Tuesday, June 25, 2013

My Sweet

Jim was late getting home tonight, because he stopped to pick up  a few groceries.  We sorted them all out, amongst the craziness of taking call, dealing with a not-up-to-par dog, and trying to correct some chicken piccata that went horribly wrong at about the time I added the capers.  I cam across two Payday candybars -- Jim's favorite -- and tucked them away in his normal hidey-hole, never acknowledging them.

In the middle of a 8 o'clock dinner miraculously saved from over-caperage by a combination of Mrs Butterworth, honey, sea salt, and white wine and orange juice, he suddenly realized he hadn't seen the candy bars since he got home.  I played the innocent, telling him alternately that he must've a) left them at the store, b) left them in the car or c) never bought them at all.  Well, he definitely wasn't buying that.  And for the record, he liked the chicken, proving that yes, Marines will eat anything.  

So, we adjourned upstairs to watch a marathon of Big Bang Theory with the dogs.  Jim announced "I don't want you to worry.  I brought the Paydays up here so we can have them."  He looked, quite frankly, a bit triumphant.  Oh well, at least he planned to share.  There are, after all, some things he doesn't share:  popcorn, Culver's Concrete Mixers, and Paydays.  And frankly, he gets very snarky about the popcorn, but at least that means I get my own bucket at the movies.

At exactly 8:46, he pulled out the candy, tossing me one.  I pointed out that candy bars are 9 o'clock snacks.  He retorted that it was 9 o'clock.  I rebutted with the fact that 9 o'clock wasn't for 14 more minutes and really, shouldn't it be a 10 o'clock snack, since our normal 7 o'clock dinner was, in fact an 8 o'clock meal.  He told me to shut up and eat my candy.

Midway through my snack, I said "Boo, you know we shouldn't be having these.  We're supposed to be taking care of ourselves."  To which my boo, ever the realist, stated quite firmly, "yeah, and I took care of that Payday."

Sunday, June 23, 2013

Adventures in Twaziland

We headed north last weekend, for my mom's birthday celebration.  She hates talking about her age, so I'll just give you a hint:  it has a 0 and an 8 in it.  You do the math.

And so it was that we headed up to Michigan: The Heir, The Spare, The Adopted One, and my boo.  Mom and Dad live in Oscoda, and Jim had never been there, so he did his typical researching.  Told me everything about the area, like I'd never been there.  Oscoda is on Lake Huron, and is mostly a summer home location for people from "downstate" as Michigan calls the Detroit area.  There's not a lot there, but it's also 15 miles north of Tawas City, or Twaziland, as my boo called it.  (He has a thing with names........he alternately calls me Lucy, Sophie, and last weekend, I suddenly morphed into Peaches LeFleur.  He's name challenged.)

The trip was mostly a disappointing discussion about Game of Thrones and Magic The Gathering, though at one point, the boys discussed the merits of a certain female character.  Thomas said "yes, she is very pleasing to the eye."  Seth said "yeah, she's got the perfect measurements: 36-36-36, or whatever they are."  Thomas replied, "She fills out her costume very nicely."  Yeah, there were a few reminders during that trip that they were, indeed in mixed company.  Seth's response?  "You know, you always say that, and I don't even know what mixes company IS."   ::sigh::

In the last hour of the trip, they finally switched the discussion to Dr Who, which is much more interesting to me, given the fact that I watch it.  And that Jim has watched it since Day One.  They started talking about their dislike of the current writer, and what he needs to do to improve his craft.  One example they used was an episode wherein the villains were babies.  Seth said "that's what I'm talking about.  I mean, everyone  knows babies are terrifying.  There's nothing new about that."

Obviously, the Spare to the Throne does not have a future in babysitting.

Saturday, June 08, 2013

A Day Without Hankies

What a day.  One that called for hankies, and none were to be found.  First, Jill's grandparents got to see her in her wedding dress -- gorgeous, especially with the veil.  And we got to watch Seth graduate.

WHAT?  Who let that happen?

It was probably the loudest graduation I've ever been too.  His class was small -- about 65 or so -- so there was no "no cheering" rule, and it showed.  My word, people can yell loudly and long.  And there were a lot of really ugly shoes on those girls.  And many of them made their way across stage like they were pushing a plow.  The fun thing was that they went slowly enough that each kid kind of got to acknowledge their public, and each made his or her own way across the stage with their own particular swagger.  When it came to my child, he danced across, whilst looking out into the crowd.  Yep.  He took in the moment, that's for sure.

The nice thing was that each of the four people up there, Director of Operations, Behavioral Coaches, and the Big Kahuna of the school all gave the kids hugs.  Or Bro Hugs.  Or high fives.  Or secret handshakes.  It was so fun to watch such affection pass between the kids and the upper management of the school -- because they all know each other.  They're not just a number there, and it showed.

And so The Spare to the Throne's high school career closed, and now it's on to Butler.  But not before I share these:

 Gold and blue and white cords for National Honor Society and graduation With Honors.

                                            It always shows up, and usually in random places.
                                         Now she's got Seth carrying her.  But what a great picture.
I made cute babies.  
                                          And yeah, a more typical day in Utter Chaos.

Tuesday, June 04, 2013

Band Kids

And so it is that we come to the end of the school year.  For our household, it's the end of school, period.  Well, kind of.  Jill graduated from USI and is headed to grad school, and Seth is graduating from high school, heading for Butler.  I am heading to the poor farm, but will have a really nice nursing home in the end.  Or at least I'd better.

So lately, I've been doing some reminiscing about the past four years.  It was weird to have a graduation at last -- since the kids were homeschooled, we'd never had one till Jill walked across the stage.  That was a special moment.  And now we are coming up on Seth's graduation, which totally boggles my mind.  I was reading this the other day, and remembering Seth going off to "real school", with Thomas' admonitions to point out seniors who might cause him grief, and Jill threatening to put anyone in the dumpster  -- in tiny little pieces, no less -- who had the audacity to mess with her little brother.  We're all pretty sure that she meant it too.

And then I came across a video the other day, and it brought me back to Seth's band days.  The days where, if you read the above link, he spent most of the time sleeping, because they didn't DO anything.  Once they finally did, the majority of this ragtag first-time-the-school-had-a-band were percussionists, including Seth.  I can't even remember what they had him play, but I do know that it involved a drumstick (or most likely, just a stick, considering the primeval band they were) that had a soft ball (think clown nose) on the end.  Seth was excited that he had a brief solo, which was pretty cool.  So we went to the concert and then came his solo.  He pounded away beautifully, then finished with a flourish which included the ball flying off and up about fifteen feet in the air before gravity claimed it.  The look of shock on Seth's face was pretty priceless, till he grabbed that ball up and held it aloft, above his head, nodding like "oh YEAH.  I got this."  The crowd roared.

There's a video tape of it somewhere, and I wish I could see it, cause it was one of those "you couldn't repeat that if you tried" moments that I just love to see.  Likewise for this kid, who recovered quite nicely, and with the respect the national anthem deserves.