What's wrong with this picture?

Can you find the problem with this picture? No, it's not the beautiful sunny day, the boat coming up on the right or the parents sitting in the back with cocktails (ok, maybe that could be construed as a problem for someone-fortunately not for me). I will give you two hints: apparel and lack of experience. We finally came to our senses and corrected the situation before the sheriff "stopped by". I had an extra dose of "calming juice" and the Big Guy patiently taught each Wild One to maneuver the Skiff. My favorite way to spend a summer day or end one.

Bird brain?

I stopped in a bird store (OK crazy enough I know) the other day looking for a special bird feeder (it looks like a flip flop and it is a gift--really). I searched the store and realized it was very traditional and probably wouldn't have anything remotely odd, but that didn't stop me from marching to the front of the store to question the clerk. On my way, this old lady barges past me to get there first-she was there when I walked in and had obviously been in the middle of being helped, no way was she going to let me ask a question before she was finished. I was in a good mood, so I stepped to the side and waited for her to do her business. In the middle of paying for her "traditional" humming bird feeder (thanks to my crazy, bird loving family I actually knew what kind of feeder she was buying) she tells the clerk and what I assume is the owner (a tall geeky man in the corner fiddling with some new "toy") that if this bird feeder does not work she will be back with her shot gun--yes I assumed she was kidding or that I heard her wrong too...so did the clerk and owner. The clerk nervously giggled and asked "Shot gun?" I thought maybe she was going to shoot the bird, but then realized she probably wasn't going through the trouble of feeding it unless she actually liked birds and again due to my crazy family and what seems like hours of discussions, I know these people take attracting birds very seriously. The woman said "Yes, if this doesn't work I will come back with my shot gun to shoot you". Now she said it in a nice way and everything, but I gotta tell you IT FREAKED ME OUT! People really do that kind of sh#*, even little old ladies. Let's just say I didn't wait around to see if the clerk pushed the "panic button". That confirmed it for me...bird people are CRAZY and as for my gift I think I will order something on line and have it sent through the mail. 

Napkin anyone?

No I am not asking if you need one, I am asking if you have one to spare...for...um...my collection. I pick today to tell you this story as the whole "collection" was started by my older, yes count them 3 years, cousin--the one on the far left that looks like we are holding hostage. I think she is just camera shy-God knows why, those Andy girls seem to have it goin' on! Back to the story...when we were young (I am going to say pre-teen cuz other wise my friend said the story is just creepy) we started collecting napkins-yes the paper ones. Any color, any design, any monogram (even a few hand signed ones. By whom? We have no idea-just go with me here it was really cool at the time). Remember the wedding napkins (and the Big Guy better not be laughing here, cuz I still have proof of his match book collection-that is the ones that I haven't used up starting fires at the Grouchy Dog)? We even went door to door asking for napkins-we could only take them if they had three and if we weren't together we always got extra for the others. I remember being in an apartment building and knocking on each door-being the youngest I am sure they made me do all the asking. If we were smart we would have taken the youngest cousin (second from right) that really would have increased the cute factor-although she may not have even been around at that time (doesn't that make you feel old??) I'll give you that it was the 70's, but as I think back I wonder-as I am sure you are also doing-where the parents were? Given the way we all turned out I am guessing that they were all together, cocktail in one hand sitting around Ruth and Vern's kitchen table playing games or gathered around the fire pit in Tom and Linda's back yard (actually I am pretty sure about the cocktail part)! We would sit for hours and sort our napkins and beg (or steal if the answer was no) our family for three napkins from every pack they bought. I think we used to open packages of really cool napkins and very carefully remove three and then put the pack back and hope that no one figured it out. I wonder if they ever noticed the meticulously re-taped packages or were short a napkin or two at a special dinner party? The thrill made the "find" more special (and hilarious). That was only the beginning of the Andy Girl's shenanigans, each more fun than the last (think "Moonfest") and many more to come. As for those collections...I have visions of Ron and Vern, whisky in one hand, matches in the other!!

Happiest Day to you (older) girlfriend! Have a laugh (and a cocktail) for me--here's to our next shenanigans!!! I love you!!

Learn to love the small stuff.

As an adult I seem to always be looking forward to (or dreading) the next thing: a paycheck or my next birthday. For the little ones it's all about the small stuff and the everyday things: an ice cream cone or a chance meeting of a friend. 

The end of t-ball is bitter sweet: more family time and less rushed dinners, but less community and the loss of the ability to jump up and down and scream with pure delight (at least without the neighbors calling the cops). The end also brings the much talked about medals. This year the boys were surprised and thrilled with real trophies "bigger than anything the coach has on his own shelf at home"--I guess this is when they begin to learn that bigger IS better. The excitement in their eyes is a reminder to enjoy each moment of each day that brings you joy and don't waste so much time waiting for the big things to happen.

The day after.

Sometimes it's harder. I never know what to expect. All I know is that I get up each day and love my family and friends...that is all I can do.

Lollipop

Ollie

Nalls

Naber

Grouchy Dog

Little Buddy

What's the deal with your hair?

Why are we (any I know you all are-some more than others) obsessed with our hair? The color, the texture, the length and the style-or lack of? I have recently fought with all of the Wild Ones regarding their hair: one is too long, one is too short and the other is hanging in the eyes. I finally decided that I am not going to fight that battle-unless they come home looking like this or this-otherwise they can make their own statement (just wanted to set the record straight so that you don't blame me for the way they choose to look in public-at least they have outgrown the bathing suits with cowboy boots stage). I figured I better let go now before one of you pulls out the old school pictures of me. On another note what about the price of a hair cut...if a man only has half a head of hair shouldn't he only be charged half the price of a regular haircut? 

Who's hungry?

You know that your are sugar deprived or possibly just hungry when you see something on the floor that you think is a skittle...and you actually consider picking it up and popping it into your mouth (with a quick glance over your shoulder to make sure no one is looking). But as you reach for it you realize it is actually a button. The thought briefly crosses your mind to eat it anyway-I'm sure it has no calories and the density of it may fool your stomach into felling full from all the processing it would have to do. Instead you toss it on the counter and with a little whistle you quickly walk away and pretend the last 60 seconds never happened.

Putting out an APB...

I need to issue an all points bulletin for...a missing bowl. It is a stainless steel bowl, about 3 quarts and all shiny and new. Last seen holding the remnants of the previous evenings popcorn, possibly a few old maids. Missing since Saturday morning (after the littlest Wild One probably polished off the good stuff). Many hours were wasted on Sunday searching for the missing bowl. I swear every inch of this house was searched--some spots several times and by several people. We searched bathrooms, kid's rooms, cupboards, draws and under things too small to hide such an object. We searched the garage and the Grouchy Dog and I almost called the neighbors. We finally gave up, put the salad in my cool blue pot and off we went to our next party. If you see me out after dark with a flashlight, I am just looking for the flash of silver in the weeds-perhaps Saturday nights storm sucked the bowl outside and into the nether regions of our yard. It's either that or go with the story that because the Big Guy accidentally got such a good deal on the bowls, that the salesman tracked us down and stole the bowl back to resell at it's correct price.

Isn't every day Father's Day?

I guess it depends on how you look at it. It's not like you are not the father the other 364 days or that you even get to act like it (although I have seen some who try). Do we celebrate the day to make the dad feel special or to boost the economy? My guess is that every smile or hug that a father gets makes his day special. So who gets to decide how to celebrate that one "specialer than all other" days? As the mom I feel like I should leave for the day and let the Big Guy have the Wild Ones all to himself--after all it is about them celebrating him isn't it, I really don't want to get in the way? Or is it my duty to celebrate the father of my children? Or should I celebrate me since I am the one who picked him to be the father of my children? I feel a spa day coming on!! 

If you're dying to find out how we celebrated yesterday check this out. 

Aren't cops the good guys?

So I get ready to leave today (and the Wild One's are on their own for an hour-the oldest in charge), but I notice that my mailbox is MIA...again!! Sure I know it's probably laying in the jungle that surrounds the post, but I'm pretty sure the mail lady won't get out, find it and deposit my fan mail...I mean bills...into the box down there. I decide to call the police as they have requested in the past to be notified when this happens. I'm not sure whether to call 911 (What if someone is being kidnapped and I am tying up the phone line with a missing mailbox?) or to call free411 and hope that I get the correct number for the local police and not Ivan the ambulance chasing lawyer. I decided to call 911 and with sweaty palms (I'm still not sure this is the right number to call) I almost hang up, but that would cause a whole new trauma--would they try to call back my cell phone and if I didn't answer would they try to track me down? I finally talk to the dispatcher ("This is a non-emergency" being the first words out of my mouth), tell her my story and as I am about to hang up she asks if she should send an officer to the house to take my statement or if he should just call. I guess I didn't mention that I was on my cell phone and therefore not at home (can't they tell that with their fancy schmancy equipment?). Anyway I clearly requested that he CALL me.

Fast forward 20 minutes: the Wild One's call me frantic because there is a police car in the driveway. I'm thinking ***not a big deal, but then they tell me that they are hiding in a bedroom. Yes I told them not to answer the door when I am not home, but this was the POLICE! I stayed on the phone with them until they saw the police car pull down the driveway, but they were convinced a cop was still in the house. They were scared and even thought he was trying to open the door (the bedroom door). Thinking fast (not always a good thing) I tell them to stay in there and I will call the police to see if they are in the house. What was I thinking?? OK...deep breath...I dial 911 again, explain my story again, and ask if the police are in my house (remember they are there to check on a missing mailbox). I ended up on a 3-way call with another dispatcher (I bet the first got busy with a kidnapping) and the officer that was at the house. I'm sure I don't have to tell you this, but he was never in the house. And to their credit they never laughed...at least while they had me on the phone.

What does your car say?

A friend of mine once traded in his car (for his wife's SUV) because he "got no respect" driving it. Does the car you drive really say something about your personality? What about the people who walk or take the bus? Are people who drive hummers more powerful (or do they just think they are)? What about mini-vans? Cool for a middle age mom, but not for a teenager? I remember riding in a car I knew nothing about with an older guy (my uncle's wife's father-I think??) when I was about 10-and no don't take that road, I was also with my sister and my cousin (although for the life of me I have NO idea why we would have been with him-maybe it wasn't even who I thought it was-oh well let's go with it for this story). Anyway we were embarrassed to by riding with this "old" guy (he was probably 41-see yesterday's post) in this "strange" car so we hid on the floor (pre-seat belt laws I guess). Well it turns out it was a Rolls Royce. 

You can definitely tell something about a person's personality by the car they drive (and the clothes they wear). Unfortunately not all of us can afford the car (or the driver) that fits our personality and not every one can change their personality to fit the car they drive. So, what's on your wish list? I will analyze later!

Proud to wear the jersey.

Yes it's true today is just another day, just like yesterday and probably just like tomorrow. And I have to say the number associated with each birthday has never bothered me--I even looked forward to last year (of course there was the big party weekend and I was still technically in my thirties-unofficially still 28). But when I woke up this morning and thought "Wow, I'm 41" (and don't ask me my weight-I'll leave that story to my crazy cousin "B") I paused and thought about it for 2.5 and then doubled over. The Big Guy put it in perspective-like he always does-when he replied "That's OK now your just 29."

A special birthday wish to my father-in-law who would have been 80 today--I missed your annual phone call and jokes about our shared birthday--I won't stop celebrating for both of us!

Tick addendum.

I may have crossed the line today (and will definitely be crossing it again here)-but I feel the need to share. I have to go back to yesterday when the middle Wild One went crazy at a party (like mother like son...I'm so proud). He was playing in the woods and basically swimming in the mud. Skip ahead several hours...when he should have been asleep. He came walking into the living room (where I was reclined on the couch recovering from 3 days of really different, really fun parties) with his jammie pants pulled down below his "junk". Now while we are kind of the Naked Family this did seem a bit strange to me. He started giggling and showed us a tick attached to his very sensitive round parts. It was all quite comical because the little bugger wouldn't come off and the Wild One was afraid we were going to try to burn it off (I admit we have tried to put a recently lit match to embedded ticks before, but I don't think the Big Guy could've stomached watching that in this situation). The Big Guy and I both had our heads in quite close (perhaps I should have gotten out the magnifying glass and backed up a little) which could have seriously landed our kids a place in MN foster care. The little bugger (referring to the tick here) was finally detached and the other little bugger was sent off to bed. Fast forward to the beach today...the aforementioned Wild One overheard me laughing with a friend and realized he and his little friend (or both of them) were the subject of our hilarity. Let's just say he was not amused that I had shared this story (please don't mention this blog to him). In an attempt to appease him I told him that if I ever had a tick on my "boobie" I'd be sure to show him and that he could share the story with all of his friends. Well I was successful at making him laugh, but I think the woman hiding under the umbrella next to us may have been dialing protective services. I decided it was getting late so we high tailed it before anyone could i.d. me.

S.C. is coming to...I mean...in my town.

I saw him, I saw him! I'm not sure if I should reveal the details in case the Big Guy-and this time I DO mean Santa-is in hiding. However, since he was in a red convertible with the license plate SANTACL (or maybe it was SCLAUS-give me some slack, he was going kind of fast and I was taken by surprise) he must not care too much. Who knew a little old town (if you can call it that) like Independence would be the home away from home for the most important man in the world. What? Yes he is. Who doesn't love Santa? All ages, all colors, all sizes--everybody adores Santa. I have seen this man around town before, but no one believed me (and unfortunately none of the Wild Ones saw him this time either--too busy arguing with each other--hope Santa didn't see that!) So don't tell anyone, but if you happen to be in my neck of the woods keep your eyes peeled. I will too and if I see him I'll put in a good word for you-after all Christmas is only 201 days away.

A lost art.

When is the last time you wrote a letter and I mean got out stationary and a real pen, stuffed it in an envelope with a stamp (or if your like me, several stamps that you hope add up to roughly the right amount) and put it in a mailbox--you know the kind by the side of the road or perhaps the kind hanging from the side of your house? If you are an offspring of Mavis I am sure you do your share of posts to Florida, but besides that? Even invitations and thank you notes are sent electronically. Again as a descendant of Mavis-and possibly Martha Stewart-I feel obligated to send out the real thing. Besides I can be as creative as I want and express my personality (of course there are times when e-mail comes in handy for the anonymity if you know what I mean). I love to write in any way, shape or form (I wish that part of me had been unleashed in high school and early college--perhaps I was so busy writing and editing the Big Guy's papers that I had no time to enjoy my own). I don't know about you, but going to the mailbox (and I have a lot of time to think on that long hike-no mailbox hanging by my front door. I am lucky if the one at the end of the drive way is still standing each morning) for me holds great anticipation. Will it be all junk mail and bills or will there be something really exciting in there- a letter, an invitation, a check you didn't know was coming-maybe a package? It's a different kind of thrill than opening an email--knowing that someone took the time to "snail mail" you something. Go ahead and make someone's day-mail them a letter. Throw a little cash in there and you'll really make someone dance.

Logorrhea

Do you ever think about the English language? The old words that don't get used much and the new "words" that people are making up today? Kids have new ideas and want to be original and the technological explosion demands a whole new dictionary. What I am doing right now has it's own word: logorrhrea-to shoot words forcefully out of an orifice or in other words my humble opinion on everything forced on those who frequent this blog...blogorrhea? (Please don't quote me on these definitions for any thing official).

In the fall you see many men into pogonotrophy. I'd like to make you squirm and have to look it up, but I know you are busy so I will be kind--simply they try to grow a beard (is that so that the animals will think they are among "friends")? By week 4 many just end up mustachioed...gesundheit. What do you think all those men with messed up hair on the back of their heads (from their wives cuffing them) have been looking at? Callipygians...you got it...a beautifully proportioned buttocks. (Do you think I should change my name to Calli??)

How many tittles do you have? Me, personally, I just have two. No matter how you spell it, the Big Guy also has two-unless you count "The Big Guy" and then he only has one. Maybe that is why we are so compatible, or perhaps it is just because he adores my zaftigness.

I think I have just increased the smarticalness of all my beautiferous friends--you can thank me later!!

It's still raining...which reminds me...

Just what you always didn't know you needed. (Say that 5 times fast). Last May while reliving-literally-my college days, I was meandering down Washington from my historic old classroom to the 16 (Minneapolis' finest transportation) AND minding my own business.I remember a feeling of gloom(regarding the weather) and thinking that things could not get much worse--why do we always have to put out a challenge!? Just then a bus approached me from behind (and I picture the driver saying "Hey everybody--watch this!") and hit the biggest puddle you have ever seen (which you would have thought that if it was so big that I would have seen it too). The spray completely covered me--I was soaked from umbrella covered head to non-waterproof shoe covered toes. Since I was sure of the bus drivers previous comment and that all eyes were on me--I kept on walking, never missed a beat. I pretended like there was not muddy slop dripping off my nose or ice cold water sliding down my back--until that bus pulled away. I stubbornly stood on the corner and waited in the freezing rain until the next bus came. I may have squished when I sat down, but at least I didn't have to sit next to someone who saw it happen. 

It's raining...it's pouring...

When it rains and pours and it feels like it will never stop...put on a pair of cute rubbers (you might as well look good and be protected) and a waterproof slicker (unless it's really warm, then go as natural as you can) and run outside and play. If you are reading this as a metaphor for life (this one's for us e.s.) grab your inner strength (I know it's there), crowd yourself with good friends and run straight into the hurricane. There's got to be a rainbow some where on the other side and the ride will sure be a lot more fun.

***note to self: start writing book about crazy life (ie-family and friends) titled "You can't make this sh*# up."