What a tangled web

I hate creepy crawly things. HATE them. And spiders are the worst. The freak me out.

A couple of years ago, we had a bunch of wolf spiders who thought that we were a bed and breakfast. First one showed up on an afternoon. DS was probably about 14 at the time, and came flying out of his room like his bahoofus was on fire. I asked him what in the world happened, and he just muttered "biggest damn spider I've ever seen." I figured he was nuts, but went in and tore the room apart till I found it.

He was right. It was the biggest damn spider I had ever seen, too.

Stupid thing took off down the hall. Those suckers can MOVE, and move FAST. It ran right into our room and under my bed. I could see it, but it had gotten to somewhere that I couldn't reach, and I really didn't WANT to reach it anyway. The boys were both just freaking out, and wouldn't leave the living room, because they both hate spiders as much as I do.

DD of course marched in and said "oh for heaven's sake, people, where is it? I'll get it." She goes in my room, and tells me that she's going to get it to come out, and my assignment was to smoosh it. I'm standing in the door, waiting for it to be flattened. She shooed it out, and it went flying toward me, full tilt. I shrieked, turned to run, and fell flat on my face in the hall. Got up and turned to see daughter looking at me with total disgust, saying "what the heck is that about? Get in here and help me."

"This time," the brat says, in a condescending tone that only a teenaged girl can use, "when I shoo it out, we're not going to scream. We're going to smash it." "Maybe you are, brat, but I'm gonna run," I said.

Oye.

It took about another twenty minutes of chasing that stinking spider around, under the bed and the dresser, but she finally sent that spider to its eternal reward. We had a lot of spider problems over the summer, including one that suddenly showed up on my stomach while I was reading a book in bed. I didn't sleep for a week. Then I found that if you clean with lemony cleaners, or burn citrus scented oils, spiders don't like it. Apparently spiders don't get scurvy, but our house smelled lemony fresh for another year, and I haven't seen one since. But the season is here, so I'm stocking up on lemon oil now.

Meantime, I found a great new seller on Main Street Vintage. Her store is called The Silver Web Vintage Clothing Store, and she has this fabulous vintage satin dress that's painted with flowers -- they look like poppies to me, but hey, I live with the King of Botanical Ignorance, so maybe I'm not the one to ask. Either way, that is one HOT dress, so snap it up. And get some Lemon Pledge, too.

Sleeping like Ricky and Lucy

I am not the greatest sleeper in the world. I'm a confirmed night person, hate morning, and have one heck of a time getting to sleep, most nights.

I want to sleep like Ricky and Lucy.

DH is a wild sleeper. He tosses and turns, flailing around like a fish out of water. I have learned to sleep with my arms up over my head, to protect myself from getting a black eye. He's whacked me in the head with an elbow more than once. If I have my arms up in sweet surrender, he hits the arm and not the head, which is much less painful.

He likes to snuggle up, and I want as much distance as possible. I don't sleep well with someone too close, and he likes to sleep smack in the middle of the bed. There were a couple of times where he wanted to sleep like spoons and knocked me right out of the bed -- one time when I was seven months pregnant.

The man is downright dangerous, when it comes to sleep.

And if I don't wake up bruised, I wake up with the sheets in a huge tangle. This morning, the sheet was in the far corner of his side of the bed, the bedspread was in a tangle on his side of the bed, and the quilt was off the bed. I sleep with no pillow by choice, but keep it on the floor by my side of the bed. He got up, tossed it on the bed and whacked me awake with it.

Nothing like a pillow to start a fight. Oye.

I once tried to convince the crazy man that we really didn't need a new bed, we needed a twin bed and a couch. He sleeps best on the couch - a leftover of three brothers sleeping in a bedroom big enough for two -- and I want to sleep alone, with visitation privileges, to protect myself and maybe actually get some sleep. He's not buying it, so there I am, in my own personal Slumberland War, every night. Some day..........

So, I went looking for something Lucy, and found this great vintage silk Lucy dress, from Hemlock Vintage, on the net. The beautiful construction would at least take everyone's eye away from the bags under mine.

Happy Easter!

Happy Easter, everyone! I'll be working all day, but always like Easter. I have wonderful memories of Easter as a kid. We'd go to Easter sunrise services, which I actually hated, cause morning is evil. But I always remember singing "Christ the Lord has Risen Today, and it makes my heart warm.

But we'd have EARLY church, sometimes Easter breakfast, and hey, Easter means candy. I didn't get any Easter candy this year at all, but since I worked, I have an excuse. Hubby could've gotten it, but it'd be half gone by the time he got home, so why bother? The kids will get over it.

One of the new guys at work gave me an Easter gift. He's a sweet college guy who just got back from Miami, for spring break. So he came in today and handed me the bunny he bought me. It's cuddly soft and, as he points out, it sings "Awesome God." Really loudly. We had a good laugh about it, because I pressed his hand and he started to sing while someone was on the phone -- I grabbed that bunny in a bear hug just to quiet him down.

So before I left work, I was showing the girls the bunny he got me. They were remarking how cute it was, so I pressed his hand. He started bellowing "our God is an awesome God," while his mouth moved in time. They all said "what is he singing?" I told them, and one of the girls said "oh, I thought it was a Jewish song." ::sigh::

Yep. An Easter bunny that sings Had Gadya. Oye evay.

So happy Easter, folks. May all your bunnies be chocolate, cause if you buy real ones, the dd will be heading to your house to read you the riot act about animal rights. If you MUST have a bunny, try this vintage kid's pattern from Linda's Sew Be It, on the bay. It's got cute bunny toy patterns, plus you can whip up something cute to wear as well. And keep in mind that Christ The Lord Has Risen Today. Allelujah!

Botanical Ignorance

I love flowers. The first year in our house, I planted a gajillion bulbs, and the next year, hubby planted 12 dozen bulbs while I sat in a chair, watching, because I had preterm labor and was supposed to be on bedrest.

But spring requires flowers. And spring flowers require bulbs, which require planting, which required participation from husbands when the wife is incapacitated.

Indiana winters are awful, and spring is just there to make people miserable. It gets warm, and the next day it'll snow. Two days later it's 70, then we'll have an ice storm. Basically, it sucks. A friend of mine told me her rule of green thumb is that you can't plant anything in spring until after Mother's Day. Ever. Heck, hubby once got snowed out of a softball game on the 6th of May -- had five inches of snow. Our friends were getting married the next week, and were afraid they'd have a blizzard. Instead, it was 70. Figures.

The next year, I was out working in the yard, getting the beds ready for spring. With the Mother's Day rule, I didn't plan to plant anything yet, just to clean the beds out a little bit, and turn some soil over. Hubby pulled up in the van, and proudly proclaims that he has bought me some flowers to plant. I told him thanks, but at this time of year, the only thing you can plant is pansies, cause everything else will die. "Oh honey, I got pansies. You're going to love them." Walks around the van, opens the back door, and opens it up to show me that behind the back seat is loaded with every type of flower on earth.

Except pansies.

The man is, as I like to say, botanically ignorant. Smart guy, knows his paint, but clueless about flowers. I spent tons of money on perennials for years, till I realized that he was always going to yank them up, calling them weeds. I finally gave up trying. Haven't even put bulbs in since the 12 dozen preterm labor ones, which now are starting to get kind of anemic looking, if they come up at all. DD now is really getting into the garden, and can't wait to plant. I hope it works out for her. She'll just have to keep her dad away.

So today, it started out raining outside, turned to snow, then turned into a beautiful crisp, blue day. It was raining again, when last I looked. And so, for hopes of spring, here's a vintage 40s floral dressing gown, from retrodress, on the web. And just so you know, those aren't pansies.

The Book of Yeti

March in Indiana equals insanity, aka March Madness. Basketball in Indiana is legendary -- but let's not talk about those crazy Pacers. Let's talk about Butler (the dh's dad's alma mater), Indiana University (the dh's alma mater) and whatever other teams are in the chase.

Hubby loves March Madness, and the ds18 has got the gene as well. I called him from work today, to tell him that my boss wanted to interview him in an hour for a good job in our department. I can hear the hubby yelling -- heck, YOU could probably hear him yelling -- and I realize he's watching basketball. Must've come home early for the Butler game. Tell the ds, yes, you do have to get decently dressed. No track pants. And put on a belt. This is an interview. For a job. Try to act somewhat civilized.

The shower he took was his idea. Yay! He wasn't sure if he had clean clothes -- which, if you saw the pile of laundry he brought home, you'd wonder too -- then realized ok, he had dress pants and shirt, but no belt. Didn't want his dad's belt, and insisted on going beltless, so I told him he had to have on a tie. He was less than thrilled. Of course, he hadn't gotten the haircut he's talked about for a month, and the short notice meant he didn't even get a shave in.

Went to the interview looking kind of like a cross between a Mormon (minus the bicycle), and a Yeti. But he got the job. Well, that's unless he has some hidden felonies that his mother doesn't know about, cause they do a pretty thorough background check. Of course, it doesn't matter then, cause I'd have a felony too, should I find that he's hiding anything criminal.

So yep, the boy has a job for the summer, albeit with his mother, and only on an as needed basis, but it's a start. He applied for a great internship at Angie's List as well, so maybe that will come to fruition and he'll be at least temporarily independently wealthy. Things are looking up folks -- he'll be able to pay for my nursing home before you know it. As long as I can get him away from the basketball tournament long enough to actually work.

And so, in honor of the boys' new employment, and Butler's success in the big dance, here's a vintage gym suit, from MyVintageWear Store, on the bay. Remember those godawful gym suits we used to wear? This one actually looks cute. And it has a belt.

Is this the caller to whom I am speaking?

We have a phone problem at our house. We can't ever find one. Despite having two cordless phones, they are always missing. Or uncharged. So if you call the house, odds are the phone won't be answered, because the kids can't hear the phone in their room, and with their cordless phones missing well, let's just say that we miss a lot of calls.

We have two regular phones as well, but the one the bedroom has a very, very short cord, and the one is the kitchen is wonky and staticy, so making calls has been a real challenge lately. Receiving them is even worse.

So I have been trying to order a new postage meter from Pitney Bowes, after someone broke the cord on my old label printer. Got a good deal on the new meter, after emailing back and forth with their rep (a fine Wisconsian named Jodi). All she needed was credit card info, so I made the mistake of telling her to call me. After all, I had four days off from the "real" job, so catching me should've been easy, right?

Nope. It turned into a real game of phone tag. Phone rings in the morning, about 8:15 or so. I had been up late, watching a strange bevy of movies, so I was still in bed. DD comes in and tells me that someone called for me, but she told them I was asleep. I actually wasn't, but she didn't know it, and didn't get me for the call. I asked who it was and got the typical teenaged response of "I don't know, maybe it was work." I looked at the caller ID, and realized it was Jodi, but didn't call her back right away (I'm not a morning person). Took a shower. Ran errands. Came back to a message to return her call at my convenience.

I finally gave up trying to even return her call till I could get a new cordless phone, to try to ensure that we'd actually make the connection. Got a set of FOUR Panasonics: one for dd's room, one for the pit known as the ds's room, one for the kitchen (to replace the wonky one) and one for the living room. Fail proof, right? Nope. the phones have to charge for twelve hours before you can use them. I was in the basement, working, and way in the distance, I hear the phone ringing. Dash upstairs, run to the bedroom, and miss the call by ONE RING.

Oh no. I call and leave Jodi a message to call me. Waited a few minutes, then decided to go down and work on inventory for a bit. Of course, the minute I get there, the phone starts ringing. DH was in the kitchen, standing next to the phone, and I'm in the basement, so I yell upstairs "grab that, I'm expecting a call."

Phone keeps ringing.

I am dashing up the stairs by the second ring, yelling "answer that! I'm waiting on a call. I really need to talk to them." Third ring. Keep in mind that on the fifth ring, it's going to voicemail. I'm flying up the stairs like a madwoman -- the same stairs I fell down and broke my elbow on a couple of years back -- yelling to get the phone.

It starts talking to him. It's saying "call from, Appleton, Wisconsin." Hubby yells "what the hell is that?" I'm yelling for him to answer the phone and I'll tell him in a minute. "Why is it talking to me?" "It's the voice of God, telling you to answer the damn phone." Get upstairs on the fourth ring, with him staring at the phone like he's never seen a phone before, and I'm yelling "ANSWER. THE. PHONE." He's yelling, I don't know what button to push. Where are my glasses?"

I grab the phone, talk to poor Jodi like a crackhead with a doubledose on board, but now I FINALLY have a postage meter on the way. Next thing on the agenda is a pair of glasses for the hubby.

Yep, the caller ID talks to us. Reads whatever the caller ID says. DS13 heard it for the first time today, and just yelled "COOL," laughing in his typical weird way. Of course, we REALLY got a laugh when dd called, and the phone announced "call from OOTER, Lisa." What's the problem? It's not OOTER, it's Utter or, as hubby says, "like butter, without the B." Of course, it's Swedish, and in Swedish, it's OOTER, so I guess I now am the proud owner of a phone with Swedish caller ID.

It's a smorgasbord of madness at our house, and that's no joke. But if you want to make a call, grab this vintage 70s phone purse, from La Pochette Vintage Purses, on the web. In red, of course. Caller ID not included.

Valley of the Clueless

http://www.dollhousebettie.com/index.php?page=shop.product_details&flypage=flypage-ask.tpl&product_id=473&category_id=30&option=com_virtuemart&Itemid=61

We went to Blockbuster today, for the first time in ages. I hardly ever go there, as I don't watch a lot of movies, unless someone else puts it on, but dd17 wanted to see Atonement, and of course I couldn't resist.

Of course, hubby wasn't crazy about it the first time we saw it. The second time, I went with ds18. I knew there's no way hubby would sit through it again, so we got Into the Wild, which dd wants to see -- but, as I'm told has a scene of a moose being skinned, so I'm not sure how that will go over. We got a couple of others as well.

Somehow, on the way home, we somehow got talking about scary movies. DS13 hates them, as do I. DD, on the other hand, has loved them since she was a toddler, when she would call me at work, to tell me that she'd been watching "the fishy movie" with Daddy. When I asked what movie, she said "Draws," which was her three year old version of Jaws. Yep. She was watching man eating sharks with Daddy. It was a special bonding time, I suppose, as were the many times that they watched Tales from the Crypt together.

So we were talking about scary movies and books on the way home today, and I mentioned how Helter Skelter had freaked me out so badly that I didn't sleep for weeks, when I was in junior high. They asked me what the heck Helter Skelter was, and I replied, "it was about Charles Manson." DS13 asked who Charles Manson was, and dd replied "he's a lingerie designer."

Oh. My. God.

DS's response was "I thought he was a rock singer," at which point I thought either my kids need to get out more, or maybe it's not such a bad thing that they don't know who is. Turned out that they were both referring to Marilyn Manson, who had a line of clothing at one time. They remembered the fact that I had sold a pair of MM red lace boy shorts on ebay some time back. So somehow, we went from mass murder to red lace panties, in the course of one sentence.

But that's how Utter Chaos rolls. Suffice it to say, they were straightened out on that sad little bit of American history, at least briefly, and maybe, just maybe, now they could tell you the difference between a musician and a mass murderer, but then again, ds13 is pretty goofy on a good day, so who knows. Meantime, if you want to check out some REALLY cool lingerie from the princess of panties, check out my girl Michelle's website, Dollhouse Bettie Vintage,. She's got the most beautiful collection of vintage lingerie online, as well as designer lingerie too. It'll rock your socks off!

Holy rollers

When I was a kid, we went skating every Saturday afternoon. My earliest memory of skating was of me, probably about 4 or 5 years old, at the Silver Top Skating rink, hugging the wooden railing for dear life, fighting bravely against the force of gravity. It was a proud day when I finally rolled off on my own without that railing.

We all had our own skates, and skate cases. Mine was green metal, and showed a bit of wear from trudging back and forth to the rink each week. We skated for a couple of hours, frontward and back, with a little Hokey Pokey thrown in for good measure. It was so much fun, and boy did my feet feel good when they finally came out of the skates that were probably a bit narrow for my duck feet. After skating, we sometimes got a snack -- I always picked an oversized Sweet Tart, which I ate on the way home to homemade pizza and Shirley Temple movies.

Years later, when I was pregnant with ds13, I was on a restricted, fat free diet, and reverted back to Sweet Tarts -- one of the few candies that someone on a fat free diet could eat. The people I worked with swore that that boy would come out with a package of them in each hand. I didn't care. It reminded me of being a kid, which felt pretty good in the middle of a complicated pregnancy.

Well, that didn't happen, but he did come out pretty fearless. He was the one who went skating with us, falling over and over again, but getting it down without the aid of a railing. He's the one who still likes to go over to the ice skating rink in the winter, racing around like a maniac. He likes anything that rolls -- bike, skateboard, or scooter -- he'll take it all. Sadly, most of the roller skating rinks around here have closed, but we still go over once in a while for a couple of hours of skating. I'm a bit leery of roller skating these days, afraid that I'll break something, but it always give me a grin, watching that boy do the Hokey Pokey, just like I did.

And so, for your inner holy roller, here's a vintage novelty print skirt, with a skating theme, from Posh Girl Vintage. It's a sweetheart!

The second high Holy Day

I always used to wish that I was Catholic, when I was a kid. The Ryan kids lived across the street. They were Catholic. They went to Catholic school, which means that they got lots of days off of school, for holy days. Protestants don't have holy days, which means we were going to school, while the Ryan kids were watching I Love Lucy reruns.

Life ain't fair.

So a few years back, one of ds's friends came by, in the middle of the day. I asked him why he wasn't in school. He had no clue, but he didn't have school. I said, "oh yeah, it'ts Ash Wednesday." He said "oh yeah, it's a Holy Day, and the dog got spayed." What the heck? Turned out the last time they'd had a dog spayed, it bled to death afterward, so this time, she had the teenage son stay home to watch the dog not bleed out.

I pointed out to him that the pope might not like the fact that the dog was spayed. He just looked at me with a blank stare. I don't think he got it.

Oh well. Fast forward to 1998. I was working at St Vincent hospital, which, in case you wondered, is a Catholic hospital. A Catholic hospital, where I was the token Protestant employee in a department of hardcore Catholics who complainted about the "operation aborted" message they would get on their computers. The most difficult week of the entire work schedule was Holy Week, because no one could figure out how they were going to be able to work AND go to church.

My boss was also VERY Irish, and had a huge St Patrick's Day party every year. I told her it was the second most important Holy Day of the year. HUGE party with a HUGE group of Irish Catholics, green beer, and lots of fun. She had to take off the day before AND after the party. And so, in honor of those who are celebrating their Holy Day today, let's tip one for this green cotton novelty print vintage dress, from Those Vintage Girls, on ebay. The Lord be with you.

It all adds up now

I hate math. I never went past Algebra 2 in school, and had to work my tail off for the B that I got. So it was rather funny that I played the accountant in our Night of Mystery last night.

A rich, embezzling accountant. In rhinestones, diamonds, onyx, and a great purple vintage boucle coat, with mink trim. Yep, I was dressed to kill.

Only I didn't do it. I made off with 80 million bucks, plus some, if the ex wife runs the business properly. Turned out the son of the butler who was the chaffeur was the actual millionaire's son, but before he knew it, he killed him in a manner which was never explained, and then he killed off the French maid, who just happened to be his mother, who never told the butler that he wasn't the real father and because he was the sole male heir it left the three daughters including the twin sister who was really the middle sister even though she was a twin out in the cold, which was much better than letting the oldest get 30%, leaving the two younger girls only 10% each, which made them bitter, and the middle daughter's husband upset enough to dump her and go after the ex, who was now the owner of the business.

And the pool boy was left out in the cold entirely, with wishes for a good life. But at least he kept his clothes on--everyone had made bets on whether he would show up in Speedos, and one guy actually called the house to see if he was going to show up naked. Yeah, they know my husband well. My character was the only woman in the room who didn't know him in the biblical sense.

Thank God.

And so, in honor of my innocence in last night's escapade, here's a cool pair of Speedos, from retrocouture boutique, on ebay. Poolboy not included.

Killer Queen

I'm going to possibly murder someone tonight. At church.

Our church group gets together once a month for various and sundry activities. We've done this since the kids were babies, and usually do something like go out to eat, game night, etc. January's event is always a planning meeting, where we decide what to do for the next year. Imagine my surprise when, at the planning meeting, one of the normally quiet and reserved guys said, quite firmly, "I want to have a murder."

And he doesn't even live with me.

So, after he assured his wife that she wouldn't have to plan the murder, a murder he will get. We're doing a reading of the will for some dead guy, and I get to play the accountant, who just happened to embezzle a bunch of money from him. Yay, me! Hubby, on the other hand, is playing the pool boy. Oye. How appropriate.

The last time we did one of these, the ds18 was a newborn. I got myself into a yellow, off shoulder, late 1800s style dress, and off to the murder we went. I have no idea what ended up happening (postpartum hormones probably) but I know that I wasn't the murderer. Not sure if I am tonight, either. I don't remember much about the process the last time, but I do know that it was fun, it was our first night out without the new baby, and the yellow dress looked great (breastfeeding hormones).

So, I have to dress like a rich accountant who embezzles money from the clientele. It's two hours away, and I have no idea what I'll wear, but if I could, I'd wear this 50s dress with a killer neckline, from Grace's Vintage Garb, on the net. It's just the right bling for a murder.

I'll let you know tomorrow if I killed the guy. And show something in stripes, if I did.

1 dress

DD and I saw 27 dresses a few weeks back, and for some reason, she got thinking about it today. She asked me if I had my bridesmaids wear some godawful thing like the girl in the movie wore. I told her no -- my bridesmaids seemed to like their dresses, and I knew for a fact that at least two of them wore them again later, so they weren't totally awful. And despite the fact that they were tea length, and the shoes had to match, they dyed them black after the fact and definitely wore them again.

I try to be pragmatic. Heck, I didn't even pick the colors for the wedding. I'm so indecisive, I had each of the girls pick their own color and wear what they liked. It was a pastel-y rainbow thing that I really liked and, considering it was the 80s, wasn't too far over the top. You'll have to look close, but it looks like the yellow version of this pattern.

My own dress, which was much like this one, but with short sleeves (we cut the long ones to a short length) was a wonderful thing to behold -- yards of silk organza, tons of ruffles, and a cute, but smaller than in the picture, satin butt bow. I love that dress to this day, and can still remember shopping for it with my mom. My parents had just moved to Orlando, and were still waiting in an empty house for the furniture to arrive. I had tried the dress on in Indianapolis, but just couldn't get myself to spend that kind of money -- $600 -- when I tried it on, so I told my mom, "let's go look at wedding dresses," since we had nothing else to do. Ran ALL over Orlando, till we ended up in Longwood, where they just happened to have the dress on the rack. I tried it on, and it was all over. Again.

Mom looked at me and said "we just spent the whole day looking, and you're going to buy the same dress as when we started, right?" Yep.

Hey, at least I was sure about it. Heck, I bought it sixteen months before the wedding, and it's still hanging upstairs now. I pull it out and look at it once in a while. I've never been able to figure out what to do with it, cause it's definitely not the dd's style -- she'll get married in cowboy boots and a shirt from Steve and Barry's -- but what does one do with something that beautiful? I had considered having it cut up and made into christening gowns for my someday grandchildren, or ring bearers' pillows, or something.

Yes, that points to the great hope that someday my children will indeed, enter into matrimonial bliss. Hope springs eternal.......

But meantime, it's upstairs, still waiting for me to decide if, or what, should be done with it. Meantime, I went browsing etsy, and found this idea -- cut it up with pinking shears and sell it off, for someone else to do something with. From seller spindlecatstudio, whose wedding may've gone badly, I don't know, or maybe there was too much champagne involved, but who is passing along marital bliss to the person who has the dough. I'm not sure what you'd do with it, but if you have good ideas, let me know. Maybe I'd have someone do something creative with mine. I just couldn't bring myself to do it, but recycling is almost always a good thing.

The Power of Queen

24 years of nursing gives one an interesting viewpoint on life. I started out as a 20 year old new grad, sweet and fairly innocent, and grew to realize I had powers I never knew about.

I was talking to a Ang, from Dorothea's Closet Vintage, tonight. Her dad is really sick, so we've been keeping in touch, trying to decipher what the doctor's do, and don't, say. She was talking about the nurses, and something reminded me of this patient I took care of in the hospital, when I worked in Florida, at Manatee Memorial, in ICU.

Guy comes in, in his early 70s. I admitted him, and tried to get him settled in, but the guy's calcium was something totally whacked, and we didn't know why. The end result was that the guy was climbing the walls. Trying to go over the rails of the bed, pulling at all of his lines, going totally nuts. We'd given him enough drugs to stop a Mack truck, to no avail. I had called his doc to get some more, so he could get some rest. Guy tells me, very seriously, "if you don't let me outta this bed, I'm gonna die." "Well, you can't get outta bed, so you're gonna have to lie back down."

Secretary pages me to the desk. Doctor is calling. Gives me orders for a sleeping pill for Prince Charming. I go to the cabinet to sign it out. Suddenly, I hear an alarm go off, turn around and damn, he's outta bed. ::sigh:: Head in the room with his sleeping pill and nope, he's in bed. Flatline.

No joke, the guy just dropped dead cause I didn't let him outta bed. I had no idea that I had so much power. We run the code, nothing works, and after he's pronounced, I tell the doc what happened, and he looks at me, very seriously, and says, "next time, let the guy outta bed."

So, since we all know that I'm the Queen, and now you know that if I tell you to stay still, you'd better run like hell, cause the Grim Reaper might be wandering over to get you. And for the power of Queen, here's a vintage Smiths T shirt, proclaiming The Queen Is Dead, from rock2you.

Spiderman Superpowers

DS18 went back to school today, after a spring break spent sleeping. I miss that big goob already.

He has become fascinated with all things medical. Is a "House" junkie, and reads about various and sundry medical trivia all the time. Even acts interested when the old lady talks about work stuff.

One of his earliest interests was dermatologic, when he developed this weird little thing on his hand, during a camping trip. It kept getting bigger and more odd shaped over the course of the weekend, till it looked like he had a tiny little extra digit coming out of his finger. Took him to the doc and found out it was a pyogenic granuloma. He loved the way the name sounded when it rolled off his tongue.

Crazy boy.

He developed this weird thing on his wrist a couple of years ago. It looked like a bug bite, and he kept messing with it, so I put some hydrocortisone cream on it. Followed it with some Vitamin E, cause that sucker just wouldn't heal. Vitamin E and hydrocortisone cream must not mix, cause then it began to look more like a burn and completely refused to heal. The boy wasn't too happy with the old lady, especially when it started looking kind of grayish brown, got bigger than a pencil eraser, and calloused looking. VERY weird looking. Odd enough that people would ask him what it was.

The kid called it his Spiderman superpower.

Finally, I trotted him off to the dermatologist to see what the heck it was. Dermatologist, sadly, called it a "picker's nodule." What a disappointment. Here, I thought the kid was gonna have a web come flying out at any minute, and it had a sad little name like that, and all he had to do was leave it alone and it'd heal. I've gotten used to seeing it, and it's a part of him almost as much as his big blue eyes. So imagine my sadness to see that the boy's superpowers are beginning to disappear, just like those little kids who stop seeing ghosts as they grow up. My baby is growing up. And so, in honor of the Spiderman Nodule of Youth, here's a cool vintage Spidey T shirt, from 1coolshirt, on ebay. Superpowers not included.

Does anybody really know what time it is?

I moved to Indiana in 1978. One of the first things I remember is that we didn't change our clocks in the fall and winter. I thought it was odd, especially because, as far as I knew, the entire country changed their clocks except us.

This battle went on for years, till the last year or two, when the DST law finally was passed in Indiana. You would've thought we seceded from the Union, with the havoc it struck. Some wanted to, some didn't, some flatly refused to, despite the fact that everyone else does. It's a very, very odd thing in our state. Add to that that the state got rather split up, with small areas using different time zones, and it's quite confusing. Our son will be an hour behind us, when he goes back from spring break tomorrow. This means that I'll have to think way, way too hard about that "pick me up Friday at noon."

I never was one for math.

And now Indiana has become the center of attention, in the argument for and against Daylight Savings, because a new study shows that it does not, as always though, save energy costs. Oh wow, we're trendsetters. Imagine that.

If you think about it, no one knows what time it is, except maybe during football season, when it's nothing but "kickoff." Not "kickoff TIME," but kickoff. Or halfTIME. Or, for that matter, Miller TIME. Or, for that totally useless time of day before noon, TIME to make the doughnuts.

Point being, no one really knows what time it is, except in Greenland or one of those places where they have the official clocks.
All I know is, I'm gonna get an hour less of sleep tonight, after being awakened every night this week by sick kids and husband. And with spring coming, the little time I spend sleeping tonight, should at least be in something pretty, like this dreamy floral 30s nightgown, from the Dorothea's Closet's Noir Boudoir. Don't you just love how it's done in pretty spring colors? But since we got snow today, and it's colder than cold here, I'll be nice and warm in my flannel Christmas tree jammies, dreaming of a warm beach where no one cares what time it is.

Uncle Sam meets the electronic age

I haven't even started on our taxes yet. We always have to pay, so it's too depressing to think about at the moment.

There are tax places all over our side of town. The one closest to us has a guy outside, in full Uncle Sam getup, standing on the corner for advertisement. Last year, they alternated between Uncle Sam and a girl who was the Statue of Liberty. Uncle Sam stood out there, in every kind of weather, with his iPod in his ears. He was always dancing and waving to the passing cars. We got a lot of amusement out of watching him. His dancing always looked kind of like he was on crack -- in our neighborhood, he might've been -- but he always looked really happy.

This year's Uncle Sam is a different dude, and he's not as reliable at being out there. Maybe business is better, and they don't want to advertise as much. This guy wears the costume, but not the iPod. Instead, he has a boombox going full tilt, with all kinds of tunes on it. Funniest one was the day I drove by, and "Another One Bites The Dust" was on. How appropriate is that, for a tax place?

You could get a whole repertoire of music for that kind of place: "The Winner Takes It All" comes to mind, among many others. So if you are part of the depressed economy and need seasonal work, grab this Uncle Sam pattern, from marymaul on ebay. It's a yankee doodle dandy!

M*A*S*H

We used to watch M*A*S*H all the time, when I was growing up. It was a regular Monday evening gig for us, and I still like watching the reruns, from time to time. That is one show that is somehow able to stand the test of time, without looking dated.

This week, our house looks more and more like a M*A*S*H unit. Sunday, after dh's last play performance, we went out to Applebee's. DS13, who is a nibbler, ordered a Caesar salad, and a grilled cheese BLT (no tomato, of course). That's a LOT of food for ds, cause he never, ever finishes a meal, and that Caesar salad is dinner sized. I expressed dismay at how much he ordered, and he showed me triumphantly that he had actually finished it all. I figured he's growing, cause he definitely is.

He came in the living room later, saying his stomach hurt, and he "shouldn't have eaten those Twizzlers." Good heavens. I had no idea he could put that much food away. As it turned out, he could put it away -- it just wouldn't stay there.

Yep, he was up, sick, at 3am that night. Good times.

So he was sick all day Monday, and slept most of the day. Came to the top of the basement stairs in late afternoon (I was working on inventorying my patterns) and said "Mom, what do you want me to do with this?" Since I couldn't see him, I asked what "it" was.

"A panful of throwup," says my child. Oh yeah. He's a fun date.

Yesterday, ds18 started in -- which is always a worry, because the last time he did this, his liver temporarily gave up the ghost. DD17 rolled her eyes and remarked about how he was overreacting, and wasn't all that sick. I told her she'd be next, since she's spent the whole week with the boys. She told me that she was not going to get it.

Wrong. 3am, I hear that godawful "Mom" that only means one thing. Yep, she was vomiting now, too. Got her settled in, and when I went back to bed, dh said, in his infinite wisdom "if they'd keep that room up there clean, they wouldn't be getting sick." They all hang out in the oldest's room, and while it can get to be pretty trashy, if they were gonna be sick from it, they'd never be healthy.

DD came in and flopped in the bed with me this morning,and has been sleeping all day. It's now 2pm. When dh came home for lunch, the halfway well ds18 said to him "you're next, buddy," to which dh replied oh no, he doesn't GET sick. Of course, it was at that point that I mentioned that dd had been asleep on his pillow now for at least 5 hours, so yeah, he probably WILL get sick. And I'm sure that I have a target on me now, too.

So our house looks like a M*A*S*H unit, with Gatorade bottles and popsicle sticks all around, but fortunately, no pans full of vomit. So oddly, I went looking for something in that pukey green that the 60s were known for. It's an odd color that usually doesn't look very good, but I found this cute embroidered green and pink daisy dress, from cloudninevintage, on ebay. It's so cute, it makes me sick.