GONNA FLY NOW

Warning: Shameless Bragging Ahead

I mean it!

I'm not kidding!!

You're going to want to

come through the computer

and punch me!!


2nd report card time. Both kids came home with straight As, Honor Roll.

Madeleine was about as excited as if I had announced that she would be getting an extra penny added to her allowance. Look, I'm simply stating a fact here: Somehow the Universe dropped a genius in our laps. The words "we are offering your child a full academic scholarship to a private kindergarten" "Harvard bound" " "She should start her college courses next summer" have been bandied about her tiny head since she weighed 30 lbs. Teachers have said this to her face. We don't. We don't dance around the house with her on our shoulders singing and praising the deities. It is what it is. We praise hard work.
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Although I surely could use a plastic surgeon in the family.
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I just included a few shots of past awards; she could paper a wall. (See the old picture of little kids holding awards? Meredith had to hold Madeleine's extra ones. The cup she's holding is hers)
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Big deal, so could I, and look at my incredible life achievements. I'm a small town lawyer gal, with a teaching gig, and I'm happy as a pig in the mud. Teachers extolled my limitless future once upon a time. However, my speed boat to success foundered upon the rocky shoals of "Borderline Remedial" Math SAT shores. A polite way of saying "This young student is doing well if she can add 2 and 2 together and arrive at the correct answer of 5."

It's just this simple. Madeleine is smart. She's smart, but it's her life, and she can choose her path. As long as she has friends other than her parole officer who observes that her methadone treatment seems to be working when she's an adult, and as long as she spends her days doing things that bring her joy, that's success enough for me.

Oh BWAHAHAHAHA. Yeah, okay, there's a little part of me that isn't quite as sensible and frighteningly stage motherish, but I put HER in a box and shove her into a locked steel cage in the back of my mind along with " Terrible Old Boyfriends Who Do Not Have This Blog Address So I'm Not Talking About You Okay?", "The Girl Who Once Told Me I Had Bad Breath" and "The Time I Ran A Fish Hook Into My Big Toe."

Now, let's go to the REALLY important news.

MEREDITH CAME HOME WITH STRAIGHT A HONOR ROLL!

THIS IS HER SECOND GRADED REPORT CARD EVER. THEY DON'T START GIVING GRADES HERE UNTIL 3rd GRADE.

MEREDITH IS THRILLED.

TODAY SHE FINALLY REALIZED THAT SHE IS A SMART KID!!!

MOMMY AND DADDY ARE THRILLED.

SNOOPY DANCE AND FREE MARGARITAS FOR ALL!!!!!!

(cue theme music from Rocky)

That Was Then, This Was Now

Setting: Ten Years Ago

I'd pull out an adorable outfit, dress her, and whirl her lovingly around like we were filming a Metropolitan Life Insurance Commercial.

Setting: Our House. Ten Years Later

Madeleine (hitherto known as Ungrateful Child): I want a poodle skirt to wear to my dance and for Halloween. Let's hit the stores.

Me: (hitherto known as Long Suffering Mom) Okay.

UG: (first Halloween store). Oh no! They're out.

LSM: I could probably make you a poodle skirt with some felt and a glue gun.

UG: (not even bothering to acknowledge such silliness) Let's hit another store.

LSM (next Halloween store) Here we go! Just your size--8-10- Let's go!

UG: NO! I'm a LARGE! Size 12!

LSM: Picks up poodle large, notices it has already been returned. Easily removes it from package. Holds it to child's waist. Hmm, looks okay. You happy?

UG: MOOOOOMMMM! THAT IS NOT MY WAIST!!!!!

LSM: WELL EXCUUUUUSEE ME! (Hands skirt to child) YOU hold it to your waist.
(Child holds it approximately at hipbones).

LSM: This work for you?

UG: Walks away, deep in thought.

LSM: Um, hello! Um.. Madeleine, if you don't like this, I can sew a poodle onto your concert black skirt for the party!

UG: Stops, turns around, eyes light up. You can?

LSM: Sure!

UG: Let's go to the fabric store! And I want the poodle to have sparkly eyes!!

LSM: (at fabric store) It closes early on Sunday. Let's go home.

LSM (at home) Okay, let's assemble your outfit.

UG: MOOOOOOOOOM! I have HOMEWORK TO DO!!!

LSM: No problem. Go naked to the dance, I don't care.

LMD: (Loud Mouth Dad) Well, I have a problem with this.

LSM: (saintly patience beginning to fade). UG, please go fetch the black skirt that you plan to use while I try to find the pink sweater your grandmother wore in the 40s.

UG: (sincerely) Mom, thanks. It helps me so much to have a mom who lived in the fifties.

LSM: I'm happy to help. (thinking: I ALMOST MADE IT TO 1960-only 10 months more!) Here you go, here's a nice, clean white shirt. Do you like that?

UG: (looks up from homework) nods briefly and ungraciously.

LSM: Okay. Now show me the black skirt you plan to use.

UG: Gets up, sighs loudly, goes to bedroom, reaches into hiding place, pulls out evening broomstick skirt that belonged to a Charity Dance type outfit purchased by UG's grandmother. LSM has been looking for said skirt for three weeks.

LSM (voice rising to levels heard only by dogs) WHAT ARE YOU DOING WITH THIS SKIRT! THIS IS AN EVENING SKIRT! IT DRAGS THE FLOOR ON ME! WHAT DO YOU WANT TO DO, TRIP ALL THE BOYS AT THE DANCE??

UG: (sulks)

LSM: DON'T YOU DARE RAID MY CLOSET AGAIN, MISSY, WITHOUT PUTTING THE CLOTHES BACK IN PRISTINE CONDITION!!!

UG: (sulks)

LSM: Where's your old black velvet skirt?

UG: MOM! It's way too small!!!

LSM: (Finds old black velvet skirt belonging to her). Okay, here you go. Do you think this will work for you? I can pin it up to fit.

UG: (sulkily nods, turns to homework).

LSM: Repeat after me: "Thank you Mom, for working so hard to get me ready for the dance."

UG: (whispers)mmmmmmmmmtha..........hmmmphhhhhhh.

LSM: (to herself) If you need me, I'll be in a bubble bath wishing for strong narcotics.

The Plague And I

Ah, Expletive Deleted!!! The phone rang at 1:00 PM today. Meredith had 101.3 temperature. Come get her from school.

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Both of our kids have immune systems that could win prizes. I think it's the orphanage where they began their life. Many older kids who came out of the girls' orphanages tell stories of children dying regularly. Back in the day, these orphanages had hundreds of kids. It is what it is. But the kids just never get sick. Honestly, they're in the 3rd and 6th grade, and I can count the TOTAL sick days on my fingers.

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Meredith is lying on the sofa, telling jokes (What happens if two green peas get into a fight? They turn into Black-eyed peas!!!), laughing, singing, screaming "LOOK MOM! MY TEMPERATURE WENT DOWN TO 100 DEGREES!" Nothing hurts. No coughing. Nothing. No sore throat. Nothing. Eating like a horse.

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Everybody else feels fine. I confess that I have been a big chicken for the past few months. I'll grab the kids around their waist, hug them from behind or pull them to me, and plant a kiss on their hair. Then I immediately douse myself in sanitzer, making myself so germ free that I could perform an operation with my BARE HANDS.

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We all feel fine, but naturally, NATURALLY. NATURALLY. TOMORROW.

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Tomorrow is the Homecoming Brunch for alumni of the Honors College at USC. We look forward to it all year. I've been working on a course to teach for the Honors Program--either "The Life Of A Real Lawyer" or "Basic Law." The Dean told me that both sounded like great ideas and he wanted me to start working on it. They already have a course entitled something like "The Life Of A Real Doctor." But USC just laid off all their adjuncts anyway. (shrug).

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And tomorrow night is the Halloween party we look forward to every year.

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Ah, Expletive Deleted!!! Meredith will probably be fine by this time tomorrow, but we can't go out in good conscience and expose her. And I don't want to leave her.

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Shoot.

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Edited to add: the words "school dance" just floated across the family room (where Madeleine is chatting to a friend on the phone) to the dining room-cum-computer-office where I'm pounding out this blog entry. I just screamed "WHAT DANCE?" and Madeleine informed me that she will be attending her first dance soon. Well, that will be interesting. Soon, Madeleine will have topped my record of attending dances while in K-12. Which is--ZERO!!

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BREAKING NEWS UPDATE SATURDAY AT 6:00 PM!!!!! I found three old thermostats that Mom used on us back in the day. Two oral, one rectal. My did that bring back some fond memories, NOT.

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So I sterilized one of the oral ones and did the old shake shake motion, feeling like a REAL MOM. Temperature today: 98.6. Meanwhile, Roger was at Walmart buying a new digital. The digital readout: 97.3. Meanwhile, Meredith has been jumping, eating, giggling, watching TV, playing computer games, and riding her bicycle up and down the street.

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The agonizing suffering that child endured!!! Really, I should put up a Paypal button for all the Tequila Sunrises I need to recover from her illness. "Mom, I feel GREAT. Can I have Nick over to play? Please?" Lather, rinse and repeat.

This Old Piece Of *&*&* House

When I was younger I dated a guy who told me (Hi, T! Thanks for being my pal and putting up with 30 years of wackiness) that he always took pictures of every place that he lived in. I thought that was a great idea, but I always forgot to do so. Well, my parents' house sold, as you may remember if you READ THIS BLOG FAITHFULLY, which I know you do, because it's so darn FABULOUS. Ahem. Moving on.

Well, I decided, during the final walk-through, to take along my camera. So welcome to a place you can't visit any more, even though it's been less than three weeks, because the fabulous new owners have painted the house a beautiful shade of tan with white trim and replaced some of the nasty ceiling fans already.

Welcome.....to the House of Horrors. (Begin ominious music like when the teenage girl, wearing nothing but a skimpy top and Daisy Mae shorts, begins to go down into the attic where the chainsaw killer awaits to saw her limbs off).

Now above please note the front door. See that cute little window? Well, the door is this hideous pseudo-Spanish thing that was all the rage back in 1965 (remember the black leather sofas and the bullfighter posters? No? Well, you missed out). We moved into the house in 1970, and the little window opened. I loved playing with it.

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But Miss Paranoia--a/k/a Mommie Dearest--had the window sealed. Quickly. It's been sealed ever since. Buuuummmmerrr.

Come on in....to the entry hall. The closet was just emptied of dozens of coffee makers, Ginsu knives, food processors, fans, broken fan belts. broken heaters, broken coolers, broken humidifiers, broken anti-humidifiers, dead rats, etc.

Welcome to the weirdness. Okay, now please note the 1973 washing machine and 2004 dryer. In 1973 the nation experienced a devastating energy crisis. My father recorded on his ubiquitous index cards (What? He was a Ph.D! He had a degree from a credentialed university! He had pocket protectors! He had index cards on him AT ALL TIMES IN CASE SOMETHING OCCURRED THAT NEEDED TO BE RECORDED)...well, anyway.

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Daddy recorded the amount of kilowatts or whatever that the household used in 1973, along with the monies paid to the Evil Power Company, and then drew a line and compared the similar data to 1974.

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The dryer ceased to be used. At all. It sat for 30 years, and, peeved at its neglect, decided to blow up. And I don't blame it at all. Mom hung everything outside to dry. So the dryer is relatively new (if you call 5 years "new") and the washing machine is pretty much ready for the Smithsonian's Institute Of Really Atrociously Colored Appliances From The Seventies Where Everybody Was Doing So Many Drugs That They Failed To Notice That They Had Avacado Stoves, Copper Dishwashers, and Dirty Yellow Washing Machines.

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And I swear I did not notice this until I was uploading the pics, but if you look closely....There! I cropped the picture so you could see....

What happens when you marry men and you stay

married to them for seventeen wonderful years filled

with love and happiness and sunshine and roses and

little bluebirds tweeting around their heads..... who

can't keep up with the brutal demands of their loving

spouse to move 5,345 pieces of junk out of a house.

Quickly. Trit-trot.

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I beg your pardon, DARLING. I never promised you a

ROSE GARDEN.

Okay. Now this was in the laundry room. The "Little Gray Box" contains a note from Mom circa 1997 and one from Dad circa 1992. I went over to Picasa and cropped them to see what they said. For future archaeologists, here we go.

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The top note, in Mom's handwriting reads: 11/20/97 I finally discovered the noise maker!

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LEAVE I OFF!!! I guess it's only a timer but original water heater fuse. We now have a gas water heater. (my note: LEAVE I OFF!?????? I??? Mom, um, what does I mean?)

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The middle note, in Dad's handwriting, (very precise) says NEW HOOK PUT IN------3-22-92

----LIGHT

----MICROWAVE

----TELEPHONE ANS. MACHINE

#10 LIGHT IN DRIVEWAY

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And the bottom note reads, in Mom's handwriting: PUMP UNDER BACK BEDROOM.

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Who needs diamonds and negotiable bonds when you

have such priceless heirloom notes?

And here is the kitchen. Hello, the eighties called. They want their stainless steel sink and stained "white" linoleum back. Good luck, new homeowners!!!!

Here is the most horrible family room ever created.

My parents took me house hunting in 1970 when I was 11, while my 8 year old sister was left in the care of her aunt and uncle. BOOYAH. I felt like such a big shot!!!

We walked into this house and I turned to Mom and said, No. Please. Please, please, please, please, not this house.

It is now 39 1/2 years later and I finally don't ever have to deal with this horrible room ever again. There, there. I'm okay. I'm fine. I'm great. I'm a strong person.

Note the total lack of 1. windows 2. space 3. respectful husbands.

P.S. When we moved in, the right wall was wallpapered in an attractive red and blue Colonial theme and the light was a WAGON WHEEL.

Another view of the family room. Please note the attractive dark bookshelves, which used to contain my parents' college textbooks. The textbooks had intriguing and enticing titles that made you want to snatch them from the shelves and use them to light bonfires. Example (and I am, once again, not making this up) PARAMECIUM DISCOVERIES IN 1948!!!

Then there was the assortment of cookbooks from THE OLD RUGGED CROSS CHURCH AND GAS STATION IN MOOSE HILL, SC.

And the pile of 78 records from about oh, six quadrillion years ago.

I was aching, literally aching, for my husband to recover his energy and gently caress my........, I mean, for the new homeowners to paint the bookshelves white. But they like them dark. Well, each to his own. MORONS. Just kidding, you guys are great. Seriously, I really really like you guys. Thank you--and I'm being sincere--for repainting the house and just being nice people. And by the way, I just got the yearly tax bill in the mail. See you soon!!! :)


My Daddy liked to build things. Shelves. Lots and lots of shelves. Hope you enjoy lots and lots of shelves. You're welcome.

DISCLAIMER: NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR FEELINGS
OF DIZZINESS, NAUSEA, OR REVULSION. Please feast your eyes on the bathroom connecting my bedroom to my parents' bedroom.


(sigh) There must have been a contest for Ugliest Bathroom Tile somewhere. Somewhere. Somebody must have examined a diaper filled with infant diarrhea and been inspired to create this masterpiece of tile colors.


Speaking of ugly, please ogle the ugly bedroom furniture in my parents' room. My sister has taken these monstrosities and saved them for her son's first bachelor apartment. My, I can hardly wait to see the look on his face when she drags these into his swinging pad!!!!!

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David, I LOVE YOU. David. David. Call me, David. I know a couple of reliable arsonists.


This, my friends, upon first examination, may look like the most boring picture ever posted on the internet. But wait. There is a story here. See the little iron bar?
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Let's go back to 1949. The night before Mom and Dad were joined in Holy Matrimony. Mom had been complaining (her favorite hobby) about how Dad would be traveling a lot and leaving her behind.
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So her brothers wrapped this up and lovingly presented it to her. It is...and yes, ONCE AGAIN, I am not making this up---the bar to the 1928 car that the family used to own. It was the bar that the kids in the back seat hung onto unless they wanted to be thrown out onto the highway.
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They explained to her, as a joke, that she could keep this under her bed and whomp any intruder over the HAID with it.
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Earth to Mom--it was a joke. A joke. Do you know what a joke is?
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A joke?
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She kept it under her bed until the day she moved out of the house in 2008.

And I took it, and it's in the garage somewhere, and if an intruder comes in my bedroom, I'll politely ask him/her to wait while I run find it and WHOMP them upside the head with it.
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Mom would have wanted it that way.


AHA!! You are distracted with the iron bar, but now (cackle), I shall lure you into the Second Bathroom of Grotesque Tile. This is the hall bath.

Okay, take a piece of white tile. Stain it a dirty cream color. Then allow little bugs to crap on it. Then dye their crap green. Then install it in a perfectly lovely suburban home.
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Darn it. See those little aqua things sticking out? Mom used to dry her pantyhose on them. I meant to grab them. Enjoy, new homeowners!!!!

THE END. Please file quietly outside and remember to tip your servers.

Might As Well Jump

Hi everybody. Madeleine (11) and Meredith (9) reporting in from Birthday Town.

Note that Meredith has already used her skateboard and has the waaah wounds to prove it.

Now it is time to party.

I must decide if you are cool enough to party with moi.

We don't let every Tom, Dick, and Harry hang, you know.

Okay, let's party.

LYRICS: "Jump!" by Van Halen

I get up...UP! ...and nothing gets me down

You got it tough

I've seen the toughest soul around......

And I know! Baby just how you feel....

you've got to rooooollll with the punches to get to what's real

Oh can't you see me standing here I got my back against the ipod machine...

I ain't the worst that you've seen

Oh can't you see what I meeeeannn....

Might as well...

JUMP! Jump!

Might as well jump.

Aaaaoohhh Hey you! Who said that?

Baby, how have you been?

You say you don't know...you won't know until you begin.....

Well can't you see me standing there I got my back against the record machine..

I ain't the worst that you've seen

Oh can't you see what I mean?......

Might as well Jump! Jump!!! Go ahead jump!!!!!

Jump!!!!!

Mom! STOP DANCING!!!

October 10, 1992

1992

2009

True Companion - Marc Cohn

our wedding song

Baby I've been searching like everybody else

Can't say nothing different about myself

Sometimes I'm an angel

And sometimes i'm cruel

And when it comes to love

I'm just another fool

Yes, I'll climb a mountain

I'm gonna swim the sea

There ain't no act of god girl

Could keep you safe from me

My arms are reaching out

Out across this canyon

I'm asking you to be my true companion

True companion

So don't you dare and try to walk away

I've got my heart set on our wedding day

I've got this vision of a girl in white

Made my decision that it's you allright

And when I take your hand

I'll watch my heart set sail

I'll take my trembling fingers

And I'll lift up your veil

Then I'll take you home

And with wild abandon

Make love to you just like a true companion

You are my true companion

When the years have done irreparable harm

I can see us walking slowly arm in arm

Just like the couple on the corner do

'cause girl I will always be in love with you

And when I look in your eyes

I'll still see that spark

Until the shadows fall

Until the room grows dark

Then when I leave this earth

I'll be with the angels standin'

I'll be out there waiting for my true companion

Just for my true companion

True companion

I Got Your Polanski Right Here

So much hate, so little time...But let's review the facts.

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A 13 year old girl?

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And Hollywood embraces him?

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Quote from this article:

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On March 10, 1977, then 44, he had taken Samantha Gailey, a 13-year-old child model, to the home of Jack Nicholson in Mulholland, California, where he said he was going to take photographs of her for the French edition of Vogue. After taking the photos, he gave Gailey champagne and a sedative and performed oral sex, intercourse and sodomy on her while she said: "No, I don't want to do this." The original charges against Polanski were "rape by use of drugs, sodomy, and a lewd and lascivious act with a child under the age of 14". As part of a plea bargain Polanski got it reduced to "sexual intercourse with a minor".

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I could write a long treatise, but if you want to read reasoned and logical arguments I suggest you pop over to the Huffington Post.

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Um...what...red haze appears in front of my eyes...unable to write....All I can say is that if you did that to my girls I would advise you to get your affairs in order.