Sunday, May 17, 2009

"Special Persons" Day at School - Invitation Only

So, we were invited by our 6 year old Granddaughter -the Little Miss- to attend "Special Persons" day at her grade school. I believe this is the day formerly known as Grandparents Day. Apparently, there are some who do not have grandparents who can attend, thus the day was renamed, Special Person day, you invite a special person in your life. Lots of gray hair attended, apparently all very special people.
She showed us all her papers hanging up on the walls of her classroom, we ate Dunkin Donut holes and Hawaiian Punch with the other attendees in the school gym. We got to see (pictured here) her sunflower seeds growing on the windowsill. Very special.

Here she is hugging her Papa, who was very happy to have been invited.
Then we were allowed to take her home with us. I had planned a wonderful afternoon, and typically as it does when I take a day off of work, it was pouring rain. Noah, smiling smugly from the Ark, was very happy. It poured through lunch, poured through our visit to two (count em 2)pet stores where we visited with all the puppies, guppies and spiders. It soaked our pant legs as we puddle hopped between parked cars, weaving our way to Barnes & Noble, where we spent a good hour or so reading (she's READING-in kindergarten, I can't believe how fast they grow up!!) books like Amelia Bedilia and The Hungry Caterpillar, along with the Berenstain Bears have a sleep over. Getting tired yet little one? Grandma was exhausted!
We went home, baked a cake and prepared dinner for Papa, which was spaghetti and corn on the cob. (?) She picked it out.
Long day. But the next day, I had also planned an outing to the local grade school that was having a Fun Fair. It's theme was outer space. They had the school decorated in alien stuff - whatever their interpretation of alien stuff was. Cute. She started out by getting her hair doused with glitter and pipe cleaners in a new "do" that was out of this world. We played bingo in the library, where winning meant you get to pick out all kinds of trinkets and candy. We proceeded to the gymnasium where there were carnival type games set up. Everyone was a winner, getting to choose a piece of candy just for playing, along with a poker chip with a 1, 2, or 5, or 10 on it, depending on how well you did on the game itself. Those poker chips were then redeemed in a classroom full of wonderful prizes. (Where wonderful equals dollar store stuff)
She was having a great time, winning prizes, trying her hardest, and then selecting suckers, because that is her favorite. They had a few blow up jumping things too, and as we stood in line to do an obstacle course in a inflatable jumpee, she spotted a costumed parent in a large bulldog outfit. (Bulldogs are the schools mascot) She totally freaked out, crying and sobbing, "I want to leave now Grandma".
I forgot how scared she was at Chuckie Cheese. I forgot she cried her way through Disney World.
Game over.
That's OK, we had fun anyway.

Later as we were making our way through the parking lot behind the school, we saw the "bulldog", head laying on the ground beside her, catching a smoke break out by the dumpster with her bulldog assistants. She waved sheepishly.

Monday, May 11, 2009

Car Kharma

I have always had a love/hate relationship with my car.

Today I hate it. (but shhhhhh, don't tell anyone, it hears you and reacts, I swear!)

Last week when the hubs was out fishing on a lake somewhere, bonding with other fish and fishermen, one of my turn signal lights went out. No prob.

Now I'm a resourceful woman. I can change a lightbulb, even a car lightbulb. I went to the auto parts store near work, gave the older cranky guy my make & model and he sold me two yellow bulbs. When I got home I popped the hood, right away pressing both of the palms of my hands to the sides of my cheeks, my mouth forming a large "O". Where the heck is the socket? I pleaded with my neighbor (who is known to be "car handy") to assist me in this tiny bulb change. He and I poked around under the hood, and were successful in changing the yellow bulb. But alas, I guess as far as the changing of the yellow bulb goes, one must also purchase and change the white ones too. Now, neither bulb worked. I had both my back turn signals, but neither of my front ones.
Safety was on my mind, but not in my car.
Immediately I cursed all the times when I had thought about buying a new car. Nothing major is wrong with my car, but it is paid for...and eleven years old...starting to loose it's sassiness...hey, it never had sassiness, that was just me, but the car had already had it's feelings hurt. It was striking out, baaaad car kharma. No matter how much I whisper "I'm sorry", the car refuses to give, even just a little. At eleven, the car is still emotionally immature and unforgiving.

So, yesterday, Mother's Day, my husband buys more bulbs and a flasher gizmo, assuredly to remedy the situation. He tinkered (he's really good at tinkering) and he pulled all kinds of stuff out and put the stuff back, and lo and behold. No turn signals. Neither front nor back, and although I have break lights, I regretfully inform you, I've been driving around today using the much revered Hand Signals.

My arm hurts.

I turned alot.

Each time I turned, I held my breath, risking the chance that the 17 year old new driver in the hot rod in front of me had glanced at the pages in the driver's manual that showed the hand turn signals. Please be a cautious reader.

In spite of my glamorous arm moves, I made it home with my dignity intact. Silently I mutter..."hurry home baby, and stop at Auto Zone first." I'm so glad my hubs is back. His handy self and his 15 bags of frozen fish come in handy around here.

Thursday, May 7, 2009

Nothing to Fear But Fear Itself

I didn’t buy my dog for protection, though he looks fierce and barks a large scary bark. I adopted my dog because he was a stray and needed a good home; he listened right away to my commands, didn’t pee on the furniture and didn’t eat the carpet. He loved me, my husband and my granddaughter from the minute I let him stay inside the house. You all agree that we tend to love things that love us – unconditionally – back. We admire their taste.

Casper as you can see from post below and from archived posts is totally black, a Chow/Shepard mix. He weighs in at about 70 lbs. and his bark is definitely worse than his bite. He is LOUD and very territorial. When dogs cross in front of our walk, he barks so loudly at them and very aggressively at them instilling fear in all of our neighbors and their children. I do not let him bark in the house otherwise he’d bark out the open windows and scare the crap out of everyone.
So, last evening, Casper and I were lounging sprawled all over the living room, me in my recliner, Casper at my slipper clad feet, when out of the darkness that is also known as the kitchen-without-the-lights-turned-on, a loud clatter and BANG! (even my adrenaline shot up a little) when Casper’s 70 lb. self jumped onto my lap for comfort.
Yes. 70. lbs.
You heard right.
Now, you know my husband has “gone fishing”, and this manor is being headed by the queen of the household while he’s gone, but that was just a little silly. I guess we kept Casper for his ability to make fertilizer in the backyard, or for being good at party tricks like Sit, Shake and Dance, but not for his ability to protect a fearful mistress. It was just the wooden door jam in the slider door falling.

Lucky for him I’m not so fearful. I’m enjoying my husband’s-away-the-wife-will-play time, by watching t.v., taking the dog for a walk, and although sticking to my points, (down 5 lbs. now) I’m kinda eating junk instead of dinner. I’ve not done all the things that I put on my list, like clean out drawers and closets, scrapbook, exercise and read a few books. Um no.
Tonight is Grey’s Anatomy.
Nuff said.

Saturday, May 2, 2009

Wo-man's Best Friend

What might be considered woman's best friend? In the dreamy romantic period of my life, I might have pointed to said husband and claimed him my best friend. Newly wed, caught up in doing just about everything together...ew, rose your glucose level just a tad bit now didn't I?
"I didn't mean it ARE my best friend". Crap, I've gotten myself into a pickle now - I'll have to work harder at being a good wife to make amends. To keep the hubby happy.

This week, I don't have to work at all . This week, I don't have to cook, to clean,to share the remote, share the bed even! I can fold the covers back like a little envelope and slide myself in at night, all tucked and neat. Not to be disturbed by the Tug-O-Blanket war that ensues each night (not caused by me at all, despite what HE says).
WHY is that you might ask? Did said husband finally catch on to the ruse that is Jackee, discovering her blunders unamusing and he did flee to parts unknown? Well, sorta.

t's his annual fishing trip, one shared with twelve other fishermen of the He-man Women hater's club that is also known as his Church Guys That Fish. I am left to my own devices.
{Pause for reaction}
HOOORRRRAAHHHH! I've spent the hours so far, blogging, eating weight watcher's bagels and started reading a new book. I've pet the dog, drank a pot of coffee and so far, so far, have not even got out of my nightgown. I promised Casper, the wonder dog, a jog down the street, after I get dressed of course. This will be all my time. To do what I WANT WITH NO INTERRUPTIONS!

So, to some, Wo-man's best friend, might be a topic chosen for entirely different albeit understandable reasons (like a charge card to enable shopping sprees, a new kitchen gadget, new "gadget", Ipod, or favorite purse even) mine is featured here.

The soulful eyes of man's best friend. In man's absence, becomes wo-man's best friend. I feel safe and protected, comforted and less lonely. He's a great listener and I trust his fashion judgement. He loves to exercise with me, to nap with me, and even sits aside my chair as I scrapbook. I think he'd like to give it a try, but without thumbs, he has a hard time with fine, detailed work.

We are off to start our week, An adventure without fish guts!