Little Blue Bunnies

So, I’ve clearly explained to the kids that permanent tattoos of any kind anywhere on their bodies will lead to ruin and until they are ready, willing and able to support themselves in an environment that is accepting of body art, permanent tattoos are off limits.

I’ve also explained that if they choose to go the tattoo route , and they chose to ink on a very visible body part, they will have to work at Starbucks and accordingly will have to live off one free pound of coffee per week and an occasional piece of stale lemon pound cake that the manager will give them after closing as he takes pity on them. Of course, I made it through college on the same diet plan and did quite well, but at present, they haven’t figured out the magical allure of caffeine and sugar. Always make sure my threats are age appropriate as any good parent would do.

Now, the son hates coffee so he has been compliant so far. The daughter, not so much. In fact, she made the unilateral decision to get a sleeve of blue bunnies on her arm with permanent Sharpie ink. And, apparently, the son decided to remain a silent accomplice as he thought the tats would be a good experimental test on how far Mom’s blood pressure could go. He also relished the diversion of attention so he could launch his nefarious plans of staying up a whole hour late and not fully brushing his teeth before bed which he implemented successfully. Fortunately, he lost his first tooth several days later so I could point out to him the clear and obvious connection between not fully brushing one's teeth and them falling out. I did have to pay a little extra tooth fairy penalty for that one and did clarify a little bit later that I meant his permanent teeth, but I just could not initally let the opportunity pass. If life hands me a correlation on a platter, who am I to pass on the chance to use it for my own amusement?

So, the evening of the tats, Mia did not appear to be terribly thrilled about her choice after we again explained our position and the fact that we happen to like Starbuckis coffee and will try to mooch 1/2 a pound of it from her a week, leaving her with a 1/2 pound she will need to water down. And, apparently, she hates lemon flavored cake and wasn’t planning on it becoming her diet staple.

Oddly, she has been wearing her long sleeved princess dresses lately.

The Catholic Small Print at the Bottom....

So, for the benefit of all in the Roman Catholic Church, of which I am a member, I would suggest we add the following small print disclaimer to the bottom of any and all of our publications.

**Just in case anyone is confused, Mel Gibson who is divorcing his wife of 28 years and the mother of his 7-13 children is not one of us. Now, we recognize that he made an unbelievable movie called The Passion of the Christ and for that we absolutely applaud him, know he was given a gift, and would like to claim that part of him but that would be patently dishonest and we just can't go there. We just must give him the recognition he deserves for that. Mel, you did an awesome job.

But, we must still disclaim him. He is not one of us, the standard Roman Catholics. He is something called a Traditionalist which in layman's terms means he has his own church that apparently has some interesting beliefs and still says the mass in Latin. Latin, being a dead language, is generally not used in the Roman Catholic mass any longer as no one, except those who attended the good old fashioned schools that were led by ferocious nuns, understands it and they that did were probably often faking their understanding to avoid getting hit on the head with a stick anyway.

It also appears that Mel's love for Latin has also led him to other dead languages that no one understands as his movie Apocalypto demonstrated to the three people who saw it. Although, one must admit, if the language is dead and no one understands it, movie making gets a heck of a lot easier as you just tell the actors to make sounds up as they go and add your subtitles later when they come to you. Frankly, it is an admirable cost-cutting technique. Since there is no one on planet earth who could state that the dead Maya language is not correct, it is a pretty good plan. It is just really, really bad movies that are the issue.

Yes, we agree that perhaps, and just perhaps, Mel may have a wee bit of a drinking problem that is leading to his love of bar hopping with college age girls and his recent attempt to try to "counsel" Britney Spears alone and in person in some tropical local all of which, along with his performance at his arrest last year when we first had to disclaim him, might make sense when one hits about 12 on the Budweiser rating scale and, thankfully, not many of us can hit that number. And, for those who do not know of the Budweiser rating scale, it is a device that some Irish Catholics of the Roman type invented which is used for scurrilous purposes and neither it's use nor it's rankings are to be discussed or explained further. It is suggested that you contact a college kid for further explanation if necessary.

Now, we have had and of course still have our challenges which we claim and are fixing as fast as we can. And, we do know that Irish Catholic and Irish whiskey often appear in the same sentence and apparently, there is a reason for that. However, given that we didn't make Braveheart and have never seen a pot of money as big as that movie made, no one wants to put our brilliant thoughts of the week in People, Star and the National Enquirer over and over. It is also possible it is due to our thoughts generally being of the "I hope the kids have enough clean socks for school this week and if they don't is it possible that they can turn Thursday's pair inside out for Friday?" variety.

Nope, since we just can't get rise to offering "counseling" to Britney Spears, a disclaimer is still necessary. He isn't one of us but let's all hope he gets some help.

Three of our Four Isn't Bad

So, after months of testing, I have found out that it is not possible for our little group to take a picture with all four of us looking at the camera. My tests have revealed that 95% of the time, two of us will be just grand while the other two are either having a discussion of great importance or have other things to do. And, 4.9% of the time, three of us will be looking at the camera. So, the three of us will have to do. And really, who wants to see anyone other than the kids?
Easter, 2009

Southern Hospitality

So I'm driving between Montgomery and Mobile and need to stop for gas. As I find out, there aren't a heck of a lot of stops between Montgomery and Mobile for gas, food, or Diet Coke. Given my ability to find a gas station on every corner in Atlanta where I can not only get gas but can also get the oil drum size of my preferred carbonated beverage, I become a bit concerned. But, the professional that I am, I also know I can drive about 60 miles with the little yellow light on before, as life experience as taught me, the little light goes off in conjunction with the rest of the car when I take my keys out of the ignition for a wee bit of an unscheduled hike to the nearest gas station.

Fortunately, I find a town which shall remain nameless least they become overrun with folks moving in due to my positive publicity about their hospitality and service and just in case I need to stop there again. The town appears to have not only one but two gas stations in close proximity to the freeway. I try the first but my gas card doesn't work there. So, I mosey on over to the second. Now, it is a work day and I'm dressed to impress as I'm calling on customers and know that looking capable is part of the game even if one doesn't have a clue what they are doing, again, learned from life experience. In fact, I believe that I invented the phrase, "Wow, great question. No one has ever asked me that before - can I get back to you?"

But, gas pumps are apparently not responsive to the looking capable ploy and, I now know, work a bit of global karma. Now, I do want to make it quite clear that I did apologize profusely last year when I drove away from a gas pump with the poor thing's arm still in my gas tank, causing the arm to sever and drag from my car until I got to the next red light and extracted it. But apparently an apology along with avoiding that gas station like the plague, no matter how I was dressed, just wasn't enough payment to the gas pump gods.

So, I pull up to the second station in this town, and professionally stick my company issued credit card in the pump to do that swipe thing. It goes in but then, oddly, it doesn't come out. I attempt to pull it out again. Nope. I try at least ten more times while I look around to see if there are any cameras. But no yanking on it will do. Just not happening. And, I figure I can't just go get a Big Gulp and leave as both my name and the name of my company are on that card despite the attractiveness of that option.

I go into the gas station and tell the young man working there that I seem to be having a problem with the gas pump. He ambles over to the pump and attempts to extract the card while we discuss him not ever having seen anything like it before and isn't it odd and amazing and so forth. I suggest we locate some pliers and he goes back into the station. Not having any, he calls for assistance.

When the Sheriff pulls up, I figure the card has been reported stolen, the pump is set up to keep it just like an ATM card and I'm cooked, suit or not. I'm appealing to the pump gods at this point but then find out he is just there to respond to the crisis. He ambles over and gives the pump a look. He attempts to extract the card but no luck. All three of us spend some time discussing how we have never seen anything like it, isn't it just the darndest thing, wouldn't have thought you could get your card stuck in a gas pump, sure is amazing and so on. After a bit, he goes to radio someone who can help and I'm left standing there trying to figure out if he has called for backup and I'm cooked for damaging property given that seems to be the crisis of the day in this town which, I am sure, is the safest place to live in the world.

Then, a guy in a pickup arrives. He ambles across the parking lot, wearing cowboy boots, a tool holster and a cap and, least I draw the wrong picture, pants and a shirt. I begin imaging the theme song that is always played in the movies when the cowboy enters the town to shoot the bad guy. I figure he isn't there to shoot the pump as the Sheriff could have already accomplished that which, of course, would have been neat but would have also indebted me to the gas pump gods for life for killing one of their clan. And, that's not to mention the insurance company that would clearly be after me for the cost of one gas station, at minimum. But, the theme song plays in my head anyway as I see him pulling a pair of pliers from the belt as he walks toward us, silhouetted by the sun, like all good heroes must be. He joins us at the pump and gives it a look. Then, he gives me a glance which somehow suggests that perhaps, just maybe, I'm not all that professional looking at the moment and, nope, he hasn't seen anything like it before. He reaches up and heroically pulls the card out of the pump's mouth with his pliers, holsters the tool and then speaks to us for the first time as he hands me my card when he states, "Here you go darlin, those little bumpy numbers are supposed to go on the bottom". He then holsters the pliers and disappears into the sunlight as he walks back to his truck to return to his lunch break. Now, how is that for service?

I can only say that I continue to be deeply humbled by the knowledge of how I personally brought a community together one nice, sunny day as they responded in unison to the crisis in their midst. It was a honor.

AAA Batteries Anyone?

So I'm driving between Montgomery and Mobile and a truck passes me, clearly because I was obeying all posted speed limits as I always do and he was not. Granted the limit I observe may not be exactly posted on the section of the pavement that I am currently traveling but its like they say, it's always 70 somewhere. So I gaze over at the truck and see the name and motto of the business on the side - AAA Batteries - Delivered and Installed.

This makes me quite curious. The business has to pay for the nice truck, the gas and all and I just can't see how there can be that much demand for that type of a service, especially in this economy. Who calls them, I wonder? How many people are there in the greater Alabama area who either can't find the little screwdriver one needs to open the battery compartment on kid's toys or household appliances or just can't match up that little cross thing on the battery with the little cross thing on the powerless object? Really, even I can open up the camera, kid's toy, remote control and other appliance essentials without assistance and get those little buggers in them. And, if they don't work, I have enough smarts to dump them out and reverse them. And, don't most devices use the AA variety anyway?

I ponder what these same folks might do if their garbage disposal quits working like ours did the other evening thanks to the sacrificial offering of a Popsicle stick by a member of my family who is over 40 and is not me. I'm thinking panic at the disco type of breakdown for sure. Now I, of course, handled it like a parent who recognizes their duty to effectively and responsibily teach home maintenance to their children should.

First, I emphatically ordered the kids to stand far, far away from the grinding machine to watch a pro at work. I inserted my hand into a plastic Walmart bag, raised it above my head and announced, for great effect, "I'm going in. No one move" figuring I could always get my hand out of the grinder faster than either of them could even get near a power switch since they were standing plastered against the far wall "for their own safety." I extracted the somewhat ground up wood with the flourish of a surgeon, held the stick up like a trophy for the kids to see and then disengaged my hand from the bag, reset the machine with the little red button on the bottom and voila, after two attempts, it began to purr. The kids jumped up and down and cheered - Aidan because he was frankly quite impressed that I fixed the thing and Mia because she likes to jump up and down and yell just for the heck of it, no reason necessary. I then suggest that one of them consider a career as a plumber as I believe that will save me quite a bit of money down the road. Or a doctor. Or both.

But, as usual, I digress. After about 25 minutes of pondering what percentage of the population has battery issues, how many of them would then call a service and how that service has been impacted by the current state of the economy I then decide that the business must just be a cover for something else. Surveillance? Drug running? Who knows but it must be interesting. And then, the lightbulb goes on. Car batteries. They deliver and install car batteries and wanted to be listed first in the phone book.

Well, at least it occupied me for a good 40 minutes.

So, several weeks ago, I go to get my scarf out of the coat closet and I find my sweet little girl’s princess dress, still on the hanger, mashed up into a ball and shoved under the scarf, along with the princess shoes that her loving brother bought her for Christmas with my very own money. I stunned by the cruelty of this disappearing act, as my dear, sweet daughter just loves, loves, loves the dress as it has Dora on it and she currently believes that she is Princess Dora based upon her haircut and head shape. And perhaps her mother suggesting something to that effect. Often.

I stand there and try to catch my breath from the shock, trying to figure out what cruel person had done such a thing, knowing quite well it wasn’t me, the loving brother or either of the cats although the cats would have done so if they had opposable thumbs as they are getting a tad tired of hearing ‘Kitty cat, kitty cat” screamed at them while they are being chased through the house although the throwing of treats by the bouncing child does seem to go a long way to mitigate their concern, at least for very brief periods.

I then realize that I haven’t recently seen the other princess dress or tutu that she had been given by wonderful friends and family in the past and come to the only logical conclusion – game on. We wait until the loving husband goes to play soccer and the search begins. Oddly, the other princess dress had made its way into the plastic pumpkin the kids use to go trick or treating. Now, that normally would have worked quite well if the pumpkin was at the bottom of a big trash can but considering it was sitting on a shelf, illuminated by a light, the effort could only rate a “almost pathetic” on the hiding scale.

We then find the tutu which only rated a “really, truly pathetic attempt” on the hiding scale as it was merely stuffed under a blanket in her closet, and then proceeded to make a go forward plan. First, we go upstairs and find designated hangers for the dresses and hang them prominently in her room. We then discuss the need for princess pants on a going forward basis as the princess has made the choice in the past to freeze her parts off rather than spoil the aesthetics of her look leading to her father's objection of the daily wearing of the princess dresses. Apparently, he does want to get her married off some day and having not frozen off some of one's parts does up the odds of this occurring so I'd say the objection is valid but, heck, might not be a bad thing when she is a teenager.

So, convincing the princess to wear pants was necessary and fortunately, absolutely simple. First, I explained that only princesses can wear pants that have horizontal stripes and pointed out by a tour of my closet that I, having gracefully aged out of the princess stage, have no garments with horizontal stripes because they make one look a bit like a chubby Dowager Empress who wants to visit the Willie Wonka factor in the very worst way and is just sadly living in that past dream. No, as everyone knows, horizontally stripped pants are merely for princesses.

We then find two pairs of princess pants with the required horizontal stripes in her dresser and she readily agrees that they are a necessary addition to her finery. she then decides to top off her look with the footwear of her choice. Golf shoes. Notthe princess ones her loving brother bought her for Christmas as they do seem to have been put in a "safe place" that rates as "pretty damn good" on the hiding scale. Now, the golf shoes may be one size too big but an impressive choice nonetheless as it appears she may have a fall back plan of trophy wife, golf pro or marketing executive if this princess thing doesn't work out.

But, for the last 14 or so days, it has apparently been good to be the princess.

Joan's Translation

Given my amazing command of the Spanish language, I have decided to translate Robert's post into English for those whose command of the Spanish language is not as highly skilled as mine. Now, my skills would best be described as "I can't speak a word of it but somehow I can generally read it and translate single words. And curse occasionally quite effectively and loudly while gesticulating at the ceiling for special Latino effect." But, because he used easy words, this translation in not only easy, it is accurate.

So here goes the official translation -" usually my wife writes on this blog. She is unique. Fortunately, she is out of town somewhere in Alabama and I have gotten my hands on her password. So, I want to share some info with my compadres in Peru about my family and, of course, my amazing wife. My son and daughter have reached the ages of 6 and 2 respectively. They are kind, considerate, well-mannered, and nice to other small children and animals whether the animals want to be subjected to the "nice kitty" treatment or not. They just both know how important it is to the animals self-esteem to be loved and appreciated. Of course, these traits have been nurtured in them by their amazing mother who apparently has skin that only appears to be around 7 years old despite her chronological age of 45. Truly, the woman is amazing, especially in her thought processes and parenting skills. Of course, my children can also be stubborn and loud, traits they have learned from me. Fortunately, my awesome and beautiful wife really appreciates these characteristics. Of course, that is when she is in Alabama and the kids and I are not anywhere near the state.

That's it for now, but I would like to update my Spanish speaking family and friends occasionally. Of course, I will ask my wife to also post the official translation for the English only speakers amongst us. She seems to do that so very well.

Ciao.

Robert"