House of Zathras

The Obama healthcare plan has hit us much sooner than I thought it would. We have to make a choice about how we want to continue our healthcare…to the tune of several thousand dollars…on top of our insurance premiums.

How can this be, you say? Isn’t Obamacare supposed to be affordable for everyone? Of course it is…if you choose to become one of the multitudes who will be among the thousands in line for your ‘affordable’ healthcare. Where the doctor is only allotted a limited amount of time for each patient. Which means ‘cattle calls’ for healthcare.

Our physician has told us he has pondered long and hard about his future practice. He is a very thorough doctor, and both my husband and I are very happy with him because of his attentiveness to all our concerns. But the good doctor faced the problem of having his practice turned into a ‘drive-by’ medical service, with huge numbers of patients being rushed in and out of the office (as deemed by Obamacare).

So the doctor has turned to an alternative that is allowed under Obamacare. His practice will be associated with a company that offers ‘personalized healthcare’. For adults, there is a yearly cost of $1,500.00 and a full and complete physical (it’s quite exhaustive). We get same or next-day appointments when we call, and get 24-hour physician availability by phone. Appointments are scheduled so that you have plenty of time to ask the questions you want. The number of his patients will go from 3,000 to 600. After he reaches 600, that’s it…he takes no more ‘adult’ patients after that. He will see our children without the yearly fee…and hopefully our insurance will still be affiliated with him.

So…the choice is…do we stick with a doctor we trust but have to pay an extra several thousand dollars per year? Or do we leave it to chance and the cattle-round-up…and the costs go up next year, with health benefits becoming taxed and the Bush tax-cuts ending?

Because of Obama(un)care, how many people will take home even less…and start going without? How many families will go without adequate and affordable healthcare, without money to pay for housing and food and transportation… You think the economy has taken a downturn recently? Wait till next year…Obama’s audacity of ego can quite possibly lead this country down an ever-spiraling path of economic destruction, making us vulnerable in ways recent generations could never have imagined.

Government, even in its best state, is but a necessary evil; in its worst state, an intolerable one.
Thomas Paine

Our basic rights are being eroded away, one intolerable ‘feel-good’ policy at a time. I hope (not Obama’s self-aggrandizing kind of ‘hope’), that this November’s election will be a sign-post of change (not Obama’s country-destroying ‘change’). Our country doesn’t deserve its president and Congress attempting to destroy it from within. We, the people, don’t deserve to be raped and pillaged of our basic rights.

If we do not hang together, we shall surely hang separately.
Thomas Paine

We, the people, need to now act to form a more perfect Union. Vote for real hope, vote for real change. Doc Utopia and his ilk are NOT the physicians we need.

Thank you ALL for your prayers and thoughts…it turns out Goob has mononucleosis…that’s right, folks, the KISSING disease, lol!

Actually, there’s not much lol in reality. He has to watch his physical activity for awhile (because his spleen is at increased risk of a rupture), which will affect his duty status. And he can’t kiss anyone, or share utensils or drinking containers or food, etc., for SIX MONTHS!!! IF he hadn’t been kissing (and other things!!!) he probably wouldn’t have gotten this disease. Maybe religious edicts seem restrictive…but for the most part they can keep you hale and hearty, both physically and mentally! Think about it, Goob!

Poor Goob…life keeps knocking him down. He needs to think about the path he’s choosing that keeps throwing up these warning signs…slow down and smell the roses…just don’t go kissing them.

Our Goob is being taken to the hospital in Korea as I write this…they originally thought he might have strep, but it’s not. There’s some kind of lump and bleeding in his throat. Abscess??? Who knows…just please send out good vibes.

Talk about feeling helpless…we can’t just drive there to be with him. Dammit.

Crazy…that one word sums up this past week. Crazy fun and crazy scary all at the same time.

And I can’t talk about it yet because of contractual obligations (see four posts back.)

But there’s been some Middle-Aged Mama Squealing going on on top of PN’s. Aii-yi-yi.

I could run around the house nekkid right now. Because on this rarest of rare occasions, I have the house to myself! Woot!
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Damn, it’s quiet, too. Weird. I’m not used to this.
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But I could get used to it. Very easily.
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(whispers) NEKKID HOUSE!!!!

And it’s breaking my heart, but there’s nothing I can do about it.

Remember how I mentioned she wanted to audition for American Idol in New Orleans? After I told her I would take her, I started looking at my calendar and at the demands on my time with my obligations and the kids’ activities. Princess No has gotten involved in a community activity that would occupy a lot of time…I told her she would have to make a choice between that and AI. I couldn’t get her to the activity almost daily for several weeks and spend days away from home for AI. The school year is getting ready to start and I have workshops and preparations to perform that are time consuming, on top of everything else a family needs. PN wasn’t happy, but she accepted having to make a choice and stayed with her long-term activity.

Then a family friend stepped forward who is taking her daughter to AI, and offered to act as guardian for PN. It seemed a workable solution…I wouldn’t have to spend extra days away from home, and PN would still get her chance. They would be staying at a friend’s condo in Mississippi, and hop over to NO for the auditions. There’s registration on Saturday, and the actual auditions on Monday.

All this is when Tropical Storm Bonnie will be hitting. Projected to hit the Mississippi/Louisiana area. That whole area is so full of bayous and rivers and creeks and swamps…flooding is a given. And these tropical storms are in many ways worse that a category 1 hurricane. Tropical storms are generally slower moving and dump way more rain…hurricanes at least move through more quickly.

I have a bad feeling. A feeling deep in my gut that I can’t alleviate. At this time, the family friend is still going to AI. But she is unfamiliar with the area and could face flooded streets and who knows what else. I can’t let my daughter go. I would have cancelled if I had still been planning on taking her myself.

I cried telling my daughter she couldn’t go. I know she’s disappointed and mad, but it’s a risk that is not worth taking. I love her, so therefore I can’t let her go to AI.

Maybe she’ll forgive me by the time she’s through college…

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UPDATE
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She went. When I first made the decision she couldn’t go, I had just gotten in from a three- and a-half hour drive from New Orleans. At 3:00 AM. And came in, tired as shit, and looked up the storm and really freaked out.

But she went with her friends. They left in the early hours of Saturday morning and got registered with no waiting at all. That gave them this weekend to rest up. Monday is the actual audition day…that could be a long day.

This is wearing me out, and I didn’t even go…

…for pretty shoes and sandals to be made in wide widths? Well, IS IT?

I can’t tell you how many shoe stores I went to today at the outlet mall. I was even prepared to pay big bucks if necessary…but nobody is carrying wide shoes!

It’s very frustrating. I’m running out of shoes to wear…I might resort to fuzzy slippers with everything because I can’t find shoes that fit me. Well, I COULD wear athletic shoes with all my school and church dresses…NOT! My stocky German peasant ancestry is showing in my feet…maybe I ought to claim racism and bias or some-such and have the shoe companies give me reparations in dozens of pretty new shoes!

They don’t have to be fancy…even just a simple sandal…

And if that weren’t depressing enough, the bathroom at the outlet mall had a mirror on the opposite wall of the toilet. (Yes, it was the handicapped stall. I hate how teeny-tiny most regular stalls are…who wants to stand against the damn public toilet just to get the door opened…it’s gross!!! And who the hell’s idea was it to put the toilet paper dispenser so close to the floor…are they expecting midgets in these stalls or what???!!!) But while as I was sitting there taking care of business, I looked up and saw in the mirror…Jabba the Hut’s little sister. I don’t expect to look like a model at my age…but jeez…it was depressing.

It’s been a rough day today. Kid issues, life issues, work issues…I met BR for lunch because I so desperately had to get away from things. I had a Japanese beer while he ate…usually alcohol hits me quickly, but I was so upset I didn’t feel any effect at all. So I went shopping instead. I did find two outfits, but no shoes, as mentioned above.

*sigh*

And on top of it all, Goob and Little Miss may be finding out how rushing into things and hoping love (and sex) makes everything better are finding out the realities of international law. It seems in her precipitate return to Korea, they forgot to check the realities of visas and international laws. She can stay 90 days before she has to leave the country (I think…that’s what I found just in a five-minute search of the internet). If she wanted to stay longer, it sounds like she should have applied for the appropriate visa BEFORE she re-entered Korea. Of course, they’re not telling us much of anything (although I can tell by sitemeter that they’re stopping by here…I guess looking for reasons to be mad at us. *sigh*) I hate that they’re having to go through all that stress, but they just *had* to be together. *shakes head*

So here I sit, sipping my diet drink, getting depressed about life, the universe and everything…

If only I had some pretty new sandals…I would feel better…

Especially for Buck.

He is in the middle of cleaning his room (no electronical anything until it’s done!). Or should I say, excavating!!! But we’re working on some organizational methods and ways for him to find space for his belongings.

Currently he has a dirty clothes hamper that is divided into three parts: one section for pants, one for shirts, and one for anything else. He asked for a bigger one.

Me: Why?

Buck: This one is too small. I can’t fit much stuff into it.

Me: You know that once a section is filled, that’s the size of a load and you should go wash whatever is in that section, right?

Buck: *blink, blink*

Me: You can’t keep stuffing it full. It’s now why you have five garbage bags of dirty laundry. Tell you what, I’ll take you to a laundromat and you can get them all done at once.

Buck: NO! I’ll do it HERE!!!! (footnote: Buck doesn’t like unfamiliar places…he gets slightly agoraphobic.)

Me: Okay…but it will probably take you two or three days to get this all done and put up properly. And remember, no electronics till it’s all done!

Buck: Fine! We’ll go to a laundromat!

Me: And in the future, you have to do your laundry when each section gets full in the hamper.

Buck: *grumble*

Heh. Wait till he joins the Marines.

Speaking of which, the CO of his Young Marines unit is taking 7 or 8 boys for a week at Parris Island! I always knew Marines were the bravest of the brave, but driving that many sweaty, antzy, know-it-all teen boys on a 8+ hour trip??? That deserves some kind of medal!

…for me, finally. It had already started for the kids, who have been home. Playing video games. Getting on the computer.

They hate it when my summer vacation starts. Because then the cleaning commences.

The way the kids want it to happen:

The way Momma wants it happen:

Saturday was rather eventful.

It started at the airport. And I have such fun at airports. (To recap if you wish, read here, here, and here.) Yesterday became one of those ‘eventful’ airport trips.

It’s been some time since I’ve been allowed back to the gate with the kids. I don’t even ask anymore. Just check the kids in, and sit outside the security entrance until the flight boards and then go home.

Yesterday, while we were checking in Princess No’s luggage (a first…ALL of it under the weight limit!!!), she urged me to see if I could go back with her. And wonder of wonders, they said no problem. It must have been a really boring day because two of the ticket agents literally jumped out from behind the counter to get my license. They quickly printed out a security pass for me, and Princess No and I got in line.

I made it through the metal detector. My shoes, cell phone, and magnetic glasses made it through the x-ray machine. My purse…didn’t.

They ran it through twice. And then I had to traipse over to the corner for them to search my purse. Thank goodness I had cleaned out my purse the day before! Even so, my purse is its own Tardis/portal to another universe/mini-black hole. You can find everything and nothing in it. The reason I had to clean it out was because I couldn’t find my keys in it, even after digging in it for a full five minutes.

So, the TSA agent starts pulling stuff out of my purse. And pulling stuff out of my purse. And pulling stuff out of my purse. Then she finds my tiny bottle of hand sanitizer. She snarls, “Don’t you know this has to go in a plastic baggie?” Princess No is rolling her eyes.

Then the agent pulls out a small tube of face lotion. “Don’t you know this is supposed to go in a plastic baggie?” This time, the snarl results in spray landing on my face. Princess No is starting to become very embarrassed. “Mom, you KNOW all liquids have to go in a baggie!!!”

I tell her I wasn’t planning to go through security. And plus, I didn’t know that lotion was a liquid! Princess No rolls her eyes again as the security agent pulls out my tube of foundation (which I rarely wear and forgot was in there). The agent snootily hands me a plastic baggie and tells me to start putting the assorted tubes/bottle into it. As I start to comply, she dives back into my purse. And finds the small velvet sheath that holds my pocketknife. Oh, hell.

She pulls it out, pinching it between her thumb and forefinger (it’s a really small pocketknife. She delicately separates the velcroed flap of the sheath and then pushes the knife up and out from the bottom (it looked like she was performing a magic trick!!).

Oh crap, oh crap, oh crap. That little knife has caused me so much trouble, but I don’t want to lose it. I forget it’s there until I need it. Princess No has backed away, saying, “I’m going to the gate by myself. I’ll call you when I land.”

I start asking if I could take it out to my car and come back in. Princess No is almost apoplectic, saying I should just go. Just go.

So I hug her and am escorted out by security. The agent holds my purse and knife and I walk the green (carpeted) mile to the land of freedom for pocketknives…otherwise known as the waiting area. She hands me my purse. I have to ask for my pocketknife, which she begrudgingly releases to me. (It really is a sweet little blade!)

I call Princess No to see if she is getting over her huff yet. She informs me she is in the middle of texting a friend. Mom has been written off!

Her highness takes off and I head to my school to get some work done. I have to wait for Buck to finish a Young Marine activity and have two or three hours to kill anyway. The caretaker lets me into my building and I get to work. I accomplished quite a bit, so I should be able to leave somewhat early on the teacher final work day on Tuesday.

A terrible electric storm rolls in as I’m starting to wrap up things. There is a humongous KA-POW…and the fire alarm goes off. A shrill, unending eardrum-piercing electronic wailing. And I don’t dare go out into the weather with the lightning.

So I sit. And wait. And wait. The alarm doesn’t go off. My head is starting to pound. I grab a pair of foam ear plugs and put them in. (They’re not for me to block out the students, however a good idea that may be. I actually bought them for a student who said that ‘noise’ bothered her. The noise only bothered her during test time…when the loudest sound is pencil scratching on paper! But that’s another story for another time).

The ear plugs help and I do a few more chores. The storm isn’t letting up much, and it’s really past time for me to leave to get Buck. I grab one of the plastic white tablecloths I use to cover bookshelves. No way I’m holding up a metal umbrella in the lightning storm.

I run through the rain into the parking lot…which is almost knee-deep in water. Great…I’m going to be electrocuted in the school parking lot. BUT…a big fire truck is there with hunky firemen! If I get struck by lightning whilst running splashing to my car, at least I’d get first aid immediately.

The fire department was waiting for someone with keys to show up and deactivate the alarm. Their captain was on the caretaker’s porch, watching the crazy Mrs. Who treading water. The firemen on the truck were watching the crazy Mrs. Who, looking like a little white-riding hood.

The crazy Mrs. Who finally made it to her car, only wet from the knees down (the tablecloth worked rather well!). Then she picked up Buck, went home, and had some monk-made bourbon butter-walnut fudge.

I deserved it after my day.

BR are thinking about taking a delayed honeymoon (10 years delayed!!!).

First we talked about going to Tennessee…then the floods hit. Scratch that destination off the list.

Then we talked about Key West.** Take our new/old truck and haul a camper down that way…now there’s the oil mess to worry about.

BR and I were discussing how as soon as we announce our destination, some terrible disaster hits that particular area.

So, we’re changing our plans again.

BR opted for California. I’m thinking DC.

Just keep watching the news, folks…

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**UPDATE: Another reason to stay away from Key West.

BR recently, reluctantly, went to the doctor. For a full check-up. The kind men don’t like to talk about. But the doctor is very good, very thorough, and included some blood tests.

Turns out BR needs to take a thyroid medication (seems his is out of whack, probably due to a serious head injury he suffered as a young man).

And he’s lost about five pounds since he started taking it.

No fair. No effin FAIR!!!! Why can’t I take a pill and lose weight? No, if I want to lose weight, I have to hop on the treadmill every damn day…he gets to take a pill then go sit down and play a computer game and lose weight while doing that! It’s not fair.

I have some serious questions for God if I get to heaven…about the differences between men and women. Gaahhhh…..

The kids will be gone this weekend. One camping, the other staying with some friends.

Two nights. Without children around.

Woot!

For most HoZ inmates: fried pork chops, potatoes au gratin, and green beans.

For Mrs. Who: oatmeal.

Nibbled on a bit of fried goodness that fell off while I was cooking…and my tummy rumbled a reminder of Torquemada’s torture I have been experiencing.

So oatmeal it is. Dammit.

Scene: The Who-Mommy’s House, specifically the bathroom which can be entered from either a bedroom or a storage area.

Characters: Mrs. Who and her Who-Mommy

Who-Mommy (rattling the door opposite the one Mrs. Who has just entered):    Do you think you can lift something for me?

Mrs. Who: Can I finish going pee first?

Who-Mommy (exasperation fills her voice):   I just need to know if you can try to lift something for me!

Mrs. Who (Loud):   Yes!   (mumbling): Are you going to stand outside the door until I’m done?

Who-Mommy: What?????

Mrs. Who (louder):   Are. You. Standing. There. Until. I. Come. Out?????

Who-Mommy (loudest):   Justgetoutherewhenyou’redone!!!!!

Mrs. Who:    Flush!!!

Mrs. Who exits the bathroom into the storage room where the Who-Mommy is standing, tapping her foot. Next to her, near a deep-freeze that has been defrosted, is a good-sized box in a large white garbage bag.

Who-Mommy (pointing to the box):   Do you think you can lift that and take it to the trash?

Mrs. Who (lifting the bag):   Yes, I can do it. What is it, anyway?

Who-Mommy: It’s a box of MREs from Hurricane Ivan five years ago. It’s been in the bottom of our freezer since then and I want it gone!

Mrs. Who: Mom! There’s nothing wrong with them then! MREs are made to last awhile, and if they’ve been in the freezer the whole time they’re fine! Y’all can eat them.

Who-Mommy: I don’t want to eat them. I want them gone. Just take them out!

Mrs. Who: Then I’ll take them!

Who-Mommy: Just get them out of my house now!

The Who-Mommy leads the bag-carrying Mrs. Who through the house, opening the front door and proceeding to the trash can where she opens the lid. Who-Mommy turns to Mrs. Who, expecting her to put the box into the trash can. She stares piercingly at Mrs. Who as she turns not towards the trash can, but towards her truck.

Who-Mommy: WHAT are you DOING?

Mrs. Who: I told you, there’s nothing wrong with these. If you don’t want them, I do. Buck can use them at encampments.

Who-Mommy: Well, don’t come crying to me if you all get sick from eating them.

Mrs. Who: Don’t worry, Nurse Ratched, we won’t turn to you.

Who-Mommy: Slams trash can lid and goes back into the house.

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That’s my mom…she gets an idea in her head, and she can’t stand to deviate from it. None of the conversation above is exaggerated. In many ways she’s very rigid…she’s a very sweet lady, but you can also tell she was an only, late-in-life pampered child of two doting parents. The Who-Mommy has her own brand of logic that can drive the rest of her family crazy. We love her, but she can get so exasperated when we don’t follow her line of reasoning. And then we’re exasperated trying to explain why her idea wouldn’t work. The lady can do the New York Times crossword puzzle, but couldn’t read a map to save her life.  I think I’ve mentioned at the HoZ before that when I was five, I was helping her find the way from Brunswick, GA to Pensacola, FL.    Plus, she only makes right-hand turns.  That could seriously hinder interpreting a map.  Life is a one-way street for her, I guess.

As I stepped down from my truck the wind whipped my hair around my face. It also brought the sounds of the American flag fluttering heavily in the stiff breeze and the poignant sound of a mourning dove.

The sorrow ripped at me before I even walked around my vehicle. A young family stood around a heavily-decorated grave…windchimes, windmills, small solar-powered glass globes… They glanced back at me, and I looked down, not wanting to project my sorrow upon theirs. Three young children wandered around their parents. I stayed by my truck, pressed back by the tears that were building.

At last they leave, glancing in my direction. I barely noticed, as I walked towards my painful goal…only two sites away from theirs. I heard the family’s truck start and leave, but by that point I was on my knees at the edge of the weathered marker, staring at the birthdate…today’s date, minus 29 years . The tears are flowing freely, and the weight of choked-back sobs is burrowing deep in my chest. I picture his body down below me…and I can’t stand it. I know it’s just a shell, but it’s my brother and I love him so much…I know it’s not ‘him’, but dammit…he was buried wearing his favorite clothes, and I know it’s all down there, under the weight of the ground.

He was only four and a-half. It was 25 years ago. 25 frikken years, and the sorrow can still rip at my heart and take the breath from my lungs. God, how I miss my little brother.

Robby had the sweetness and character of an angel. His heart condition gave him an almost ethereal essence…the only thought that brought any kind of comfort was that he wouldn’t suffer any of the crap of growing up. Always innocent, always precious, always beautiful.

I finally was able to stand and take a picture of the marker. Then I heard the sound of a bird overhead, close to the small magnolia tree that casts a late-afternoon shadow on Robby’s grave. I see a mourning dove soar to the top of the nearby flagpole. I watch it for a moment, and then it soars off, making a complete circle high in the air, with me at the center. It lands back on the top of the flagpole and bobs it head in my direction.

I had to smile. Maybe it was a message from Robby. I need to look up…he’s not down there. He’s free. I’m the one bound by earthly chains of sorrow. I need to look up and away from that burden.

I still miss him. God, how I miss him. I kneel once more, place my finger to my lips and then place it on his name on the headstone. I love you, Robby.

(His grave is just to the lower right of center, two away from the magnolia tree. Behind the magnolia tree is the site the family was visiting…notice all the paraphernalia around the plaque…their son was only two…)


(The messenger dove, reminding me to always look up….)

Let’s say a young person makes very good grades at school, is involved with church, and is polite and well-mannered in his extracurricular activities.

But at home he: is surly; won’t do chores; gets royally pissed off when reminded to do said chores; pouts in bed and goes to sleep because he’s ‘exhausted and needs a nap’ instead of doing chores; wakes up when told friends are here to play with him (then is told ‘April Fool’, you’re friends really aren’t here, just wanted to see how tired you really are); gets pissed off when someone says NICELY that she cleaned up after herself so he wouldn’t have his regular kitchen chores to do but he was welcome to the bacon and eggs; won’t set his alarm to get up in time for school and/or other activities thus getting pissed off when someone turns on his bedroom light to wake him up (better than a glass of cold water poured on him); plays on the computer or watches tv while ignoring chores; goes and plays with friend for hours without telling where he is going which also results in hungry animals who expect to be fed by a certain time; wants to shoot his bb gun in a friend’s back yard which is surrounded by other homes, but it’s okay because they’ll put a board behind the target; leaves the gate unlatched on his way to school because he’s running late to catch the bus and the dogs get out; wears his boots on the carpet even though he has said ‘okay’ the umpteen times he has been reminded not to; leaves notes from a girl out on the carpet and then gets pissed when someone else finds it and puts it on the fridge for the whole household to see but can’t see the correlation to NOT leave his belongings spread out on the living room floor; expects to have a Marine-style haircut at 10:00 PM the night BEFORE his Young Marine meeting even after being told to ask earlier in the week if he needed it; getting pissed off at 9:00 PM the night before a YM meeting to find that he can’t wash his uniform because someone else is doing laundry even though he was reminded earlier in the week to wash his uniform because he is home several hours before others and has time to do his laundry but instead watches tv and plays on computer; and some other things that he hasn’t realized that I’m aware of but won’t repeat here; etc, etc, etc.

Yes, there are consequences. All those things add up to someone who can’t be trusted to stay a week at home alone during the day…when there are other kids in the neighborhood also on Spring Break, and bored kids lead to mischief, especially when one can’t monitor oneself for trustworthiness. So, this poor kid has to stay with grandparents during the week so he can be ‘babysat’. He’ll be helping out with chores around their house…but he MIGHT get to go fishing, too.

I hate that we can’t leave him alone for a week…but there are some chances that just aren’t worth taking.

…Why?

Because both BR and Princess No are home sick.

They’ll regret it, however. Because I’m watching my British drama from Netflix.

Take that, you fools, for daring to interrupt my Spring Break.

And next year…next year I’m not announcing my Spring Break till it’s over.

There has been a neighborhood kid who will come stand in our drive and yell Buck’s name for him to come out. After three days of this, I asked Buck why the kid doesn’t come up and knock on the door.

Me: Why on earth doesn’t he want to knock on the door?

Buck: Ummm*, he’s afraid you’ll yell at him.

Me: Me?? Why would I yell at him?

Buck: Ummm, well, one time you yelled at him and some other kids to get out of our yard (if I remember the incident correctly, it was about two years ago. These kids were in our yard doing god-knows-what, and I told them to leave. Probably rather loudly, as is my wont. But I do have a big voice. Especially when there are miscreants on my property. Or it might have been the time a kid had a go cart and was making it spin out on our second driveway, which is made of rocks. He was spinning the rocks out into the road. I gave him a push-broom and made him put the rocks back where they belonged.)

Me: So???

Buck: Ummm, he’s afraid to come up to the house because you’ll tell him to get out of the yard.

Me: Tell him to quit being an idiot. Standing in the driveway yelling for you is driving the dogs nuts, which in turn is driving me nuts. Tell him not to do stupid stuff and I won’t have to yell. Have him knock on the door like normal people.

Buck goes out at tells the boy this, also telling him he has to finish his chores before he can go to his house. Then Buck comes in, but the dogs are still going nuts.

Me: Is the kid still standing there?

Buck: Ummm, yeah.

Me: Tell him to go wait at his house while you finish your chores!!!

Young teen boys…are there any other creatures as unable to reason?
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*I think ‘Ummm’ is his brain going: ‘processing, processing, processing’.

…and not good ones at that, either.

I have the house to myself for most of the day (since I’m on Spring Break and no one else is!!!!). I’m getting ready to do some sewing and like to have the tv on for background noise. In flipping through the guide for the satellite line-up, I noticed a ‘V’ marathon. “Oh, goodie!” I thought. “I can catch up on ‘V’ before the new episodes start again.”

So I pushed the appropriate buttons and voila! ‘V’…or rather ‘V’, circa 1984. LMAO! The hair! The costumes! The hokey sets! Not the ‘V’ I thought it would be.

Dang…we had some big hair back in the 80s.

I shouldn’t laugh…even my hair got kind of big back then:

(more…)

The good news is the doctor doesn’t think the problems I’ve been having the past week is an ulcer.

The bad news is that he thinks it’s the pancreas, with an outside chance of its being the gall bladder.

Tests ensue next week.

Crap.

Eraserhead is home from college for Spring Break!

Until the past few years, my Dad hasn’t been much for phone conversations. He’s not quite a hermit, but has made sure to live hundreds of miles away from the nearest relative. He can be terse, and will not put up with bullshit from anyone.

When he was still a young officer in the Navy, I was playing with the Captain’s daughter. Apparently she was quite a brat, and my Dad told her that if she didn’t mind her manners, she wouldn’t be allowed to stay at our house. She responded that her daddy was the Captain and stuck her tongue out at him. Big. Mistake. He grabbed her tongue and held on to it, and told her in his house HE was in charge, not her Daddy. She promptly ran home and tattled. Captain-Daddy did come over to thank my Dad for disciplining her because his wife had made her a spoiled brat. Wouldn’t have mattered if the Captain threatened him with the brig, however. Dad wouldn’t have apologized for someone else’s problem.

Fast-forward to last night. My dad actually called me…itself a rare occurrence. We chatted about Eraserhead’s college (Dad manages his tuition program). Then Dad started to reminisce about his Navy flying days when he was a navigator. He told me a story that he has told me several times before. It’s always the same…he hasn’t embellished it over the years (remember, he has no tolerance for bullshit). But Dad is a very engaging story teller, so you don’t mind listening to it again. His favorite, however, is about the time his plane crashed into the ocean (he was flying off the Kennedy). I think it was right after take-off, and it was filmed because it was so close to the ship. The film showed him as the only one who looked around to make sure everyone made it out of the plane.

Rescue was shortly thereafter, and Dad and the rest of the crew found themselves in the sick bay. The doctor asked them if they wanted medicinal brandy, and my Dad said (and here was an embellishment I’d never heard before), ‘F**k, Yes!’. I nearly dropped the phone. In all the times my Dad has relayed his Navy day stories, he only occasionally says ‘shit’ or ‘damn’…and then only when I got into my mid to late 30s or so. My Dad has always been aware of proprieties, even complaining at my sister’s wedding that she dressed the groomsmen and him in TAILS for a mid-day wedding…tails weren’t supposed to be worn until late afternoon/evening. He has always had a very precise code of conduct. Until last night.

He’s 71 now…he’s entitled to let fly whatever he wants to, I guess. And if you’ve been any kind of long-time reader, you know that I let fly with the f-bomb from time to time.

But it’s my DAD, for goodness sake. My DAD said the f-word. It’s like finding out your parents actually have sex and enjoy it. Which kind of goes with the f-word, I guess.

Oh, and for the record, Dad said that the brandy tasted like shit. He accused the doctor of drinking the good stuff and substituting rot-gut instead, and would need to crash three more times before that stuff tasted good.

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My Dad said ‘F**k’. Does this mean he finally sees me as an adult? It makes me kind of sad…I still want to be his ‘little blue-eyed sweetheart’. *sigh*

How do you say TGIF?

Now, how do you say it without kids for the whole weekend? 

Yes, there have been changes at the non-virtual HoZ. Changes in habits.

For example, last Friday I sat everyone down for a family meeting. I laid down a few rules about house cleaning. On Mondays, everyone would clean their bedrooms. On Tuesdays, dust and vacuum those rooms. Wednesdays would be for cleaning another assigned room, and Thursdays are for dusting and vacuuming those rooms. Fridays are for cleaning bathrooms. (Chores are already in place daily for cleaning the kitchen.) When you get home from work/school you may have a snack, but no tv or computer time until the cleaning is finished. If we can be regular at this, it would leave the weekends freer and less stressful.

Well, Buck was pouty. I pointed out that he had that whole weekend to adjust, and then the new plan would start on Monday. Yes, he had an extremely messy room, but he could at least get started on laundry and not have so much to face on Monday.

He did nothing. Monday came (bedroom-cleaning day). Since Buck leaves for school after us and gets home before us, I took the precaution of disconnecting the internet and locking the remote to the satellite service in my room. (He could change channels manually, of course, but he won’t stoop to that!) I came home, and he lay sleeping on his bed. I woke him up and reminded him of his responsibilities (nearly breaking my neck crossing the crap in his room to get to his bed!), but didn’t say anything further. No computer/tv for Buck that night.

Tuesday came (bedroom dusting and vacuuming day). When I got home, Buck had still done nothing, and was once again laying on his bed. Princess No and I got busy and finished with our chores. Then I left to have dinner with BR (thank you for the wonderful steaks, darling!), and Princess No got on the computer. As I left, Buck asked when I would be home. I told him I wasn’t sure, but I would be home by 10:00 (on school nights he does have to get off tv/computer by 9:00 anyway). I barely got to BR’s before Buck was calling, begging, pleading to please, please let him get on the computer (Facebook and withering crops in Farmville were calling him apparently) and he would promise to get all his work done.

I simply said, “No”, each time he asked. He finally gave up.

Wednesday came (cleaning the ‘extra’ assigned room; in Buck’s case, the living room where he’s pretty much the only one to watch tv). Princess No and I got home a little later than usual. But when we got home, Buck had cleaned, dusted, and vacuumed the living room, doing Thursday’s work one day early.

Can I have a “Hallelujah!!!”?

Because tonight I heard a promo for an ‘ABC Family’ show…and the premise involved a girl who was upset because her new coach was a man with whom her mother had had an affair.

How the hell is that a ‘family show’????? Screwing around and abusing your wedding vows is subject matter for family entertainment?

Gahhh. Our culture is going to hell in a handbasket.

Had a blow up with Buck last night. Details are not that important…just him waiting until 10:00 at night to make requests for things that should have been taken care of much earlier in the evening, if not a day or two ago. Anyway, the teen angst kept brewing, I was tired and impatient, and Buck and I had a nasty argument. Wound up calling BR who offered to come home to stay there, and I went to ‘The Retreat’ that was BR’s mother’s home.

I can understand why he likes it here. It’s quiet. It’s peaceful. It stays clean. Nobody making demands on me the moment I get up. Demands that are deemed ‘emergencies’ because of a lack of proper planning on other people’s part. Demands that ask for ME to give up something I was doing so that the other person can go back to what they were doing…mainly watching tv or playing on the computer.

Fuck that.

It’s time to implement a new world order. Expectations will be laid out with visual, written, BIG reminders so that there is no misunderstanding about responsibilities.

Because while it is nice here at the House of Solitude, it is also very lonely. And empty. Not what I want for a lifetime. Superman had his Fortress of Solitude, but it was too cold and lonely even for him. If Superman can’t handle it, I certainly can’t. I don’t want to find my Super-Suit.

I’m back at work now, and can’t jump on the internet any ol’ time I please. Which means fewer posts…less blog reading…not keeping up with my farm on Farmville.

Yes…I’m addicted to Farmville, so help me God.

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Today was the students’ first day back. Some of them aren’t quite ready. I told them at one point to get out their notebooks and open to a blank page. One girl called out ‘Why?’. But before I could say anything, a boy yelled back, “Because she said so!”

Heh. That kid got an extra stamp on his reward card.

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19 degrees tonight. 19!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I’m going to hate to see my electric bill and my water bill. We have to leave faucets dripping, because most homes down here just don’t have the covers/insulation/whatever that y’all more northerly denizens have.

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My son goes back to college tomorrow. I haven’t seen him since June, and it’s been so great having him here for a visit. Why is it that you can’t wait for kids to leave, and then you miss them so much when they’re gone?

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And finally, just because it made me LOL:

That’s all that separates the country’s best water from the country’s worse water.

Does that make sense?

I live in the area with the best water, and work in the area with the worst.

I don’t notice a bit of difference. And given a choice, I’d drink Pensacola water before I’d drink water from say…Midland, TX. OMG, that water there is the WORST! It smells like it’s wafting from hell as it comes out of the tap, and tastes as if brimstone had been stirred into it.

And then there was southern Illinois water. Not as bad as Midland water, but it was hard for me to get used to having to have a ‘softener’ for the water. And the residue it left on the glasses! Yuck.

Seriously, however…I’m glad I have bottled water at work. I did that before the study came out. And my folks still live there, but they do filter their water. But a mere 24 miles from great to unsafe…makes me glad to live in a rural part of the country. It’s an inconvenience sometimes…but more and more it’s proving to be worth it.

And I like the idea of living near farms when the economy seriously goes tits-up…instead of being in the city where mayhem could so seriously reign.

Okay, as long as where on the subject of water, here’s one of my favorite water videos:

Goob called this morning from Korea. About 8:00 AM our time, around midnight his.

He was telling me about his adventures there. God help us…I hope and pray there won’t be any international incidents. I told him Dad can’t bail him out of something like that.

He thinks he and his buddy accidentally went into a gay bar. Some Korean guy in the front of the building encouraged them to come in. They sat there drinking, and noticed many doors with numbers. And men coming and going. Of course, Goob said he was wearing one of his pink shirts and weird pants. Dude…be careful.

And then Goob also discovered that our last name is very close to the Korean word for….vagina. Great. And he was asking if I found his underwear that had the words “That’s what she said” printed all over them.

I’m really worried about him.