Basic Training.

I've never been a huge fan of grocery shopping. It probably dates back to having two babies a year apart, and having to put the kids in one cart and the food in another.  I would push two carts through the store, in an attempt to keep Thomas from launching cans of green beans at other customers.  Grocery shopping was hard work in those days.

But these days, Jim and I shop at the Commissary at the fort.  Great deals, great service, and it has lots of interesting things that you can't find anywhere else, like octopus and different kinds of kimchi.  Jim said that no one likes to grocery shop with him because he browses forever, but I actually think it's pretty fun.

That being said, I tend to throw things in the cart willy nilly.  If' I'm packing the groceries at the checkout, I am organized about it, but I don't care about the cart.  Jim, however, is a little different when it comes to the cart.

My way:

The Marine way:

CWO4, I salute you.

Juror Selection

Jill got called for jury duty this week.  Actually, she got called a couple of months ago, but got out of it because of school.  However, she didn't drive home the fact that she doesn't live in Indianapolis, so she got called again.  She was not amused.

Here is how she relayed her jury duty experience to the heir to the throne:

Jillie: "So, I went in there to tell her I was there.  They didn't ask for ID or anything.  I could have been anyone."

Me:  "So you could've sent Michael in your place?"

Jillie:  "Yes.  I should have.  So, then they made us watching this really boring  video about how awesome jury duty is.  Then they called me with a bunch of other people to go into a courtroom.  They told us to make a line, and I was at the front of the line.  So we got in the courtroom, and the judge asked who Jillian Utter is.  I raised my hand, and he asked if I was related to Larry Utter.  I told him yeah, that's my uncle.  So the judge asked if I knew Eddie.  I said yeah, that's my grandpa.  He asked me if he was still alive.  I said uh, YES.  He said 'oh, I just wondered, because he dated my sister in high school, and my sister's dead."

Thomas:  "Wow, it must suck  to get old, if the first question people ask about you is if you are dead."

The boy has a point.

The Yolks Are On Mabel

So Mabel lays big eggs.  As in, BIG eggs.  Some days, I'm shocked not to see her limping, these eggs are so big.  So when she laid this one the other day,

I about dropped dead myself.  Kind think she may've needed an episiotomy after this one.  We let it sit there for a few days before using it -- had to keep it in the fridge egg thingy, cause the carton wouldn't close over it.  Those white eggs there?  Grade A Large ones.  Looking at this egg, I am pretty sure that Mabel decided that she is, in fact, a duck.  The poor dear.

When we did finally decide to use it -- for a lovely Sunday brunch cooked up by my boo -- it had three yolks.  She's a omelet laying machine, that Mabel.

I'm off to get her an ice pack.

A Mother's Day Chortle

As you all know, Sunday was Mother's Day, the day we celebrate Dear Old Mom.  (Though if I called my mom "old"......................to the moon, Alice.

So we got up and went to church, where Jim bought me a lovely corsage, with the proceeds going toward an anti-malaria program in Africa.  Sweet, that man is.  And then when we got back to the house, he made me a lovely brunch.  No word from those boys, who I was sure were still sleeping, heathens that they are.  I did get a text from Jillie, with something of a recap from a wedding of the day before -- one that neither of us attended, but that she felt the need to judge as to why it was "trendy."  "Trendy" in Jill's terms, equates with tacky in Jill's world, especially where it pertains to weddings.  But I digress.

So we chatted a bit about said wedding.  Not about Mother's Day.  This was about the time I started to get a giggle out of the whole thing, because it was completely apparent that they had all forgotten.  Now listen, this did not bother me one iota.  I found it hilarious.  Like when they forgot my birthday last year -- my 50th, no less.  Every single one of them forgot.  Cracks me up.  And when it comes to Mother's Day, here's my feeling:  if you love me 364 days a year, then I'm fine with the one other day.  And if you don't love me 364 days a year, one day won't make up for it.  And that's the God's honest truth.

So Jim and I spent the afternoon cleaning out closets and reconfiguring his office.  I texted Seth at one point, and he didn't respond.  So I emailed Thomas and asked him to check on his brother, to make sure that he wasn't dead, because he was getting over a pretty bad asthma thingy.  (As I told him:  he does not have a future in landscaping.  He said that sucks, because apparently, landscaping is his newest favorite pasttime.)  Seth texted me back straightaway:  "fever is gone, throat still sucks, cough is meh.  Feels like bad allergies now"  Again, no words about Mother's Day.

We knocked ourselves out getting stuff set up at the house, and Jim made me a fine dinner of chicken drummettes, cole slaw, and fries.  He still didn't believe that they'd forgotten my special day, and I was sure that they did.  I was still laughing about it.  So we made an agreement that I would call him as soon as I got home, and let him know if the boys actually acknowledged the day.  I told him they wouldn't, but I agreed to call.

I no sooner got out of the driveway than Seth texted me and said "Happy Mother's Day, btw."  Sucked the wind right outta my sails cause doggone it, he remembered after all. Phooey.  So I got home, and up wandered Seth from the depths.  Instead of  "Happy Mother's Day," he asked if I'd gotten dog food.  Phooey again.  He had told me earlier that we needed dog food, but I forgot, and apparently we were totally out.  Right about that time, Thomas wandered in and announced that he was going to the grocery store.  BINGO.  "Hey, can you pick up some dog food for me?" I said.  "If you give me some money, sure," replied  Thomas.  So I went for it:  full on guilt.  "You mean to tell me that you can't even front your mom some money on Mother's Day?"

The look on his face was absolutely priceless, I tell you.  He took it all in for a minute, then turned to his brother and said "is it Mother's Day?"  Seth immediately responded:

"Uh, YEAH.  Why do you think I did the dishes?"

Yep, that's my boy.

Thomas was pretty sheepish, and then said he really wasn't being a jerk, but that he is keeping himself on a very tight budget, and that he really didn't have money to spend.  I tossed him a twenty and told him he was officially not allowed to get me anything while he was at the store, because 1) it would wreak of desperation, 2) second though gifts are lame (like the year the ex bought me a single votive candle and a coloring book at CVS on his way home on my birthday), 3) it would take all the fun out of him forgetting Mother's Day and 4) he is on a very strict budget.  Bada-bing!  Got him with the last one.

So I got the most important gift of all on Mother's Day:  a good laugh.

And next day, I found this in the fridge:

"Thomas' food for the work week.  Pls don't eat unless dying."

Man, that is one SERIOUS budget.

Prostrate with Giggles

So I went to see my patient today.  He mentioned that he'd had problems urinating this weekend.  And I quote:  "Well, you know, I have that enlarged prostrate.  Sometimes it makes it hard to pee.  You know, when I was in the hospital, they had to castrate me cause I couldn't pee."

Gotta say, that seems unnecessarily harsh.

So I replied, "Do you mean catheterized  you?"  "Oh yeah," he said, with a laugh.  "Catheterized.  But then again, they may've castrated me too, I don't know."  We laughed for a couple of minutes over that.

I just love my job.

What Time Is It?

Dating a Marine brings a whole new view to life, when you are a procratinating, disorganized mess like me.  I lived so much of my adult life not being able to make plans that this whole structure thing is quite the challenge.  Not a bad thing, mind you.  Actually, it's a welcome change.  But we hit a whole new level the other night.

Now, I'm used to his planning of the food.  The man is a foodie, and he loves to cook.  Add to it that he's of Eastern European descent, and it's a perfect storm, of sorts.  I mean, there must be something about Eastern Europeans and food, cause the ex's grandma used to plan dinner while we were eating a huge breakfast, and Jim does the same thing.  I find it amusing, especially since my plans for dinner generally include anything but cooking.  It's a match made in heaven.

So the other night, we had a nice dinner, and I remarked afterward that ice cream sounded good.  Jim's not a big sweets person, so I was surprised when he pulled out his Culvers' coupon and started finding us a deal.  We decided on Concrete Mixers.  He asked me when I was gonna go get them, and I said "right now."  "What?" said the master of the house.  "You can't go get it now."  "Why not," I said."  "Because," said he, "Ice cream is a nine o'clock snack.  It's only eight o'clock."

HUH?

End Times

Well, we rolled down to E-town last weekend for the bratty gurl's graduation.  Hard to believe that she is at that stage in life, but it's a wonderful thing, and there is no prouder mother on the planet.

And so it was that my boo and I, along with The Heir, The Spare, and my Greenfield son did a roadtrip of three and a half hours there, and then back again, with a lunch, cupcakes, and a graduation in between.  I've said it before -- travelling with these boys is hilarious, and this was no exception, with the exception of road construction.  We got stuck in a gridlock before we even made it out of the city, and then again before Terre Haute, but somehow we still made it here in time for our lunch reservations.  It's the in between that was typically hilarious.

Getting three young men up and ready and dressed in something appropriate for the occasion was going to be a huge endeavor, or so I thought.  When we arrived to pick them up, however, all three were up, semi-dressed, and there was even a breakfast of scrambled eggs and pancakes on the stove.  Hey, I think I must've done something right raising these boys.

When we got in the car, there was a long discussion about how tired they all were, given their late bedtime, and getting up earlier than usual.  Thomas said he'd gone to bed early, and gotten up early.  Chris mentioned that although he'd been to bed at his normal 2am, he hadn't gotten up till 9, and he usually gets up at 6, so he actually got more sleep than usual.  This led to a discussion about when one makes up lost sleep.  Seth said "I used to make up my sleep in trig class.  Did the worksheets and then went to sleep.  And I still got an A in the class."

I could've gone my whole life without knowing that. Oye vay.

Thomas has a love of the New York Times crossword puzzles, and typically spends his passenger time in the car working on them.  He and the other two try to get the answers themselves, but if they get stuck, they toss it up to the front seat.  Here is a small sample:

Thomas:  "Mom, who's 'singer Lena'?  Five letters."
Me:  "Horne."
Thomas (with a very curious tone):  "Whore?"
Me:  "Horne."
Thomas:  "It's five letters."
Jim:  "H-O-R-N."
Me:  "E.  There's an E on the end."
Jim:  "Yeah.  H-O-R-N-E.  Horny."
Thomas: "OH!  Got it."

Oye and vay.

Later, I randomly heard the phrase,  "How in the hell  is that not Santa,"  which sounds pretty darned weird until you put together that they are talking about a crossword puzzle.  The clue "Xmas visitor", had six letters and the third one was an E.  I don't think they ever figured it out.  Let me know if you do.

The most odd one to me was the clue "nerd."  The answer was a five letter word, second letter E.  And the three nerds in the back seat never did figure out what it was.  Go figure.

And lastly:
Thomas:  "Do possums climb trees?"
Seth:  "Are you serious?"

The day has come with Seth has more sense than his brother.  End times, I tell you.  End times.