. I eventually came driving on out on the vehicle, albeit now with rounded bumpers in the front.

He also tried to avoid any familial connection several years ago in Hawaii. I thought it would just be a fabulous idea to send a couple of whole coconuts home to several of my brothers. After all, how often do you get to do that? Probably a reason for the lack of opportunity to do so but, in fact, the small island of Molokai, Hawaii, encourages it. They even have a post office that lets you do this. They keep a box of coconuts and you address the coconut on the outside green part and then they weigh and stamp it and off it goes. So, I thought it would be sort of fun for my brother who had a very, very small mailbox to get a notice to go to the post office to pick up his mail and get handed my unique gift. Figured the other would have his delivered which he did. The carrier stuffed my gift into into his mailbox and fortunately his wife did not call the bomb squad upon its discovery although that probably would have enhanced the experience, especially for the kids and also deepened their love for me to a heretofore unseen level.

So, we go to the post office. Turns out it is the wrong one - this island has two and only one has a bin of coconuts. The other one. The gal lets us know where we can go and get some free coconuts and off we go, the husband at this point so enthralled with the experience that he is sharing it vocally and with great enthusiasm, especially since we were to go run into some private property and get two suitable coconuts without getting hit by those falling from trees or running into the owner. After executing this move, back we go to the post office and that is when the husband decides it is a very good time to stay in the car as he wanted to maintain whatever modicum of dignity he had left.

Now, had I been going into the post office naked, I could understand the dignity part of it but because I was only going in to mail the biggest darn coconuts I could find and giggling about it, I could not agree that any loss of dignity could or would be involved. The husband quickly invoked the Peruvian clause which generally sounds something like, "Peruvian's don't do things like that you know and if we were in Peru, I think you'd be thrown in a mental asylum and then what would my family think considering,,,,,, I generally don't always get much beyond this point in the clause to hear either the conditions or disclaimers as closing the car/garage/house door generally muffles out that part of the drill.

So, I go in and the process begins. We weigh, we stamp. And as we do, the husband silently slips into the back of the post office to see what is taking so long, obviously forgetting that we are in Molokai, Hawaii, where life just doesn't move all that fast. Out of love for him, I just didn't want him to miss out and starting waving both of my arms like I'm trying to land a plane while exclaiming quite loudly, "That's my husband Robert - Hey honey, come over here to help me mail these coconuts, especially since it was your idea and I don't want you to miss out on any of the full experience."

So, the kids have the Bennetton Advantage of not looking a bit like mom and the husband has the Bennetton Advantage of me not looking like anyone he would hang with much less marry. Unless, of course, any of them forget the tip that perhaps they might not want to get trapped into a closed room with me where I can wave my arms and call them by name to acknowledge our association.

And that leaves almost any job possibility open for me. Just sort of lightens my heart and puts a spring in my step although it probably has some street engineers a bit concerned.

Passed it this Time

Here he is - Cody Coyote right after he recognized that he will be permanently sharing his abode with these two little people. Actually, he is the most laid back cat you could ever find. Has a bit of a love for the catnip though which could account for his laid back demeanor. Could also explain why he entertains himself by batting at doorstops made with springs and can't bear not to watch the water going down in the toilet. Comes running for that so fast he sometimes slides around the corners.
As to the doorstops - Middle of the night - Ziiiiiiiing, Ziiiiing, Ziiiing .

I Failed the Home Study. Really.

So we go to get a new cat to be a companion animal to our family. When we started out, we were erroneously saying we were going to get a new pet but then were quickly educated that most rescue groups don't call them "pets" anymore. Apparently, the word "pet" offends the dignity of most cats and dogs. Who knew, other than the rescue groups in question? Perhaps the pet protests were held the week I got laid off and I just missed the news. After all, my head was still spinning too much to enjoy watching as they just kept having these pesky reports that the economy was clearly approaching the Apocalypse for the unemployed.

In any event, to deal with the rescue groups, I quickly discovered that I had to "have a deep respect for the animal rescue culture and be interested in learning more about it." Also had to express a "knowledge of the animal rescue people and the care they take for abandoned animals." Given I pulled this off for a Chinese person, figured I could nail that one without much effort.

So, our mission to adopt a fifth member of our family was launched with gusto. We designed a very scientific plan and companion search strategy and set out to tactically implement it. First, the kids and I traveled to the abandoned companion animal center and expressed our deep respect for the companion animals and the culture they came from. Second, we got permission to go into the feline housing block. Third, we sat in the middle of the room and had the little Chinese girl practice the Chinese opera screams that are apt to come out when she recognizes a feline being, especially one that resembled her lost Beluga if Beluga had been on Jenny Craig for a month.

After our well planned tactics were executed with great verve and at high volume, we decided that the only feline not hiding on the top shelf was, by default or bad luck, our new family member. We figured he was either deaf or lame but were assured he was not. So, off we went out to fill out our home study to adopt Sammy - a beautiful white cat that had just enough Siamese in him to be appropriately Asian.

We checked one more center but didn't find any waiting companions that were clearly lacking the sense to not be at least 10 feet off the ground or frantically banging on the door to get away from the little screaming person.

So, it's prayers at night for Sammy, the new addition to the Anchaya household. The older one prays that he is having a good night and that he doesn't mind the screaming to come all that much.

The next day, I call the center to see when we can pick him up. I get put on hold. For a while. A long while. Then, I get referred to a supervisor who told me that , "you can not adopt Sammy. Your home study was not approved." I explained that I had been approved by both the US and China to adopt a person and that I figured the animal center most certainly was mistaken. Nope, she says, your application states you intend to torture Sammy. I let her know that although our parenting methods may be a bit unique, none include water boarding. I did, however, concede that we do have a bit of sleep deprivation when the little one makes the decision that she needs a good night of screaming instead of a good night's sleep.

Nope, she still says. Your home study states you might declaw Sammy if he starts tearing up the house and that is considered torture under some United Nations convention or at least by the rescue group. I ask what I need to do to redeem myself to reenter polite society and become eligible for a companion animal named Sammy.

The answer, not much. I'd been identified and labeled. Even though I could clearly show that I still had the little Chinese person and that she clearly had all of her fingernails although she does, at times, tear up the house, it was a "no". And not just a "no". It was a "no way, no how, why don't you move to Gitmo and work there as that is where you clearly belong type of "no".

Lovely experience. The older was really upset and I had to explain how I thought that maybe Sammy's parents apparently came and reclaimed him so he could be with his siblings.

Another day, another search began.

Life Lesson Number 973

It's really not a very good idea to try to fix an ingrown toenail with sharp and/or dull implements after the age of 45 without a pair of good reading glasses unless you really didn't like the toe that much anyway.

Beluga, Rest in Peace

We just had to put our 18 year old cat Beluga down. He was a faithful companion who didn't ask for much. He was born deaf which was a blessing considering the little Chinese person in the household would get so excited when she saw him she would just scream in that high-pitched Chinese opera tone. Had to convince her that what cats like the best is for little Chinese people to wave at them. Worked for several months until she figured that one out. This is one of the few times he let her touch him. He was my baby and he gave me 18 years of unconditional love through thick and thin. Well, maybe somewhat conditional on giving him tuna, but not much more than that.

Was just telling myself this morning that if throwing money at a problem solves it, it isn't a real problem. Unemployment, at least, is said to be reversible.

At least I don't have to report to work tomorrow with my eyes all red. Guess there is an upside after all.

What the Hell is the Glue Stick Doing on the table?

So we are sitting around eating our daily dinner gruel and I ask, rhetorically, just what in the heck was going on in someones head when they did this or that earlier in the day. Of course, most of my dinner questions are rhetorical what with the son interrupting, the daughter working on her gravity and velocity testing as she clears the food and drink off her highchair top with a rapid back and forth motion and the husband trying to duck the food coming at him while he fondly reminisces about those days gone by before he turned 40 last week and still had the ability to duck fast enough to avoid the food's impact.

So, I'm testing the conversational listening by verbalizing my musings on the topic of two trains leaving the station at the same time, one going 35 mph and the other going 55 mph, same track, both with naked people driving them and what would happen at the point of impact considering they were being driven by naked people, and I didn't get any feedback. Nada. Nothing. Not a word.

So then I add "And what the heck were they thinking being naked given it could be a coal powered train and wouldn't that be a bit risky if embers were floating around" and "ding, ding, ding", I get some attention from the son. Went something like, "MOMMY, you just said a bad word." As I did not believe I did but always leave room for the possibility that my past as a drunken sailor may seep out, I asked the son which one. HECK, he says. You can't say HECK. So, I let him know that, nope, heck is okay. He doesn't concur. I poll the husband and we both agree, heck is good. The sons presses on so I know it is now the age appropriate time to explain cursing.

I let him know there are words we don't say so we have come up with words that sound sort of close. Which words he asks, other than that AIG one that seems to give mommy those strange fits? How do I know which words not to use if I don't know them, he presses on. Considering he has a valid point, I let him know that "hell" is one word not to be used as it is a curse and not considered a satisfactory behavior in most classrooms in most of the states in this great union of ours. Which one, he asks again, just to hear me say it? Hell, I say which starts Mia on a practice session of a new word which fortunatey could be sold as her version of "hello, hello, hello."

He nods his understanding and, just to make sure we are giving him explicit and on-going permission to say "heck" asks us, "so...you...are...telling...me...it...is...okay...to ...say.. heck?" very slowly and with very careful annunication of each word. Apparently the child has discovered that the universal technique to communicate with others who do not understand English whatsoever, speaking much more loudly and much more slowly, is the best manner of communicating important points to the parents in his life. We all agree that heck is okay and move on to other scintillating topics like who I had talked to that day that not only didn't want me to work for them but chose to share just how bad the job market is, citing so and so who has been out of work for one year, and the whole group of those guys who have been out of work since memorial day and so on.

A couple of minutes pass by, we are discussing dessert or lack there of and the son apparently decides to make sure he has the whole cursing thing down pat and and states, "Excuse me, so, I probably shouldn't ask "What the HELL is the glue stick doing on the table?" I agree that most probably, asking that question would not be a good idea given the forgoing conversational rules. His father lets me know that I'm geting the trip to school on this one.

AIG and Me

So, they lay me off on the 19th of August. And now this. Perhaps they needed my wisdom after all. Just thinking out loud here......

Parenting Tip on Explaining Home Equity Lines

So, As I'm tucking him in, I'm telling the five year old that I need to get up early tomorrow because I am working on a home equity line. He asks what that is. I, in the clear manner that I feel is necessary to employ when it is goody-night time, deliver the Reader's Digest version of home ownership, equity, interest rates and the economy, PMI and down payments which somehow doesn't make a whole lot of sense to him despite my comprehensive and clear explanation. So, I add that I'm just selling part of the house to the bank. Sort of like that.

He considers the lesson and lets me know that as he really doesn't envision needing his own home for several years he has chosen to reject all the wonderful learning I just provided and has only one question - Precisely, what am I selling to the bank? As it is clearly my parental duty to nurture him and mold him into a financially and fiscally responsible individual who is capable of supporting me in the style to which I had become accustomed to as soon as is reasonably possible or two weeks, whichever comes first, I decide the Finance for Five Year Olds is a valuable lesson so I go for it again. After round two and with some exasperation, he asks exactly what I am doing and for clarity and brevity, I reinforce that I am selling part of the house to a bank.

What part, he asks? It isn't my room is it? And, I must confess, I confirmed with regret that yes, I was selling his room. He seemed to think that wasn't such a great idea but was much more concerned that I would sell the playroom or the basement. I agreed not to sell either and again gave him the "Finance 101 for 5 Year-Olds" lecture on home ownership, equity, loans, interest rates and why Alan Greenspan is not my friend at the present time.

Again, he carefully considered what I had told him and processed it in such a thoughtful manner. And it was clear by his response that my wonderful presentation of "Finance for Five-Year Olds" needs just a little bit of work before it can be released to the masses.

He specifically stated that he got it. He really, really got it. No more explanation was necessary. Please. He had the answer. Mia's room would have to go and, in fact, was the perfect choice. She was little, she would forget and that would save the playroom. Yep, that would do it, he said. I saw, for a minute, the glitter of a large company's CFO in his eyes. Just outright scary even if I had it coming to me.

He did want to know exactly how I intended to send it which I thought was a very good question. He also wanted me to be careful to make sure we got Mia out of it first.

I added more to the therapy fund and then assured him that because it was entirely too hard to take Mia's room off and mail it to the bank, we would not only keep it but would keep all the other rooms in the house all together.

Oddly, he seems to tell his kindergarten teacher all the cool things from home and tomorrow is curriculum night. Somehow, I'm thinking I'm going to be explaining this one.

Unemployment Math

So, the husband and kids and I go out to eat as a treat last week. Now, I had just entered the State of Unemployment four days earlier. You know that state, the one whose welcome sign is “Welcome to the State of Unemployment, the Home of Ye Who Have Abandoned All Hope?" I believe it is the 53rd state that most of us generally try to not visit. Do have to admit that the motto is a bit catchier than Georgia’s “Welcome to the Peach State” especially since that motto is a bit disingenuous as even Georgian’s won’t eat the peaches grown here. The motto really should be “Welcome to the Peach State Where all of the Peaches Taste Like Unflavored Rocks of an Undetermined Nature.” Probably just couldn’t get it all on the sign. Really, when it comes to peaches, us Georgians look for that little sticker on the peach that says South Carolina on it. Now, they have a good motto, “While I breathe, I hope.” which is just the inverse of it's sister city, Beijing, China where the motto is "I Hope I Breathe." However, none of the mottos are as good as Alabama’s “At Least We Aren’t Mississippi.”

So after cheering up considerably when I compared unemployment to the job of putting those little stickers on every single piece of fruit sold in the US, it was off to the Waffle House. I had learned through prior reconnaissance that one could buy the big time breakfast meal at Waffle House for an awesome price. Then, one could divvy it up among family members according to a formula based upon whoever was being nicest to me at the time.


So, we go in. Aidan is excited. He wants to sit at the counter as that is what he and I would do to celebrate our success after we would go to Lowes or Home Depot for the kid’s build-a-something clinic and manage to not nail any two fingers together. Or hit ourselves in the head with the hammers, which we always celebrated as I had demonstrated how that wasn’t a good idea by role-modeling it once early in our build-a-something career. So, he is pointing to the counter. I point out that that will just not work as there are only two chairs, there are five of us and the laws of physics just do not bend to our will. So, he goes to the other counter where there are four chairs and tells me that we could put Mia’s highchair in one of those places. Again, I point out that won’t work as there are five of us and there are only four places. He tells me that he can make it work but I tell him the decision is made, the five of us will sit in a booth.

We get a high chair for Mia and sit down in our appointed booth. The waitress asks us what we would like to drink and do we know what the other person would like? I’m wondering if she is seeing dead people or is merely hopped up as I do not see anyone sitting next to me and am assuming that she is. I decide to go out on a limb and ask – what other person? She gives me the look like I am either seeing dead people or am really hopped up which, considering we are in a Waffle House, is a likely possibility and then carefully, loudly and very slowly so that I could understand tells me that she had heard me say, numerous times, that we had five people in our dinner party and since we only had two parents and two kids, that would mean we were waiting for another. After some deliberation, I agreed that her assessment did appear to represent the facts in question but that the other person apparently just couldn’t make it.

The five year old starts loudly telling me that there isn’t another person, and asking who was I talking about, but I quickly suggested that he get all the incoming sausage which clearly wasn’t fair but as he was my favorite son, at least as of that morning because he generally doesn't ask his mother lots and lots of questions, he shut down his line of inquiry.

Guess I was counting the cat in the number of mouths I have to feed.

Today's topic, Fun with Unemployment

Well, "none" is pretty much the most accurate description so far.

However, there is the son's fear that he will have to eat sandwiches, an idea that apparently is totally distasteful to him and my new ability to either see dead people or my lost ability of being able to count to 10. And, of course, there is my on-going idea of driving a school bus so I can influence young lives in a positive and engaging manner. I'm making my plans now.

But since I have to hose the children off for their day tomorrow, the details will have to wait.

Don't want this one as a defense witness

Wife to husband: You don't let Mia jump on the bed, do you?
Husband: Nooooo. Of course not.

Wife to husband: Has she fallen off yet?
Husband: No, I watch her to make sure she doesn't.

Witness to Husband : Man, I sure wouldn't want you as a defense witness...

Lion Poop

African Proverb - Every morning in Africa, a gazelle wakes up and knows it must run faster than the fastest lion or it will be killed. Every morning in Africa, a lion wakes up and knows it must outrun the slowest gazelle or it will starve.

Yesterday, I was the slowest gazelle. Which, I believe, makes me lion poop today. Sure feels that way.

If I knew it only took a note

So, the son is pushing his sister in her stroller and is running it into something about every 23 seconds. He then pushes the top of the stroller forward so his sister gets violently thrown forward with about the same G-forces the Apollo astronauts had on take off. She then is jerked back by the opposing force. Of course, she has a very good five point harness which undergoes inspection on every outing. To accentuate the impact, the son also yells "airbag" for effect as one of his parents must have told him something along the lines of how an airbag deploying in your face somehow colors the rest of your day along with your face.

Airbag is apparently on the top of the kids' list for fun, fun, fun. As I do not resemble either child, I have a plan to act like I just found them if DFCS comes over to inquire about who is parenting the kids.

So, after walking through at least one half of a very small parking lot slightly larger than a postage stamp, the son informs me he is out of breath. I suggest that perhaps he needs to get some exercise. After at least 5 seconds of consideration, he said that, "yes, he could do that or he could also just write a note to Jesus and ask him for some more breath." So he slowly limps at least two parking places to my car and writes his note on the dirt on the hood. Of course, it was in cursive as he doesn't know how to spell or write in print yet. He also doesn't have any idea how to write in cursive but feels it is much more convincing. I tend to agree as it is clear that an individual's handwriting deteriorates the further along they get in school and, here's the biggie, the smarter they are. This clearly explains doctors' abilities to only write 3 letters that don't appear to be horizontal lines. It also goes to explain my very clear and precise printing and cursive.

So, I consider my options. I can't tell the kid that he shouldn't send it up to Jesus. That would be wrong on so many levels. I can't tell the kid that Jesus called me as he will want the call back number. This kid wants proof. No idea where he may have gotten that trait from. I could tell him I'm hearing Jesus in my head but he will help his father take me to a very special place.

So, I am currently looking for a sample of Jesus's handwriting that will say, "thanks for writing. I would be happy to give you more breath. Think I would have invented treadmills and exercise otherwise?" Although, in my opinion, treadmills may have come from the dark side.

Car Games in California

As all of us are aware, each and every child in America must ask the question, “are we there yet” a minimum of 327,432 times or they will never mature into an adult. Apparently, my son was let in on this factoid and made sure to diligently work to meet his childhood quota while we were on the road in California. As the car was clearly in motion when this question was asked, it seemed somewhat obvious to me that perhaps we were not. But, that is just me. Now, I could have always used my father’s very wise “in ten minutes” answer that he used each and every time we asked the same question when we were kids. Didn’t bear any proportion to where we were or where we were going but, by gosh, we all somewhat figured out after 50 or so tries that it was a rather futile question and quit asking it and moved on to “Mom, he’s looking at me.”

But, always eager to improve on the past, I decided to give my son the answer he deserved. So, I asked for more information. What did he mean by “there?” After all, how could I answer the question accurately if I didn’t know where “there” was? Wouldn’t that be cheating him of the top notch parenting he deserves? So, again I went after his definition of “there”. Specifically, for him did being “there” mean that his basic needs for food, shelter and clothing be met or did he need to be fully self-actualized which I considered might be a little bit of an overreach, even in California where they have that medical marijuana, not that I would know of such things. And, even with the unconditional positive regard of his parents and sister, had he considered existential angst? Would that impact his being “there?” So, what did he mean?

Watching his careful consideration, I could tell he was in very deep thought,and I knew I had taken the right path, especially when he said he needed to have a bit of a conversation with his “guys”, the stuffed animal retinue that accompanies us on our travels. Told him I thought he could get the benefit of brainstorming unless, of course, they fell into groupthink.

So, he moved on and asked each very carefully if they had to pee. Apparently, they did not as he began pointing out cars which wasn’t very difficult as we were on a freeway. Then, another clever although not original idea came to me – the alphabet game as in, find a license plate with an A and then a B and then so on. That used up 2.75 minutes and was good to approximately Q. From what I observed, Q ticked off California in the past and was banned from the state.

And then, voila, it came to me. A new game. I called it Ration. Somehow it just came to me as I reflected on the $4.75 a gallon gas in the bear state. All that was needed was several movie size boxes of Jujubes and a GPS and, by gosh, we had the GPS. I made sure it could be viewed by the budding backseat driver who had been putting forth a lot of effort to make sure I was always very well advised on what the speed “number” was and how I was doing in relation to it. Apparently he was conducting some scientific field study as he also queried my father on the same issue on our drive home from the airport in the middle of the night on our return to Atlanta where the official airport slogan is “If you die and go to hell, you first must go through Atlanta.”

But, I digress. So we acquired several hundred of the chewy candies and began playing my new game. Specifically, the rules were that he could have one Jujube each and every time the GPS showed that we had covered two miles. He also had to give his sister half of one and he had to give me one every six miles. As it takes approximately one minute to chew one of those things, I figured that would work well and would only leave one minute for his speed numbers check.

But, I also gave him options so he could exercise his mind. He could play Super Ration instead. He could have one of the globs every three miles, did not have to give any to his mother but the sister requirement stayed the same. Oddly, he wanted to know about Super Super Ration and Super Super Super Ration so I gave him the directions. For Super Super Ration, he and his sister could have one piece for every ten miles shown on the GPS and if he chose to play Super Super Super Ration, he needed to find the most ostentatiously wealthy person he could see and hand over all the candy while reserving none for himself for no good reason. Somehow, he just didn't get that one.

Oddly, after we arrived, the kids seemed to have a wee bit of energy and worked at bouncing on the beds while trying to reach the ceiling. That was, of course, after the little one did her “Dance With The Swimming Diaper My Head” routine. Need to brush up on my traditional Chinese folk dances as I had not been previously introduced to this one.

The Vomit Comet

Went on the most awesome family vacation to California, compliments of my parents. Took the whole clan except for one brother and his wife as they are currently quite occupied with the whole gestating process. And, bar none, it was the most awesome vacation ever. Thirteen of us began the trip together and as we had three cars to keep a safe distance between all of us, thirteen of us returned, albeit one of us with only one good arm when she started with two perfectly fine ones. The vacation was so big and taught us so many exciting and unusual things that I will have to outline it for our remembrance over the next couple of weeks.

One of the important things we learned was that our little clan seemed to have a humongous Mercury Marquis to ourselves all the time even though we offered to switch it up as we drove somewhere around half the distance to the moon and back over eight days. Offered to spend some quality car time with the siblings in their car. Made an exciting offer for others to experience our children’s wonder of the experience while also thinking of new and creative answers to the “are we there yet?” question. Heck, the vehicle had enough room for the four of us and approximately 27 circus clowns. As long as they were the short kind. And, one elephant that wasn’t quite full grown.

Obviously, the perfect car for me to be driving around the mountainous roads. Could get it to bank in the turns which provided a good forum for the Peruvian to show his courage to the kids. He appreciates me giving him those opportunities as often as I can. Can just see it in his eyes. What a learning experience the driving was for them. It was just like driving on the open ocean – lean to the right, lean to the left, lean to the right and so on.

But, there was some unfortunate 40-year old karma at work here. Seems I made the same trip, same road with my folks when I was four. Rental car then too. And, I was such a considerate child. After all, I cared enough not to vomit in the car we owned. At least not on this trip. Nope, saved my vomiting violently for the rental car my father needed to use to drive his business associates around in the next day. Sort of recall that he wasn’t too happy about it. But, heck, if it was the 60’s, should have been easy enough to hose off the vinyl seats.

Now, cars have changed over the years but some things stay the same. Yosemite National Park has some pretty curvy roads to drive a barge around. And this can make folks feel a bit funny. Which is somewhat how Aidan explained to us that perhaps he was feeling a tad odd. Sort of went like him vomiting and then stating the obvious and with great surprise, “Hey, I just threw up” causing me to look in the rear view mirror just in time to see the second explosion coming right at my head. Dead aim. Have to admit I’ve never seen anything quite like it with the exception of that Exorcist scene. I expertly ducked while keeping the car on the road and then pulled over to discover that yes, he had indeed exploded and yes, there may have been some validity to suggestions that perhaps my insistence that the son drink large quantities of water so he didn’t get dehydrated might somewhat have caused the explosion. Mia thought it was rather awesome. You could see the respect in her eyes as she realized that her brother apparently has some kind of fountain built in. Way cooler than that one you run in at the park. She gave him some hearty applause.

Well, cars no longer come with vinyl seats to easily hose off. At this point, I’m thinking that is a retro fad we need to bring back along with those vinyl couch covers that your legs stuck too. But, I digress.

Ever resourceful, we stopped at the next completely out of the way gas station to begin the process of clean up. Don’t know how much they appreciated me washing the floor mat in their windshield washing bucket but since they didn’t stop me, I figured what the heck, I’ll do it and then accidentally kick it over which worked swimmingly. Fortunately, it was a dive of a place. We bought an $8 roll of paper towels; a $10 box of Clorox wipes, and then locked ourselves in a bathroom with a utility sink – especially designed for hosing down children of all sizes and apparently emptying mop buckets or who knows what.

All while we were using their store as a kid wash; the operators stood behind the counter and watched the activity which somehow made it a bit more sick fun. Would have taken bets they would have at least asked what the heck we were doing but, nope, we walked back and forth in front of the counter on the way to the utility sink, carrying wet clothes, a wet car seat, and a wet kid. Guess they figured it was a bit more info than they wanted.

Finally finished up and considerately suggested to the kids that they could finish the ride in the trunk. They were game until I explained that little problem me might have with Eric Estrada or whomever has replaced him on the California Highway Patrol. So it was back into the barge to continue our tour.

And those people are...

Yep, we're those people who think that trading our personal dignity for a free chicken sandwich is a fabulous idea. Had the kids perfect their "moos" before the first run which happened to be lunch. Of they went with the husband who wore just a hat. Didn't qualify for a combo. Just for clarity's sake, he did also have a shirt, shoes and pants, they just weren't bovine friendly. Would have qualified for something else without them, I'm sure. Unfortunately, I hadn't been available to quality control the bovine wear as I was kept away by this pesky thing called work.

But, I returned in time for dinner. Ramped up the costuming by stringing some advertising around everyone's neck. Explained the concept of "totally dressed like cows", quality controlled and then headed out. We wanted those combos, by gosh, and there was no stopping us. The fries were ours.

Cow Appreciation Day

So it apparently Cow Appreciation day this Friday and the crowd just can't wait. The Peruvian does appear to be trying to catch sick to be exempted but what kind of family would we be if we allowed that to happen? Not wanting him to miss the excitement, we will roll him in, if necessary.
Monday, while still apparently on California time, I just got all caught up in the excitement at the local Chick-filet. Couldn't avoid it what with the balloons, cow hats and the promise of free food for all cows on Friday. Got the kids jazzed up when I informed them that we were going to dress up like cows on Friday and then venture out into our nearest Chick-Filet for FREE dinner. One even called me at work the next day to see if I could just take all of Friday off so we could exploit the free food deal by taking our three meals at three different stores all while dressed like cows. Apparently, he is beginning to think like his mother which seems to be of concern to his father. Some muttering about not being able to handle "your mother" in stereo. Of course, that will not be necessary as the son and I will quickly bring Mia into the fold so their father can hear with BOSE type clarity- sound from all direction.

Chick-filet suggests that their cows are white with black spots. Of course, that may be true but as the son pointed out, they may also be black cows with really, really big white spots which is good because the husband somehow has managed to misplace every single piece of white clothing in the house since my annnouncement of this family celebration Monday evening. We'll give him the good news 2 minutes before departure when we start sticky taping white spots on him. Of course, if Mia is responsible for this task, all of the spots will be at 24" or less but we can always tell the Chick-filet folks that he is a mutant. Wouldn't want him to go hungry after all. May even get him a happy balloon.

It's not 10:00 pm in China

We're going to Yosemite next week, all 12 of us in my family. Of course with any trip, careful and thoughful planning ahead is the ticket. Not a ticket that I would normally have punched but there is some tent camping, bear lockering and the issue of what animal cry I will be trying to pass Mia's yelling off as to consider.

So I begin. Checked out the Yosemite tent cabins we will be residing in. Find that they have the folllowing posted policy:

Quiet Hours : Because of the nature of the tent cabins, it is imperative that everyone respect the quiet hours which are posted from 10:00 p.m. to 6:00 a.m. Failure to comply may result in disrespectful guests being asked to vacate the camp.

So, I am envisioning the rangers dragging us off as I explain to them that it clearly isn't between 10:00 p.m. and 6:00 a.m. everywhere in the world and hey, they didn't specify a time zone on their sign. That should do it.

And, there is also Chickie the Miscreant and the issue of bears to consider. I'm sleeping on that one.

Nuns explained

So, as a good Catholic girl, it is of utmost importance to make sure that I inoculate the kids with a good dose of nun respect. Due to the paucity of nuns in full habits in my local schools, raising the kids with the preferred dose of nun fear is, unfortunately, not possible so settling for the lesser nun respect has to do. Granted, the kids will never understand the evils of singing Meatloaf’s Paradise by the Dashboard Light at the top of their lungs in the school lunch room which is clearly a shame. As was made clear to me, such singing paves the road to hell. That is, except for the folks who have to listen to such warbling which is clearly considered an act of penance. I learned that those folks get to go to the front of the line while I’ll still be working on sleeping on it and praying for the end of time, oh, I’ll be praying for the end of time.

But, as usual, I digress. Due to my thoughtful parenting philosophy, I know it is not good to confuse eager young minds even if I have no clue how not to do so. I know that the nun life lesson should wait until the son is at least out of the severe nightmare phase before I thoughtfully and respectfully explain in my clear manner how women wearing robes, veils and clanking chains of rosaries and who may be inclined to come after you with a stick significantly differ from the ghost of Christmas past with all of his accoutrements. For the good of all, I put this little life lesson on the shelf.

However, the nun explanation task is taken off the shelf by my lovely mother, she of daily Mass attendance. Lo, she provides the son with the Catholic Readers Digest version of convent life and the religious vocation with a visual aid. Having been a teacher and all, it is clear she recognizes that the multi media approach to explaining Catholicism is the way to go. She pulls out and demonstrates Nunzilla, a windup walking nun dressed in a full habit that spits sparks out of her mouth as she goes. And, the mother further demonstrates to the son just how cool it is that nuns walk along just spitting fire until they somehow fall off a cliff as represented by the living room table. Apparently, a demonstration of their selflessness. Quite the education.

So, we are sitting in our designated pew in the church, the one which is the second from the front. As it is my policy that we need to sit close enough to the front that the kids think the priest or Jesus can just reach out and wop them if they misbehave, we are firmly planted in our seats when it happens. A nun appears in full habit and walks right in front of us to receive communion. And, as she prayerfully pauses in front of us, the son uses his yelling inside the church voice to ask, “Is that a nunny?” Upon confirmation of the same, he then gets really excited and asks if “THAT IS A REAL NUNNY????”

I quickly let the son know in my inside church, “you’d better watch it” voice that yes, it is a nun, not a nunny as nunnies only come out at Halloween with their cousins the mummies and, if she hears him, it is likely she will turn toward him and sparks will fly from her mouth. Sounded like a perfectly reasonable thing to tell him at the time as all good Catholic school kids know that sparks flying from a nun’s mouth is generally fair warning that she might be a tad bent out of shape and, as a result, might do some general nun damage and the kid would therefore take it as a cue to shut up and exit stage left. And, had he been a good Catholic school kid, it may have worked. One of those little, annoying details. As it was, he publicly communicated his desire to “SEE THE SPARKS COMING OUT OF HER MOUTH.” Although I also thought that would be pretty darn cool, I knew I must react quickly and decisively and I did. I put my hands on my hips, turned toward the husband and gave him my best "I can NOT believe what you have taught our son" look until the said nun was far enough away not to wop me with a stick. Better safe than sorry.

Working Vacation

Took the kids on vacation.

Had a nice place all picked out when it rained and I had to make alternative plans. After some thought, I figured that I could turbo charge their experience and turn it into working fun and it would be way, way better than just petting and feeding animals at a park. Not like the poor deer with three legs is going anywhere in the near future anyway. At least not very quickly.

I’ve read these articles about folks who are using their vacation time to go try out a new career and they sound like it makes them happy, happy, happy. Not that I get it, mind you, but there is apparently something to it to it in an entitled yuppie sort of way. You go play Chef for a week. Try out being a Park Ranger. Or wash cats. Whatever floats your boat. Apparently, the sky is the limit. Fun, fun, fun.

So I decided that denying the kids this right would be tragic. After all, we all know just how competitive today’s economy is. And, of course, they will have me and their father to support so there is no time like the present. So it was off to work.

I made sure they were well fortified for the day ahead and made sure to get them the breakfast of champions at the local gas station. Mia liked the corn dogs and Aidan liked the drink I got him in the little free-sample cup. After all, wouldn’t want to actually buy him the barrel-o-coke. That was for me. Robert passed on the six-pack of beer which I thought was probably ill advised. Just a glutton for punishment, I guess.

Took them to a kid’s museum where I had Mia try out shoe sales. She got the hang of it and demonstrated her product all around. Only problem was that she wouldn’t hand the shoes over to the customer. Her love of shoes just shined too bright and caused some work place conflicts.

So, we moved on to putting her to work in the general store where we had sent Aidan. Put him on cashier duties after we had him unload the truck. Assigned Mia to stock girl. Both seemed to greatly enjoy their duties although Mia did seem to have a bit of an attitude about her brother being the boss which she eloquently expressed by throwing a tomato at him, one at me and then one at a former shoe customer. Fortunately, she does throw like a girl. Then, it was on to fishing and heavy equipment operations........

And Save us from Polar Bears

Educating the little ones about the environment is a big part of fulfilling my responsibility as a certifiable "green" mom. Certified as what I'm not sure, but as it is part of my mom duties, I've been fulfilling it with gusto, most recently at 10:30 pm when the son asks some question about polar bears that I didn't quite hear. But as a top notch mom, I didn't need to actually hear it to know what the question was. My heart fills with joy as it dawns on me that he has again made the mistake of giving me the perfect lead for my informative discussion on all things socially responsible.

So, its off to the races as I regale him with all the fine details and facts he needs to consider when formulating an accurate answer to the polar bear question. Including, but not limited to, the melting glaciers in Peru, the polar ice caps, why polar bears don't eat penguins but do like to eat, eat and eat, the Amazon rain forests and all the wild animals of the world. I show him the whole world in my hands. And on and on. I do such a fabulous job that he actually suggests I stop talking so he can go to sleep. I know that is a clear sign that he thinks I have described the facts so perfectly and so clearly, no further erudition is necessary. As I give him a good night bear hug, he mentions something like he still doesn't get why the polar bears' mom lets them drink soda whereas his mother doesn't and where in the world is the justice in that.

Next day, it's church where we do our weekly lighting of a candle for any special intentions. The son carefully considers what he has learned over the past week and what his concerns are and then asks "Dear God, please do not let the polar bears eat us this week." Pretty sure we got a "yes" on that one. Four days into the week and we are all still good.

Next time, probably shouldn't cap my earth day talk off by telling him, as I left the room, that I had just heard that Coca Cola cut those disobedient bears off when they found out they didn't have their mom's permission to drink the brew and the bears were now a tad bit hungry and cranky as a result of coming off the stuff, especially since they had been out of penguins at the north pole for a while which is why they had turned to a high fructose caffeinated beverage in the first place and were now in time out for their crankiness, each on their own ice floe, floating around.

Mom, Mia cut her leg off...

Clearly, the son got his sense of humor from his father. His mother would not even think of something so demented as anyone who knows me would certainly testify. For a small fee, but testify they would.

Turns out the son has now enlisted his sister as a willing co-conspirator in his plots. Apparently, "Hey Mia, want to see what happens when mom comes running down the hall in her socks and tries to stick the landing?" just sounded like too much fun to pass up.

After executing a 10-point banister stop which consisted of expertly positioning the hall banister in the dead center of my chest for impact and then decelerating from 60-0 in .5 seconds, I quickly assessed the situation.

Let them know that the glass was clearly half full. Although the leg had been handy and would be missed, the current configuration would make it measurably easier to find sparkly shoes, especially at Disney sales. The glass was also half empty as Mia's social worker was scheduled to come out in short order to do her 6 month post-placement visit to assess our awesome parenting abilities and watchful behavior.

For some reason, Mia found this to be funny. The social worker part. In fact, she quickly moved on from laughing to outright chortling. Meanwhile, the son looked for the glass. Said he was thirsty.