Love letters. When I was 18, 19, 20...apparently I wrote lots of 'em to hubby. I have no recollection of doing this, but I did. And I have proof-- I just found it the other day in a previously unexplored corner of the house. (A whole stack of proof, in fact.)
That's one of the advantages to living in your husband's former home; finding little pieces of history you didn't even know existed.
You know what another advantage is? Finding all the love letters the others wrote too. And oh, I found some juicy ones! In fact, I discovered many that made me wonder why on earth his mother chose to save them. (I mean, didn't they make her blush tomato red?) All in all, they made for a very interesting afternoon of reading.
But every now and then I couldn't hold it in....
"Hubby! What did Bambi mean when she said---?"
"Hubby! Why did Trixie tell you that---?"
"Hubby! I cannot believe you did/said/thought---!"
"Hubby! Did Candy really---?"
"So, Cherry was pretty hot then, eh?"
Pretty soon hubby came traipsing into the room, curiosity getting the better of him, only to find me surrounded by a pile of letters. Letters written on napkins, letters written on Hallmark cards, letters on paper towels, on notebook paper, letters with pictures, letters containing confetti, lipstick kisses, the remnants of old fragrance.... Letters proclaiming undying devotion, heartsickness over break-ups, letters pieced together from magazine clippings, memories of good times together (sometimes too "good", in all honesty).
"Where did you get those?" he asked, looking a bit sick.
"Your mom saved them. Did she read this one-- hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm?" I proffered one of the more interesting notes. He sputtered.
"Ugh! Throw them away!"
"Are you sure? They're your history!"
"They're evil."
"They're a lot like the ones I wrote," I said flatly.
"That's different...."
(You got that right, buster.) But, reluctantly, I did as he asked and threw them away. Sigh.
And the ones I wrote? Well, I kept those, as ridiculous as they were. (Who was that girl, anyway? Was I really that...insipid? Good grief, give me a pen and paper and see what kind of letter I can write now.)
As for hubby's fake I.D. I found...that's another story altogether. (Unfortunately, hubby got his hands on that one and shredded it too.) Oh, I just love treasure hunting in this house!
Tuesday, June 19, 2012
Tuesday, June 12, 2012
Two Aspies Are Better Than One
Yesterday was my last day of mentoring for the current school year. And since LM is already out of school, I asked him if he wanted to come along with me-- you know, to help.
"Why?" He asked. He always asks such awesome questions.
"Because LPB has Asperger's just like you! And I thought you'd like to meet him-- he doesn't have very many friends."
This got LM to thinking. He's a champion of the underdog, after all, and I knew I'd reel him in with that little tidbit.
"Okay."
When we got to the school and caught sight of LPB, my little man walked right up to him. Shy is not a word in his vocabulary.
"Hi! My name's LM, what's your name?"
LPB didn't answer at first, but then reluctantly proffered his name. LM then stuck his hand out to shake (the wrong hand), and LPB took it (with the doubly wrong hand) and I smiled down at their awkward exchange. This was gonna be fun.
We sat down to play a game together and I marveled at these two boys. One would say something, the other would completely ignore it, and neither seemed offended by this trend. I thought to myself, "Sheesh-- why bother with conversation at all?" but for some reason unbeknownst to me, this style of communication was working for them.
The game soon morphed into a sort of imaginary scenario in which game pieces became bombs and all hell broke loose. I don't know when or how it happened-- but they were totally tracking with each other.
"Pretend this is their ship and they are going to attack the enemy."
"This one's army is about to bomb the bad guys!"
"I'm sending a spy to see what the enemy is doing."
Sometimes they'd listen and go along with the other one's idea, but more often than not, they played in a sort of parallel manner rather than actually intersecting. And yet, they managed just fine. (Neither of them talked to me one iota, by the way. I could have gone out for coffee and wouldn't have been missed.)
At the end of our hour, LM and I left, and you know what? He hasn't mentioned LPB since. And I'm pretty sure LPB hasn't given LM any thought either. Aspies....
"Why?" He asked. He always asks such awesome questions.
"Because LPB has Asperger's just like you! And I thought you'd like to meet him-- he doesn't have very many friends."
This got LM to thinking. He's a champion of the underdog, after all, and I knew I'd reel him in with that little tidbit.
"Okay."
When we got to the school and caught sight of LPB, my little man walked right up to him. Shy is not a word in his vocabulary.
"Hi! My name's LM, what's your name?"
LPB didn't answer at first, but then reluctantly proffered his name. LM then stuck his hand out to shake (the wrong hand), and LPB took it (with the doubly wrong hand) and I smiled down at their awkward exchange. This was gonna be fun.
We sat down to play a game together and I marveled at these two boys. One would say something, the other would completely ignore it, and neither seemed offended by this trend. I thought to myself, "Sheesh-- why bother with conversation at all?" but for some reason unbeknownst to me, this style of communication was working for them.
The game soon morphed into a sort of imaginary scenario in which game pieces became bombs and all hell broke loose. I don't know when or how it happened-- but they were totally tracking with each other.
"Pretend this is their ship and they are going to attack the enemy."
"This one's army is about to bomb the bad guys!"
"I'm sending a spy to see what the enemy is doing."
Sometimes they'd listen and go along with the other one's idea, but more often than not, they played in a sort of parallel manner rather than actually intersecting. And yet, they managed just fine. (Neither of them talked to me one iota, by the way. I could have gone out for coffee and wouldn't have been missed.)
At the end of our hour, LM and I left, and you know what? He hasn't mentioned LPB since. And I'm pretty sure LPB hasn't given LM any thought either. Aspies....
Friday, June 8, 2012
Up Yours, Upchuck!
Puke makes me wanna puke. And I've been having to clean up the stuff a lot lately. Our dog, Carson, has been graciously providing me with oodles of opportunities to fight my gag reflex in the last week. (I suspect it's all the cat-poop she's eating out in the yard-- or something else equally delicious. Whatever it is, it's brown, chunky, and contains bits of yard waste.) Huge yard + no fence = one giant doggie buffet.
But what I really want to know is; why do dogs always have to find a spot of carpet to puke on? Our upstairs is completely hardwood floors except for an area rug and a few foot-wiping mats by the doors. Yet she has managed to land 75% of her vomit on the aforementioned carpeting. Why, why WHY? The only time she's managed to spew on the hardwood is when I've seen it coming and tried to get her outside first-- but there's no doubt in my mind she was aiming for the rug. She just loves pukin' on that rug....
So, is it just my dog who prefers to make my clean-up job infinitely more difficult, or is it a universal canine trait? Just curious....
And don't worry, she appears to be doing just fine now. (Well, as fine as an ancient boxer can be, that is.)
But what I really want to know is; why do dogs always have to find a spot of carpet to puke on? Our upstairs is completely hardwood floors except for an area rug and a few foot-wiping mats by the doors. Yet she has managed to land 75% of her vomit on the aforementioned carpeting. Why, why WHY? The only time she's managed to spew on the hardwood is when I've seen it coming and tried to get her outside first-- but there's no doubt in my mind she was aiming for the rug. She just loves pukin' on that rug....
So, is it just my dog who prefers to make my clean-up job infinitely more difficult, or is it a universal canine trait? Just curious....
And don't worry, she appears to be doing just fine now. (Well, as fine as an ancient boxer can be, that is.)
Monday, June 4, 2012
Drink Up, Me Hearties!
Someone visiting my house might ask, "Why does your 9-year old son have a Stella Artois chalice on his desk?"
I have two answers for this:
1. Pirates need chalices. Duh.
2. His aunt procured it for him. Aunts do stuff like that.
And anyway, it was our little concession to him after refusing his request to have a shelf full of rum on display above his bed. ("I won't drink it!" he promised, but still....)
Now all he needs is a parrot named Paulie! (Don't even think about it.)
I have two answers for this:
1. Pirates need chalices. Duh.
2. His aunt procured it for him. Aunts do stuff like that.
And anyway, it was our little concession to him after refusing his request to have a shelf full of rum on display above his bed. ("I won't drink it!" he promised, but still....)
Now all he needs is a parrot named Paulie! (Don't even think about it.)
Monday, May 28, 2012
Never Lick Horses
Sometimes it's hard being a parent. And I'm not referring to navigating through all those tricky emotional and behavioral issues that come along with raising children-- that stuff's a piece of cake. What's hard is explaining the meaning of words and phrases to your children-- ya know? Like, has your child ever asked you what "gregarious" or "cursory" or "insidious" mean (just to name a few)? They are not easy words to explain in layman's terms!
Well, today Ruby asked me what an "idiom" was. And my mom, who happened to be over at the time, thought the best route was to give her an example instead of a definition. Brilliant!
"Okay," I said, "have you ever heard the phrase 'never look a gift horse in the mouth'?"
"Never look at a gifted horse's mouth?" Ruby repeated.
"Uh, no...." I then gave her my example again.
"Never lick a gifted horse in the mouth?" Ruby tried a second time.
"NO!" I repeated my original idiom yet again. This was going nowhere! Meanwhile my mother was giggling her head off and offering her own feeble attempts at clarifying for Ruby, but to no avail. Finally, Ruby at least got the phrase correct, even if she didn't exactly understand it....
"What in the heck does that mean?" she asked, more confused than ever.
"Well, it means that if someone gives you something, you should accept it graciously."
At this point, we'd lost all hope of defining "idiom" in favor of simply getting her to understand the idiom itself. I'm still not sure how successful we were.
See what I mean? I'm not a dictionary, people! Hey...that just gave me an idea. (Pardon me-- I have a dictionary to hunt down and provide for Ruby Jane.)
Parenting issue solved! Should be smooth sailing from here on out.
Well, today Ruby asked me what an "idiom" was. And my mom, who happened to be over at the time, thought the best route was to give her an example instead of a definition. Brilliant!
"Okay," I said, "have you ever heard the phrase 'never look a gift horse in the mouth'?"
"Never look at a gifted horse's mouth?" Ruby repeated.
"Uh, no...." I then gave her my example again.
"Never lick a gifted horse in the mouth?" Ruby tried a second time.
"NO!" I repeated my original idiom yet again. This was going nowhere! Meanwhile my mother was giggling her head off and offering her own feeble attempts at clarifying for Ruby, but to no avail. Finally, Ruby at least got the phrase correct, even if she didn't exactly understand it....
"What in the heck does that mean?" she asked, more confused than ever.
"Well, it means that if someone gives you something, you should accept it graciously."
At this point, we'd lost all hope of defining "idiom" in favor of simply getting her to understand the idiom itself. I'm still not sure how successful we were.
See what I mean? I'm not a dictionary, people! Hey...that just gave me an idea. (Pardon me-- I have a dictionary to hunt down and provide for Ruby Jane.)
Parenting issue solved! Should be smooth sailing from here on out.
Thursday, May 24, 2012
Show And Tell
When I "checked in" almost 2 weeks ago, I had no idea it would take me this long to actually post again. To be honest, it's been a bit rough around here lately. I've had a dig a little deeper to find the humor in anything...until yesterday.
Yesterday I went grocery shopping. Not very amusing in and of itself (it's usually drudgery, right?) until I headed for the checkout line and discovered a white-haired lady behind the counter. She seemed like any other white-haired lady, and then she opened her mouth.
"Hello there, darlin'! And what can I do for you today?"
On screen, those words don't appear to be that abnormal (even if it's a tad abnormal for a checker to ask you what you need from them). But because of the way she said it, I instantly wondered if I'd stumbled into some sort of non-traditional Kindergarten setting. I looked around. This is a grocery store, right? Yes, all adults here. I looked back at the lady.
"Er...I just have some groceries today." Did I give the correct answer, Mrs. Kindergarten?
"Well, zippity-doo-da! I can help!"
I was instantly thrown back into childhood and an overjoyed feeling washed over me at her news. She can help me-- yay! Wait a minute.... Of course she can-- it's her job! I reminded myself this woman was not my Kindergarten teacher; she was a checker.
"Ohhhhhh, bad news bears! Did you mean to grab the buy-one-get-one-free chips?" She frowned deeply, studying my two bags of Lays potato chips.
"Yes...." Suddenly, I was five again and dismayed, "Did I do it wrong?"
"Let me just skidaddle over there real quick and check, okay hon?"
"Okay!" Please help me, Mrs. Kindergarten-- I didn't mean to do it wrong! It's just so hard finding the right buy-one-get-one-free chips sometimes! I waited for her to return, hands wringing.
"Good news! You got the right chips! Now, what's the problem with this silly old machine?" She tapped her screen a few times until the checker next door interrupted.
"It comes off at the end of the transaction," the gal said, voice flat. Clearly it was not unusual to have to explain things to Mrs. Kindergarten.
The older woman turned back to me, "Well, they just do it different every time, don't they? But we'll get it taken care of real quick, so don't you worry!"
Oh, what a relief! I knew she wouldn't let me down. I'm going to make it to first grade after all!
I swiped my credit card and was given some final instructions about using the touchpad.
"Now be careful with that mean ol' Mr. Pen, he doesn't work very well."
I gingerly held the pen and successfully signed my name. Phew-- crisis averted! Mean ol' Mr. Pen must have been in a good mood that day.
"You just go and have the most wonderful day now, okay?" She smiled and handed me my bags.
"You too!" I chirped. I did it-- I graduated! Yay me!
I got to my car and put my bags in the backseat, reality crashing into me as I realized I was old enough to drive. And the groceries I just bought? They were for my children. Hmmm, yes, I'm 34-years old, I remember now. I looked back at the grocery store, and for a quick second I could have sworn the sign said, "Market Elementary".
Yesterday I went grocery shopping. Not very amusing in and of itself (it's usually drudgery, right?) until I headed for the checkout line and discovered a white-haired lady behind the counter. She seemed like any other white-haired lady, and then she opened her mouth.
"Hello there, darlin'! And what can I do for you today?"
On screen, those words don't appear to be that abnormal (even if it's a tad abnormal for a checker to ask you what you need from them). But because of the way she said it, I instantly wondered if I'd stumbled into some sort of non-traditional Kindergarten setting. I looked around. This is a grocery store, right? Yes, all adults here. I looked back at the lady.
"Er...I just have some groceries today." Did I give the correct answer, Mrs. Kindergarten?
"Well, zippity-doo-da! I can help!"
I was instantly thrown back into childhood and an overjoyed feeling washed over me at her news. She can help me-- yay! Wait a minute.... Of course she can-- it's her job! I reminded myself this woman was not my Kindergarten teacher; she was a checker.
"Ohhhhhh, bad news bears! Did you mean to grab the buy-one-get-one-free chips?" She frowned deeply, studying my two bags of Lays potato chips.
"Yes...." Suddenly, I was five again and dismayed, "Did I do it wrong?"
"Let me just skidaddle over there real quick and check, okay hon?"
"Okay!" Please help me, Mrs. Kindergarten-- I didn't mean to do it wrong! It's just so hard finding the right buy-one-get-one-free chips sometimes! I waited for her to return, hands wringing.
"Good news! You got the right chips! Now, what's the problem with this silly old machine?" She tapped her screen a few times until the checker next door interrupted.
"It comes off at the end of the transaction," the gal said, voice flat. Clearly it was not unusual to have to explain things to Mrs. Kindergarten.
The older woman turned back to me, "Well, they just do it different every time, don't they? But we'll get it taken care of real quick, so don't you worry!"
Oh, what a relief! I knew she wouldn't let me down. I'm going to make it to first grade after all!
I swiped my credit card and was given some final instructions about using the touchpad.
"Now be careful with that mean ol' Mr. Pen, he doesn't work very well."
I gingerly held the pen and successfully signed my name. Phew-- crisis averted! Mean ol' Mr. Pen must have been in a good mood that day.
"You just go and have the most wonderful day now, okay?" She smiled and handed me my bags.
"You too!" I chirped. I did it-- I graduated! Yay me!
I got to my car and put my bags in the backseat, reality crashing into me as I realized I was old enough to drive. And the groceries I just bought? They were for my children. Hmmm, yes, I'm 34-years old, I remember now. I looked back at the grocery store, and for a quick second I could have sworn the sign said, "Market Elementary".
Monday, May 14, 2012
Checking In!
Yes, I'm still alive.
No, I haven't forgotten about my blog.
Yes, I've been busy (come over sometime and see the new place!)
No, I'm not going to post today.
Yes, I will soon.
Much love to all those who faithfully check! But for now, why not just amuse yourselves by going through some old posts? (Or do I flatter myself by assuming that will amuse you?) Anyway, I'll be back soon-- promise. :)
No, I haven't forgotten about my blog.
Yes, I've been busy (come over sometime and see the new place!)
No, I'm not going to post today.
Yes, I will soon.
Much love to all those who faithfully check! But for now, why not just amuse yourselves by going through some old posts? (Or do I flatter myself by assuming that will amuse you?) Anyway, I'll be back soon-- promise. :)
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