Mea culpa, Gentle Readers.  I forgot that yesterday was Wednesday and we were supposed to whine.  Never fear.  I will make it up to you today.

My whine?  Hair maintenance.  As in the hair on my legs.  It’s capri/short season and that means I’ve got to apply a razor very frequently or risk scaring small children and offending the public in general. 

Whine on!

Last night me and my dh were getting ready to go out–without kids, believe it or not–and the following conversation took place.

“I’m proud of myself,” I say.  “I’ve been going to the gym every day.  Every. Single. Day.”  I shoot him a look.  “Have you been lately?”

dh smiles, flexes his arm muscles at me in a he-man pose and says, “Gym?  Gym?  With a body like this?  That would be like Shakespeare signing up for writing classes.”

And that, dear friends, is another priceless quote from my husband.   I loves me a man with a sense of humor.

I’ve listened to my kids talk about Man vs. Wild alot over the past few weeks, but just started watching it with them a few days ago.

I am hooked.

In the first place, the man is good-looking, even when he’s eating a grub or killing a trout by eating it alive.

In the second place, the man is a bad ass.    (You’ll have to watch the show to see what I’m talking about.)

In the third place, the man is just plain cool.  (Youngest Briton to scale Everest, after having his back broken in 3 places while in Britian’s special forces.  He parachutes into dangerous locales, then has to “survive” his way out with nothing but a flint, a knife and his backpack.  And he does it.)

He’s awesome.  There will be a hero like him turn up shortly in one of my books.  Count on it.  And his name is Bear.  Love that, too.

Friday night as my son was getting ready to leave for his Chicago trip–sniff!–he’d put on the wrong shirt.  We’re hurrying, making sure he’s got everything and I point this out to him.

“That shirt is for tomorrow on the plane.  You’re supposed to wear this one,”I say, gesturing to the one on the bed.

Son grumbles, whips shirt over the top of his head and smacks the ceiling fan HARD.  Ceiling fan starts wobbling, making terrible noises. 

“Cut it off!” I scream, afraid the whole damned thing is about to come off the ceiling.

Son reaches over, flips the switch into the off position, then reaches up to stop the blades.  A blade then FLYS OFF AND CLOCKS ME RIGHT BETWEEN THE EYES.

Seriously.

Son panicks, I cuss, dust flys everywhere.  I have a lovely lump, but am otherwise unharmed.

“Sorry, Momma,” he says miserably.

Ice pack clamped to my forehead, I just smile.  “Better my head than yours.  But you have to stop growing.” 

Happy Memorial Day, everyone!

Me and the kids went to see Pirates 3 last night with some other friends and, though my friend Pam fell asleep, I was riveted.  There were so many plot lines if you blinked, you’d miss an important thread.  Did I like it?

LOVED IT.

Both kids loved it, though I spent a little time explaining a few things on the way home.  The movie lasted 2 hours and 45 minutes and they crammed A LOT into that.  Every character played their part splendidly, but natually it was Captain Jack who stole the show.  I read somewhere that Johnny Depp is on board for a 4th movie if Disney comes through with an admirable script for the franchise.  Given what I saw last night, they’d be fools not to.  (Interestingly, I don’t remember people dressing up like wenches and pirates at the theater last time–and I’m not talking about the people who worked there.  Regular–grown men and women–people were in full-on pirate regalia.   )

Anyway, if you didn’t rush out to Fandango, buy your tickets, go stand in line, get to the theater 45 minutes early in order to get a good seat last night like I did, then you definitely need to do it as soon as time permits.  Great movie!!!

Yesterday when I picked my daugther up from school–on trip # five, btw–she walked out with 5 lunch boxes, 1 stuffed backpack, 2 plastic sacks of disposable text books, 2 posterboard projects and a purse.

She could barely walk.

Since they’ve obviousy cleaned out desks and cleaned up the room, just what the heck are they supposed to do today?

To do list:

1.) Take kids to school.

2.) Check kids out of school and take them to get their teeth cleaned.

3.) Take kids back to school.

4.)Go pick up son from school at 11:00 because he gets out early to study for exams.

5.) Go pick daughter up at regular time from school. 

Oh, and in between the FIVE trips to school today, I have to go work out–not missing a day!–write my pages, tackle a little bit of laundry, make a cookie cake for son’s class and make an effort at straightening the house. 

But I will prevail.

It’s funny how things stay with you. 

Our church had a picnic in the park this past Sunday afternoon and a couple of other churches joined us.  Our kids had collaborated on a musical and they were putting it on again, for the whole park.  (My daughter helped choreograph and I was very proud of her.)  Anyway, I’m sitting there in my lawn chair, guzzling water because it’s so hot and there, across the lawn, I see the Mean Girl who terrorized me all through third grade. 

She. Was. Horrid.

I’d been a very sickly third-grader, to the point that I almost died.  I’d been born with a kidney defect, which they fixed with a surgery during my third grade year.  I was skinny and pale, with dark circles under my eyes and when I came back to school, I was sporting a scar on my left side almost a foot long.  They had to practically cut me in half.  The Mean Girl was waiting for me the day I miserably returned to school–and she was no small part of the reason I didn’t want to go back.  “What’s wrong with you?  Did they starve you? ” and later in the year “Nobody wants to play with you.  You don’t have any friends.” (Not true, but as most Mean Girls are the ring leaders of the class, so was she.)

I hated her with an absolute passion and realized Sunday even after twenty-seven years I still hate her.  Petty?  Irrational?  Small?  Probably.  And yes, she was nine, but I don’t care.  She was hateful and cruel and I am so thankful that she’s grown up to be a fat ugly hag with a badonka donk butt that spilled out of the sides of her lawnchair and thighs the size of redwoods.  Even her ankles are huge.  If there was really any justice in the world, she’d have mottled green skin and warts to compliment her personality.

I pointed her out to my husband, who’d heard the story before.

“You should go kill her with kindness.  Show her you’re the bigger person.”

I snorted.  “She’s the bigger person.  Look at her.  She’s twice as big as me.”

“Rhonda.”

“I hated her.  She made me miserable.  She was cruel.”

“She was nine.”

“She was still a little bitch.”

“Rhonda.” 

“Listen, if I had anything to say to her at all, it wouldn’t be nice.  Do you really want me getting into a fight at the church picnic?”

It only takes a second for him to mull this over.  “What do you want on your hotdog?  I’ll get it for you.”

He has undoubtedly made this offer because Wide Load has planted her chair as close to the food as possible and he’s fearing a run in.

So what about you?  Any Mean Girls in your past?  Have you forgiven them or like me, is the hate still festering?

“Will we have to make our beds when we’re out for summer vacation?”

“Haven’t you always had to make your bed?”

“But Momma.”   “It’s VA-CA-TION.  Do you know what that means?  Duh!  It means we’re supposed to rest.  That’s the whole point, right?  REST.”

“And you can rest…right after you make your bed.”

My daughter’s End of the Year party is today at a classmate’s pool and I’m chaperoning.  Pray for me.  These are 6th graders, after all, prone to mouthiness and mischief.  (Or that could only be my daughter.   )  At any rate, she’s been looking forward to this all week, and what’s important to her is important to me.  Next week is actually the last week of school, but between final tests and Field Day, there won’t be time for a party, which is why we’re having it today.

Needless to say both of my kids are overjoyed at the idea of sleeping in–me, too!!!–lolling around, swimming, etc…  They’re just ready to be home for a while and chunk the schedule.  There will be days they won’t come out of their pj’s and sleep through breakfast.  We’ll have movie marathons, make homemade ice cream, play dominoes and Life.

:::sigh:::

Summer’s comin’, people, and we’re ready.