CONEHEADS

Anytime we’re in the car headed anywhere, Dave suggests we stop by McDonald’s for ice cream cones…mainly because he heard or read somewhere that they are low fat. We humor him because he doesn’t ask a lot of us…and because sometimes we want a cone too. We made a stop there earlier this week and were greeted by our current favorite McDonald’s employee, James*. James is a classmate of my kids so we harass him on a regular basis and he harasses us right back, so it’s all good. But this is why I stress to my kids that when you live in a town as small as ours, you MUST be kind to everyone you meet, because you never know who might be flipping your burger at some point and making that crucial decision of whether or not to spit on it.

So we tell James we want two vanilla and three twist cones, and that’s when he shocks us all but telling us they are OUT of cones. He offers us ice cream in cups, but we are not amused. Instead, we heckle him for a bit (WHAT? NO CONES?? ARE YOU MAD???). And when we’re through with that, we drive across the street to Sonic, where we order those ridiculously tiny junior candy sundaes.

But Dave is dejected and orders nothing…because Sonic has no low-fat ice cream choices. But then he has a bright idea. He buys an empty cone from Sonic (50 cents) and then heads back over to McDonald’s…where he tells James he has obtained a cone and would like to buy ice cream to fill it. James is easily amused so he takes our money at the First Window and tells us to give the cone to the Second Window lady. She is amused also, but would only give Dave his ice cream in a cup. So he had to spoon it into his cone himself.

I haven't had lunch yet today, but last night I went to a cookout and had a hotdog, exceptionally good potato salad and salsa, two pieces of cake, and a s'more. My personal trainer saw my plate and didn't say a word. So I may have to fire her.

*Name changed to protect the innocent.

THE LUKE TEST

My nephew Luke was a tad squeamish in his younger days…at least when it came to “girl talk.” Anytime the conversation drifted towards women’s cycles or anything remotely related thereto, he would immediately cover his ears with his hands and repeat, “I’m not listening, I’m not listening, I’m not listening.” He’s a bit better these days, now that he’s married and has watched his wife give birth to two children. But I remember the younger Luke when I write this blog....out of respect for my handful of male readers. As I ponder whether or not to mention certain topics, I ask myself, “Would the younger Luke have to cover his eyes while reading this, and repeat, I’m not reading, I’m not reading”? And if the answer is yes, then I leave it out. Hence the dearth of talk about my hormonal ups and downs.

That being said, I still feel I would be remiss not to recount what occurred this past weekend. In short, the dam finally broke, and I spent about 24 hours teetering between being teary-eyed and crying uncontrollably. Was it because of Memorial Day? Was I so conscious of the incredible sacrifices made for my freedom, that I naturally broke down? I wish I was that sensitive and unselfish. But since I’m not, I had to look for another cause. At first I blamed it on my son for once again preferring to spend the night with his friends, when he could have stayed home with me. But while that irritated me, it wouldn't normally cause me to break down. Later, I decided it was those graduation-moment-tears that never came when I thought they would. Perhaps my body had saved them up for the Memorial Day weekend, as a nice surprise for me.

Then at some point during the deluge, my bewildered husband wondered aloud if there might a hormonal cause…but I wasn’t buying that simple explanation. I figured I was surely more complex than that. But later that day, due to a certain "arrival", I determined that he was probably right, and felt immediately better by the way. Later, when I announced the verdict to my family, they all sighed with relief. Because it really is true that when momma ain’t happy, ain’t nobody happy.

I apologize for breaking my blog silence with such a topic…but I felt you should know where I’m at these days.

I haven’t had lunch yet today. But for lunch earlier this week I had a divine crab salad along with other leftovers from the wedding of my boss’s son. All I could think about while eating was how I couldn’t wait to blog about having something besides fast food for lunch. And then I didn’t get it done.

GETTING BACK ON THE HORSE

As a blogger, I fancy myself to be a writer, and sometimes others make the mistake of thinking I am one as well. Take my nephew Ben for example. He recently asked me to write a few lines for something he’s doing at his rehearsal dinner. I was flattered of course, and promptly prepared a little something which I thought was brilliant, bordering on genius really. Here are some sample lines so you can judge for yourself:

“At Ben and Courtney's wedding, we want you to have fun. And while we can't promise you more popularity or better hair by being at the wedding, we can promise you a good time.”

See…pretty good, eh? Anyway, so it may be hard for you to believe that shortly after I forwarded my masterpiece to Ben, I received an extremely polite email back from him that said, in essence, that they (he and Courtney) were…well…going in a different direction. I’m sure it pained him to tell me this, since he is just about the nicest guy in the world, and wouldn’t hurt a fly. Okay, maybe he’d hurt a fly, but definitely not his beloved Aunt Shelley. He needn’t have worried though. Even wannabe writers like me are often misunderstood, and know how to handle rejection. I just started thinking about how I could turn this little story into a blog post. Yeah, I got right back on the horse.

For lunch today, I had tortilla casserole, chicken casserole, lasagna, green beans, corn, baked beans, rice/carrot dish, fruit salad, jello salad, pasta salad, potato salad, German chocolate cake, half a no-bake cookie (they were made with peanut butter and I like them without), watermelon, a strawberry, a blackberry, and iced tea. I can never make up my mind at church potlucks…so I just have a little of everything.

SLIGHTING AMADEUS

We went to Rachel’s official violin "recital" last night. That other event where David acted up was just a concert, but this was where the students played solos and then some ensembles played. It was all strings, and lasted a little over two hours, so I was pleasantly surprised when David didn’t act overly boorish. He did add up the songs listed on the program (29) and then occasionally updated us on the statistical progress of the recital (10 down, 19 to go, etc., etc.). But since I do that myself, I couldn’t really blame him.

And I guess I should have scolded him when after hearing several of the younger musicians play Twinkle, Twinkle, he remarked about his excitement that the next musician’s piece was "Twinkle Variations". But indeed, I felt the same way. Finally, towards the end of the recital, he wrote me a note complaining about the lack of legitimate Mozart pieces being performed (other than Twinkle of course) and calling Leopold Mozart, who wrote another song on the program, a "poser". But I couldn’t really blame him for that because I’ve never heard of this Leopold either.

I have much more to say, but I have to go to a cookout. The invitation came earlier today...by text message to Dave. And the whole family got all excited, because we wouldn't have to cook of course. But since Dave never programs numbers into his phone, we didn't know who had issued the invitation. And it seemed rude to say...OF COURSE WE'LL COME, BUT WHO IS THIS? So we all scurried about and eventually we found the number in my phone...and texted back YES...because not only do we love this family, but they always fix GREAT food too. Bonus.

The whole thing kind of reminded me of the early days of our marriage, when Dave and I would get home from work and kind of putter around the house, hoping my sister or mother would call and invite us to dinner. More often than not, the phone would ring and even before answering, we would do a little jig and start singing...There’s the Invitation. You know, from that old church song where the chorus goes, "Hear the invitation, come whosoever will". Maybe you had to be there.

I had two homemade tamales for lunch, which I found in my freezer.

THE WOMAN WHO KNEW TOO MUCH

I am still reflecting on the graduation weekend, and I hope you'll forgive me for returning to that subject now and again. Today, I was thinking about the kids in Emily’s class being the hope for our future, and became a bit concerned. Probably because I know them better than students of previous years. Take that guy who ran around during extremely cold football games wearing only a cape and shorts, and covered with blue and red paint. Can he be trusted to diagnose illnesses and perform surgeries? And how about that guy who strutted across the stage during the Mr. HHS contest in a circa 1970 basketball uniform? Do we really want him out there protecting our forests? Then there’s my daughter. I’m not sure a girl who can’t tell the difference between lettuce and cabbage should be instructing your children on the evils of the Nazi regime. It wouldn’t bother me if any of these graduates became lawyers, or even used car salesmen. Our world might still be safe. But doctors, nurses, engineers? Yeah...scary.

I took David shopping yesterday. For the ONE month he will be playing baseball, he needed cleats, socks, pants, and some batting gloves. Then we found a jacket and some sweet Stan Smith Adidas shoes which were both on clearance, so we had to have them. Finally, he decided to spend his own money on some Converse high tops. I’m not sure if those are still cool, but he doesn’t seem to care. And he admitted that he felt like a girl walking out of the store with three new pairs of shoes. I felt like I was buying for a girl after spending $280 on the kid. I used to think he was less high maintenance than the girls but not anymore.

He tried his new gear out at his first game last night, and did well so I guess we bought the right stuff. We were at the ballpark from 6 to 10:30 p.m., because he played both the A and B games. Brutal. But actually not. I enjoyed most of it, especially when this cute guy came over and sat and talked to Emily and I got to hear her tell him two interesting things. First they were talking about her pickup and she told him, and I quote, "The heat works and the air conditioner works, but they won’t work at the same time." Hmmm. Then they were talking about jobs and she said she wouldn’t want to work at a bank "because she might accidently steal some money." Shortly afterwards, the guy made some excuse and left.

Rachel has agreed to be my personal trainer this summer. She is arranging a place in the basement for us to work out. We will start with Richard Simmons Sweatin' to the Oldies. Her choice. I will keep you posted on our progress.

The girls and I went back to the new Chinese place for lunch. The crab rangoon is reportly delicious, but I don't like crab rangoon.

BOARD BARN SUMMERS

I'm happy to report that my kids all have summer jobs. Emily is working 8-5 for an architect...hello, real world...but she has Fridays off. Rachel is babysitting a few days a week for some kids she loves, and by babysitting I mean she watches old Disney movies with them. David is working for the rec commission as a scorekeeper, and is scheduled for all of FOUR games throughout the summer. Now there's a tough gig.

When I was in high school, I worked at the "Board Barn", which was a place that made wooden items that were in demand back in the 70's when crafts were big. I ran the router, the drill press, and the scrollsaw, but my specialty was the jigsaw. I cut out a LOT of big wooden letters on that jigsaw and broke very few blades. Today, you might say I was a "beast" on that machine.

For the most part, this was a pretty cushy job, and coveted by other high school students. At least by those that liked the smell of sawdust. The only real down side was that the place was not air conditioned, so I remember sweating a lot. But I cooled off, sort of, by taking a two-hour break every afternoon, during which I would meet my friend Jo at the tennis courts. I didn’t get paid for these breaks, needless to say, and my mother frowned upon them for some reason. But thanks to all those hours on the court, I developed a savage tan and a wicked backhand. Then in college, I won several intramural tournaments and have a box of trophies to prove it. So you see, summer jobs can be important to your success later in life.

Of course, now I don't know one end of a jigsaw from the other, and can hardly hit a tennis ball to save my life. Not that I've been asked to. But the point is, that summer job provided me some great memories, not to mention something to say when I'm playing those party games where you have tell a little-known fact about yourself. And my children are creating some of those memories now, and I like that.

I had a Hamburger Happy Meal for lunch and am sorry to have to tell you that.

FAMILY CIRCUS - PART ONE

She walked across the stage, took her diploma, and never looked back.

Sorry. Just wanted to experiment with a different kind of first line, suggested to me by my brother-in-law Dave. I’ll go back to my ramshackle style now. It feels much more comfortable.

So...yes! We graduated! I have to say WE, not only because I’m an admitted hovercraft mom, but also because, let’s face it, I was the one that made all this possible. I was the one that signed that dreaded agenda every day. I ran her cheer shoes up to the school when she forgot them. And I whipped up those orange juliuses for her classes every time she asked. Okay, almost every time, but that’s not important. The important thing is that she did walk across that stage, she did receive her blank diploma holder, and she did spray silly string all over her fellow graduates. And I would like to tell you how beautiful she looked while doing all these things, but does anyone really look their best in those ill-fitting gowns with those odd caps perched upon their heads?

But as graduation ceremonies go, it was a fine specimen, with all the usual trappings. The funny and poignant speeches, the sappy songs sung by seniors (say that three times fast), and the plethora of proud-looking parents and grandparents. Of course, in our case, the proud ones were her 28 aunts, uncles, and cousins, rather than her grandparents. But while I did miss my parents that day, I must say I felt truly blessed with the support we had for this weekend.

One final note on the actual ceremony. There were some touching moments, but I never cried. Even when Emily brought me the flower and hugged me. Odd, I know. If I didn’t know better, I’d think someone had slipped an anti-depressant into my drink at breakfast. But I don’t think I ate breakfast, so maybe I’ve just mastered my emotions through incredible mental discipline and control. Or maybe, just maybe, I didn’t cry because my skirt kept sticking to my legs every time I stood up, and that was a distraction. And I should just be thankful for that hot gym.

And now for a report on the celebrations. The family started trickling in Friday afternoon and didn’t stop until nearly midnight when my niece Meagan arrived, direct from Zambia. Seriously. Needless to say, she took the prize for traveling the furthest. And by the way, she’s home for good now. Well, at least for a year...but we can always dream, can’t we?

Other friends stopped by as well, including Emily’s kindergarten teacher who brought her a SWEET handmade denim quilt. Apparently she was an exceptional kindergartner. Okay, not really. The teacher is also a family friend and just all-around nice lady.

Emily’s "official" reception was Friday night with three of her friends. And it was a fine reception, even though her table and her mother were a bit underdressed for the occasion. But Emily didn’t stress over it, so neither did I. But I did hum the old "one of these things is not like the others" several times.

As for the rest of the weekend, it was the usual family circus. We didn’t get much card-playing done, but we did some street-walking which everyone always seems to enjoy. We also ate on the front lawn because our air-conditioning is unhooked thanks to the basement project. And of course we haven’t needed it yet this spring, until this particular weekend when I just happened to have 33 warm bodies to entertain at the house. And our back yard is still a dirt-packed mess from the basement project as well, so we couldn’t escape back there. Which left only the front lawn, and since we live on Main Street, it was pretty much a spectacle.

Finally, lest you think the weekend was idyllic, let me assure you it had its dark side. Caused by two eating establishments in town. My family always enjoys an outing or two to our local coffee shop, so they all met down there early Saturday morning only to be greeted by a sign on the door that read "Closed for Graduation." Rude. Then on Sunday, we all traipsed down to our local Mexican eatery, where we spent close to an hour and a half waiting for our food. Double-rude. And inconvenient for me because now, on principle, I have to boycott the place for at least a few weeks because they didn’t offer us anything free to make up for the wait. My family always always always responds well to free dessert, so it was the least they could have done.

I have more, including a list of injuries sustained by my family while they were visiting for the graduation. This should be fascinating reading for you medical personnel, but it will have to wait because I am behind at work. I had a barbecue sandwich and chips for lunch today, brought to me by Rachel because school is out and she has such a servant heart. Or maybe because I told her to bring me something.