We, the people of the United States, in order to form a more perfect union, establish justice, insure domestic tranquility, provide for the common defense, promote the General Washington, and secure the blessings of liberty…
That’s right, it’s all about promoting Georgie to President…forget what you may have heard about his humility, Katie knows the truth about him gunning for Commander in Chief. It’s right there, in the Constitution.
But it feels oh so good to catch up to and pass another runner.
Even if…
…the other runner…
…is as old as your mother.
Sometimes, you have to do more living than blogging. Of course, those are the times you most want to blog about.
Fritz’s face looks much better than it did last Wednesday. The dentist thinks all will be fine with his adult teeth, but she’ll keep an eye on them at future visits.
Peter had a lingual frenectomy. He was so good. I was traumatized, but at least I didn’t faint or vomit.
Bill’s parents came down for a visit and we did touristy stuff. Fort Pulaski. The Owens-Thomas House (free to military during the summer!!).
Last week, I had a conversation with my husband about how many days he has gone TDY since beginning this job four months ago (more than 30). He has a whole month to go until his next trip. The office doesn’t know what they will do with him. I suggested it was time to take some leave (vacation).
“Well, I do have that long weekend coming up for the 4th of July,” he said. There was a pause, and I expected him to continue with some plan to take leave. But, no, that was the end of his statement.
“No, dear, that’s a holiday. Leave is when you don’t go into the office, but everybody else does.”
So, he took today off, which was very nice. He helped me run outside and pull the clothes off the line before the torrential downpour (this is my every afternoon). Somebody found my stash of rubber bands and he’s been teaching the kids how to best aim and fire them. They have battled all day long, and my stash is now all over the floors all over the house. He washed my car, because he’s trying very hard to conscientiously practice my love language of acts of service (isn’t he great, folks?).
Part of this is because we watched the movie P.S. I Love You. Tear-jerker. I cannot in good faith recommend it to anyone whose husband is deployed, or is deploying soon, or has a brain tumor or some other life-shortening condition, or to anyone who is pregnant or post-partum hormonal, or PMSing or menopausal, or who cries easily, or who can’t bear the thought of her husband dying. And since it’s rated PG-13 for sexual content, I can’t recommend it to anyone under the age of adulthood…so pretty much I think only men should watch this movie. And since I like having my car washed just because, I highly recommend that all husbands watch this movie very soon. If your husband will not watch a chick flick without you, be forewarned that you will need tissues.
There are 18 weeks to the Army Ten Miler. Today I started the Hal Higdon 15K Intermediate training program, which is 10 weeks long. I just plan to repeat the last 4 weeks twice to get me to race day.
And that’s my life in the last week.
The boy made it 12 years and 29 days without a broken bone and without requiring stitches, staples or glue to hold parts of his body together.
Today, 12 years and 30 days into his life, his face looks very boyish: meaning bruised, swollen and plain ugly.
The friend said, “I’m going to throw this stick at you,” in what was meant to be some sort of friendly gesture, I suppose. His mom asked him, “What were you thinking?” which is, of course, ridiculous, because there was no thinking involved. Ask any man. I’ll bet he’ll have some story to tell about a time when he was 10 or 12 or 14…probably not too many after that. After that, vehicles get involved and those stories are “barely survived” stories, and they’re not as funny.
The incident occurred at approximately 4:10 pm. It was nearly 10:30 pm when Bill got home from the hospital with him. It’s nice that he works close by and could meet me there. I left after triage, thank goodness.
Let’s see: hole through his lip requiring 2 stitches, mainly because the hole is on both his lip and his face and he would have a crooked smile if they didn’t stitch it. He had a CT scan to make sure that no wood fragments were left behind. Then they had to call 2 people from the dental clinic to come in and take a look at his teeth. One guy had just sat down to dinner. X-rays showed that the broken tooth was a baby tooth, so they yanked it out. And I have to call our dentist and have them check on another (adult) tooth that’s a little wiggly and discolored.
Nice.
I did remind Fritz about the time he swung his brother into the bed and split his head open. And Bill talked about the time he got hit in the head with a baseball bat by his best friend. And my dad told me about the time he threw a broken bottle intending it to go over another kid’s head. And the friend’s grandfather told about the time his son used a length of rope as a whip…
Everybody has a story. I’m sure this one will be really funny in a few years.
We stood on the front porch, Katie, Mary and I, and waved goodbye to Bill as he headed off for work. I always try to make sure he gets a grand send off.
As we turned to come in, Mary told me, “I LOVE him!”
“I do, too,” I enthused.
“He gives great hugs.”
“Yes, he does.”
Last month, we had some people from my husband’s office over for a party. I think the food turned out well. Next month, he wants to invite a different group of people over.
“Hmmm, I wonder what I should make,” said I.
“Make the same thing you did last time,” he suggested. I rewarded him with a blank stare. The same thing? Why?
*******
“Hey, Mikey, whatcha doing, staring at that hunk of rock?”
“I’m thinking about carving a statue out of it.”
“Yeah? Why doncha make another one a them Davids? That was cool.”
*******
The great thing about my husband is that he is so very easy to please. I know some husbands who are a bit…finicky…with what they will eat. No breakfast food for dinner…ever. No fruit (sauces, garnishes, etc) with meat. Not Bill. He will eat what I serve him without complaint.
He did complain – once – early in our marriage, but the cast iron skillet seemed to knock some sense into him.
But the difficult thing about my husband is that he is so very easy to please. If time, money, and nutrition were no concern, this would be his daily menu:
Breakfast: western omelet, coffee (black) and possible add-ons of rye toast, hash browns, bacon and OJ.
Lunch: turkey and provolone on a hard roll with a bit of Dijon mustard, Dr. Pepper, maybe some chips.
Dinner: whatever I make him.
And he would eat this, without variety, every day for weeks and weeks and weeks. I can’t do that.
My friend’s husband recently came home on R&R from Afghanistan. He had a long list of favorite foods that he wanted her to make. When Bill came home last December, I made some things that I knew he would like, but none of them were by his request (despite repeated interrogations).
And despite knowing this man for nearly 21 years, I only learned last spring that chocolate cake isn’t his favorite; he prefers vanilla.
Every year I ask, “What would you like me to make for your birthday?”
“Oh, whatever…”
“O-kaaaay…” So I’d make chocolate cake…because everybody loves chocolate, right? He doesn’t understand how much it bothers me to think I’ve been disappointing him for 20 years. Of course, he’s probably not disappointed. He’s just happy there’s good food magically appearing in front of him every night.
Apparently, I have a much greater attachment to food than he does. My hips attest to this fact. Food is art. Food is hospitality. Food is love.
So, no, I can’t make the same menu that I did for the last party. And since my wonderful husband is no help in the planning department, I’m soliciting suggestions. One thought I had was to have burgers, but to provide a very large selection of toppings…or to have different types of burgers (have you had burgers with bleu cheese? – yum). I’m definitely casting about for some sort of theme. The tequila is almost gone, so that’s out. Any ideas?
“Mom, Jenny’s intentionally stepping in the poison ivy and rubbing it on her hands!”
No vicarious learning around here, no sir. She’s just.like.me.
Katie has been scratching at a rash for several days. I identified the rash as likely coming from poison ivy. I’ve had poison ivy rashes. No fun.
Billy mentioned he noticed some three-leaved plants near the fence. I investigated and confirmed their nefarious “roots.” I brought Katie outside, showed her the plant, and said, “Know thy enemy.”
Then I made the mistake of mentioning to the kids that they should wash with soap and water if they thought they had touched a plant. That might prevent the rash, I said. After handling the poison ivy, Jenny went and washed up to see if that took care of it.
Very risky.
The plants will remain in place until this weekend when Bill will get to them. Even though he has never had an allergic reaction to them, he will wear gloves and be very careful. Why tempt fate? Since I have him, I won’t go near the plants. If he were gone for an extended period, I would have to do something, but I would wear long pants, long sleeves, socks and shoes, disposable gloves and put all clothes in the wash immediately afterward (right after I showered using this product, which I recommend).
That Tecnu stuff helps relieve itching as well. It’s a good thing I own some. Jenny may be very miserable tomorrow.
Ohio, Virginia, Pennsylvania, New Jersey, Kansas…all these places I’ve lived. Typical exterminator service plans in these areas are offered on a quarterly basis. There were times perhaps when I wanted them out sooner, but for the most part, 4 treatments a year seemed to work.
Down here, the guy comes monthly. I thought it was excessive at first, but since my landlord included it in our rent, I wasn’t going to argue. When my girlfriend contacted a different company, they said the same thing. I had seen very few bugs in the house, so I figured I shouldn’t mess with a good thing.
Every time he would come, he would ask me: “Seen any bugs?” Perhaps I had seen one small silverfish in the last month. Or a spider. He would grimly nod his head and charge off to deal with the invertebrates that dared cross his spray lines.
A few weeks ago, Bill killed a roach. I don’t do roaches. I just don’t. They scare me. They make me scream. They make me cry. So, when the bug guy called to set up a date to come, I told him about the roach.
“Yeah, you’ll see those,” he replied.
“Oh, no, don’t tell me that,” I whimpered.
“Ah, come on,” he said, “This is Georgia.”
Between the bugs and the heat, I’m becoming convinced that joining a mission in a poor country and helping them build water treatment facilities (my retirement plan) is something I just don’t have the fortitude to do. Or maybe this time in the Deep South is part of my training. And I’m failing.
This morning, I took something into the laundry room and turned to find a roach on its back in the doorway. I do not know how I missed it coming in, but now I was trapped. I am not fooled by the “dead bug” ploy. I have experience enough with roaches to know they aren’t dead unless they are squashed.
“Fritz,” I called with alarm in my voice, “get your father!” Bill came quickly, worriedly.
Good man. He didn’t even tease me about hiding behind the washer from a dead bug.
I did warn him that it wasn’t dead, and sure enough, he witnessed some wiggling legs right before he crushed it. My hero. What would I do without him?
Laundry. Until the thing managed to get away.
It occurred to me yesterday that I didn’t have to wait a month to see if my electricity saving measures were having an effect. The electric company did tell me what the meter reading was on May 31st, and I can read numbers off a digital meter and do the subtraction.
So I did. And then I divided by the 8.5 days that we were into the month and the number was HIGHER than my average usage for May. After completely freaking out, I realized that I had not begun trying to save energy until 5 days or so into the month, so the numbers were skewed.
This morning, I tried to find the scrap paper where I wrote yesterday’s reading down and could not find it. I estimated what it was and then did the math and that number was so astronomical I wanted to cry. I decided my estimate was wrong, but to confirm this, I’ve gone out twice this morning to check the reading. So far, in 4 hours, I’ve used 6 kwh. I’m totally cool with that. That would only be 36 kwh per day, compared to the 121 kwh per day I had last month.
Except, of course, that mornings are not quite as hot as the afternoons. At least I’ll have a baseline and I can see how efficient my A/C units aren’t. My goal is 90 kwh per day or less. I’m willing to be extra hot on the weekdays to make things more comfortable when hubby is home on the weekends.
“Mom, how hot is it going to be today?” I was sitting at my desk, so I clicked over to my bookmarked 10 day forecast.
“91.”
{smack} That was his forehead hitting the desk.
“Wait, Fritz, let’s look at the next week or so: 93, 94, 92, 94, 95, 91…oh, next Wednesday, they’re saying only 88. Don’t hold your breathe, though.”
“Ohhhhh….” He groaned and walked away.
I didn’t have the heart to tell him that summer doesn’t even begin for 2 more weeks.
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