Those irresponsible Jordanians

I am cleaning my desk and there is a piece of paper which amuses me greatly.  But I don’t want to keep this piece of paper, because it is clutter.  Amusing clutter, but clutter nonetheless.

And then I remembered: I have a blog.  No need to keep a piece of paper when I can commit it to my digital memory.

Many months ago, Bill went to Jordan.  He went swimming in the Dead Sea.  He saw the spot where Christ was baptized.  And he complained about how awful it was being away from home.  Drives me nuts.  Just flippin’ enjoy yourself.  How hard is that?

Anyway, he brought back a receipt from swimming somewhere – Amman Tourist Beach Swimming Pools – and it has rules written in English, of a kind.  Here they are:

  • Please Keep up the public
  • It is just for families
  • the administration is irresponsible for the loss of your property
  • please dont sit on she green yards
  • don’t enter any kind of animals
  • don’t enter tables or chairs or the nargniles
  • don’t enter balls or bikes
  • you will bear the responsibility if you swim after the sunsit
  • the ticket just for one use and at the same date
  • don’t enter alchoholic beveragess pubc
  • Prevents swimming for more than 100 meters


Velvet Elvis

The antique store was closed, but Bill and I were looking in the window.  Right in the front was a set of collector’s plates.


“When you’re dead,” I told my husband, “I shall live a spartan life.  Except for some of these…”  I waved my hand at the plates, all different, all featuring Elvis.


“Oh,” he replied, “I thought you were going to have one of those velvet pictures.”


“Yes!  One of those and all of these.”

It will save the children fighting over my belongings.


A few months ago, my husband got a new laptop.  It has Windows 8, a touch screen, and all sorts of other cool features.  I have not yet figured out how to use it, and if he’s not home, I spend considerable time fumbling around until I mange to get it to do what I want it to do.

One feature is that it has apps, just like the Kindle Fire or an iPad or a smart phone.  One app – our favorite app – is some bartender program.  You can tell it all the alcohol and mixers you have on hand, and it will tell you all the drinks you can make with them.  After checking off everything we had, it told us we could make over 80 different drinks.  I’m taste-testing them, one-by-one.

The latest is a Cosmopolitan: 1 shot of Cointreau, 2 shots of vodka, 1 shot of lime juice, and 2 1/2 shots of cranberry juice.  I have opened the cranberry juice, so all drinks for the next week will have to include it.

However, I am learning that one drink is more than enough, especially on an empty stomach.  While waiting for my still somewhat frozen meatloaf to bake, I decided to have one.  Well.  My cheeks are tingly, and it doesn’t bother me at all that the children are on their 4th straight hour of watching tv.  It’s thunderstorming, and it’s Sunday, right?


We all managed to get to confession yesterday.  For the second time in perhaps 6 months, I had a priest (different one each time), tell me I needed some “me-time.”  (Last time, the other priest suggested a vacation.  Not a family vacation, but a real MOM vacation.  That never did happen.)  Part of my penance this time has been to seriously consider how I can do this.  (Side note: dear, wonderful priests: I don’t mind you telling me to think about such things, but I really appreciate a penance I can do right after confession.  Three Hail Marys, a decade of rosary, cartwheels on the altar: something concrete and complete.  Giving me a vague “think about it” penance leaves me wondering if I have done enough yet…am I forgiven yet?  Just a suggestion.)  

Anyway, I’m wondering if having 2 or 3 shots of alcohol a few times a week is good enough “me-time”?  

Am I forgiven yet?

Crazy Conversations

I allowed Mary to look at the crayons I bought her for kindergarten.  But, no, I told her, she may not use them yet.  She has to wait until we start school.

So there she is, sighing and smiling over the big, beautiful box of neatly sharpened colorful Crayolas – do you remember what that was like? – and she says, “Oh, I can’t wait to go to school!”

I noted her interesting word choice, but merely agreed with an “mmm.”

“I suppose I’ll make lots of new friends,” she said, with a sideways look at me.

“Mary,” I said, “Where did Fritz go to kindergarten?”

“I don’t know,” she said.  And since she hadn’t even been born, I guess it was a rather silly question.

“Where did Peter go to kindergarten?” I asked.

“I don’t know,” she persisted in trying to prove her ignorance on such matters.

“I’m sorry, honey,” I said, gently.  “We’re a homeschool family.  You’ll do kindergarten right there at the dining room table.”

A Post about a post

I had intended to write about how I designated each day with a task to make my week flow more smoothly, but I simply had no time today.

Tomorrow is supposed to be “Do Something Fun” Day.  I have to go to the tax collector’s office and shell out $500 just for the sales tax on Bill’s car, plus all the other fees to get it properly titled and registered.  There is nothing fun about this!  I don’t know what fun thing we will do after that, but I do hope it’s free.

First Birthday

The day before George’s birthday, we drove to Cross City, Florida to meet my parents.  They took my three older boys for the week, and I brought my brother home to stay with me.  I decided to bring a birthday cake and celebrate.

I don’t have a cake carrier, so I made do with what I did have on hand.



Along the way, we saw some Hobbit holes for sale.


I was planning to have a parking lot party at a local fast food restaurant, but my mother, who is much smarter than I am, asked the ladies behind the counter if there were any local parks.  This was a much better idea.

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After the kids played for a bit, we sang, we helped George blow out his candle, and we ate a delicious lemon cake with a raspberry filling.

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My parents gave him a John Deere Duplo toy tractor.  Because every little boy needs a John Deere.

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No pictures of my dad, alas.

But here’s a picture of my brother enjoying my pool.