This morning, as we were leaving for church, Brad stepped out the door, made a noise of consternation and said, "Do you want to see something disgusting?" I said no. Most definitely not. What kind of a question is THAT? ( Although, I suppose I should steel myself for such events, now that I am the mother of a boy. Furthermore, a boy is apt to thrust the Disgusting Something under my nose, rather than ask, as his father did, if I'd like to come see it.) I went out the door quickly, hoping that whatever it was would stay out of my line of vision...which it did. We left for church and I forgot about it.
When I returned home, I happened to catch a glimpse of The Disgusting Something as I came in the door. Apparently, sometime in the recent past - perhaps when my neighbor came over the other day to give me the contents of her fridge - including several steaks, pork tenderloin, coleslaw, green beans, asparagus, two lemons, a cucumber, ground turkey and a huge bag of shrimp- when our front door was open, a small lizard decided to poke his head in the door. Literally. Not on the side of the doorknob, but on the other side - near the hinges, to be more exact. Have you guessed what's coming? Well, I did not see this small reptilian visitor, and... yes... I...quite literally... closed the door on him. The portion of his body with his head attached was inside the door. I have no idea how long he was there before Brad spied him...but it had to have been at least overnight. Siiiiiiiiick.
It made me think of a verse in the book of Hebrews and my mind wandered to strange paths...like what if there was an animalia "Faith Chapter"... which talks about lizards who have undergone persecutions and torture... and been severed in doors...I TOLD you I was thinking strangely.
But, on a more serious note, can you believe my neighbor? I think she wins some sort of award. She was going out of town for the weekend, quite unexpectedly, because her father was dying in Louisiana... and she had all this food thawing - or thawed- in her fridge- and in the midst of getting ready to go, and in spite of her own personal distress, she thought to call me and offer me this food that would probably be bad by the time she got home again. Who is that thoughtful? I think I need to buy her flowers or SOMEthing.
Sunday, May 25, 2008
Monday, May 19, 2008
Vultures, tipping, and The Obsessive Germ Radar
Today I interrupted a vulture feast. The nasty creatures were feeding on some roadkill in the middle of the country lane I was driving on... and I shouted, "VULTURES!" feeling distinctly Captain Haddock-esque. Actually, I can't remember if I shouted aloud or just thought it - as Lindsay would say, using my inside voice or outside voice. Anyway- vultures. Ew. I don't think I had ever seen real live vultures before.
In other news, last night I was feeling rather like a soggy dishrag and the thought of making dinner was not to be borne: I picked up the phone and ordered pizza. When the guy came to deliver, my mind was a bit pre-occupied and after he left, I realized I had not tipped him. Guilt smote me big time. I wondered what dark imprecations he was calling down on me as he drove away. I pictured him coming back under cover of darkness and toilet papering my house. So to ward off any curses or acts of revenge, and to assuage my injured conscience, I called the establishment, ( which rhymes with Fominoes, to use a Brandon trick) after dinner, and asked who my delivery guy was. They told me his name and I explained the situation and asked them to tell him how sorry I was and that I would bring his tip in tomorrow. So this morning, along with my other errands, I zoomed into the pizza place and lo, there was the gentleman - or scrub, depending on how charitable you feel- himself, and I was able to deliver my belated tip into his paws with much groveling. He seemed a little stunned to see me. I bet that was probably the first ( and probably last time) anyone ever chased him down the DAY AFTER A DELIVERY to give him a tip.
And in still other news: I think I should wrap Aiden in plastic wrap ( with holes for breathing of course) or encase him in a giant hamster ball ( again, with holes) when I take him to the grocery store. It's funny how people seem to think that babies are public domain. It's almost like I can see a bubble over their heads that reads, "Oh! I see a baby! I must touch the baby!" This is a logical fallacy, ( is that the term I want? All I can remember from my ethics class is the phrase "there is no ought from is". Thankyou, Professor Monty Brown) but logical or illogical, people think it and act upon it all the time. They grasp his hand or pinch his toes... all of which are things that go straight into his mouth. ( Yes, he's gnawing his toes these days - it's hilarious. ) My obsessive germ radar goes wild. I know they can't really help touching him - I am drawn like a magnet to him too... I KNOW from firsthand experience that he's irresistible. So now, instead of just me using the hand sanitizer, I want to slather it upon anyone within a six foot radius of Aiden. Maybe I should hang a little sign from the handle of his carseat - "Please do not touch the baby. He is for display purposes only." I know this is probably all due to being a first-time mother. With my next child, I'll probably be so laid back that I'll drag him/her along in the gutter and think nothing of it. (Mmmm - probably not.)( And no, I'm not pregnant.)( Yes- back to that little disclaimer again!)
In other news, last night I was feeling rather like a soggy dishrag and the thought of making dinner was not to be borne: I picked up the phone and ordered pizza. When the guy came to deliver, my mind was a bit pre-occupied and after he left, I realized I had not tipped him. Guilt smote me big time. I wondered what dark imprecations he was calling down on me as he drove away. I pictured him coming back under cover of darkness and toilet papering my house. So to ward off any curses or acts of revenge, and to assuage my injured conscience, I called the establishment, ( which rhymes with Fominoes, to use a Brandon trick) after dinner, and asked who my delivery guy was. They told me his name and I explained the situation and asked them to tell him how sorry I was and that I would bring his tip in tomorrow. So this morning, along with my other errands, I zoomed into the pizza place and lo, there was the gentleman - or scrub, depending on how charitable you feel- himself, and I was able to deliver my belated tip into his paws with much groveling. He seemed a little stunned to see me. I bet that was probably the first ( and probably last time) anyone ever chased him down the DAY AFTER A DELIVERY to give him a tip.
And in still other news: I think I should wrap Aiden in plastic wrap ( with holes for breathing of course) or encase him in a giant hamster ball ( again, with holes) when I take him to the grocery store. It's funny how people seem to think that babies are public domain. It's almost like I can see a bubble over their heads that reads, "Oh! I see a baby! I must touch the baby!" This is a logical fallacy, ( is that the term I want? All I can remember from my ethics class is the phrase "there is no ought from is". Thankyou, Professor Monty Brown) but logical or illogical, people think it and act upon it all the time. They grasp his hand or pinch his toes... all of which are things that go straight into his mouth. ( Yes, he's gnawing his toes these days - it's hilarious. ) My obsessive germ radar goes wild. I know they can't really help touching him - I am drawn like a magnet to him too... I KNOW from firsthand experience that he's irresistible. So now, instead of just me using the hand sanitizer, I want to slather it upon anyone within a six foot radius of Aiden. Maybe I should hang a little sign from the handle of his carseat - "Please do not touch the baby. He is for display purposes only." I know this is probably all due to being a first-time mother. With my next child, I'll probably be so laid back that I'll drag him/her along in the gutter and think nothing of it. (Mmmm - probably not.)( And no, I'm not pregnant.)( Yes- back to that little disclaimer again!)
Tuesday, May 13, 2008
Ranch Dressing a Religion for Some
I have been having a decidedly dry spell with writing recently, but today gives me a good excuse to break my involuntary silence. Today I am thirty. Think upon it. How it boggles the mind.
I decided to mark the occasion this morning by making waffles - something which, if you read this blog, it seems like I'm doing all the time, but really, it's quite a rare event. Because of Aiden, my morning routine usually does not include having breakfast with Grampa anymore so he was quite startled to see me up and about in the kitchen this morning. Grampa is quite punctual with his breakfast whereas my morning meal sometimes is so late that it becomes a brunchish sort of thing. Yes, I KNOW, breakfast is the most important meal of the day. I do my best.
Anyway, Grampa offered to help me set the table, since I was busy making the waffles; I asked him to get out the syrup. He rummaged around in the fridge and a moment later came out with ... Ranch dressing. I successfully repressed wild laughter. ( This is a sure sign that I needed to clean out my fridge, something that I did this evening.) Ranch dressing is practically one of the essential blocks of the food pyramid for Grampa. You've got your carbs, your protein, your dairy, your fruits and vegetables, your sweets and oils... and then you have your Ranch. I have considered writing a whole post just about his love of the stuff. ( I think we should invest in Ranch Dressing stocks - it would be nice to have some return on the investment). I have seen him pour it on just about everything, but waffles was a bit of a stretch, even for him. I think it was just a case of condiment confusion because he didn't actually put any on his waffles. ( I surreptitiously snuck the syrup onto the table a few minutes later.) From that moment on, I knew it was going to be a good birthday.
And it has been.
Aiden even got me some roses and a card - don't know HOW he managed that!
I decided to mark the occasion this morning by making waffles - something which, if you read this blog, it seems like I'm doing all the time, but really, it's quite a rare event. Because of Aiden, my morning routine usually does not include having breakfast with Grampa anymore so he was quite startled to see me up and about in the kitchen this morning. Grampa is quite punctual with his breakfast whereas my morning meal sometimes is so late that it becomes a brunchish sort of thing. Yes, I KNOW, breakfast is the most important meal of the day. I do my best.
Anyway, Grampa offered to help me set the table, since I was busy making the waffles; I asked him to get out the syrup. He rummaged around in the fridge and a moment later came out with ... Ranch dressing. I successfully repressed wild laughter. ( This is a sure sign that I needed to clean out my fridge, something that I did this evening.) Ranch dressing is practically one of the essential blocks of the food pyramid for Grampa. You've got your carbs, your protein, your dairy, your fruits and vegetables, your sweets and oils... and then you have your Ranch. I have considered writing a whole post just about his love of the stuff. ( I think we should invest in Ranch Dressing stocks - it would be nice to have some return on the investment). I have seen him pour it on just about everything, but waffles was a bit of a stretch, even for him. I think it was just a case of condiment confusion because he didn't actually put any on his waffles. ( I surreptitiously snuck the syrup onto the table a few minutes later.) From that moment on, I knew it was going to be a good birthday.
And it has been.
Aiden even got me some roses and a card - don't know HOW he managed that!
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