Let sleeping grouches sleep.

So, back to vacation (yeah, it's been a discombobulated report, but that's how the whole trip was).

So, we've survived the blown engine, the six hour drive, the trip to Gatlinburg, and the hubby dressing like a woman. We even survived going into Kroger, and the DD getting eyed by some construction worker in the freezer section. Make note, young men, NEVER eye a teenaged girl when her father is nearby, walking, and you are on a ladder. It's not a good idea.

So, we went back to the cabin and got ready to go to bed. Jill announced, yet again, that the loft was hers, and that Seth is going to sleep on the couch. Announces not to wake her up in the morning. Dan says that he's taking Seth golfing in the morning, so that will work out fine -- for everyone but Seth, of course, who gets the couch AND gets woke up early, but he rolls with it. Bratty gets huffy and asks "what are WE doing tomorrow?" I say, "what do YOU want to do," to which she responds, "go to Kroger."

NOT an option, dear.

I tell her that it would be fine if she wants to sleep in, because I know she's tired. I get a rather shrill reply: "I cannot BELIEVE that you would LEAVE ME in the MIDDLE of the woods, ALL ALONE." "Well dear," I say, "I thought you might want to get caught up on your sleep, while the guys go golfing for the morning, and I go to the antique stores. "Oh great," is the response, complete with roll of the eyes, "antiquing or golfing. Those are my choices. GREAT." "No, dear. Your best option is to SLEEP." Another roll of the eyes, and a big sigh of disgust. I tell her that maybe we could find some shopping, but there's probably nothing nearby, other than kitschy shops that sell stuffed bears and chainsaw carvings of eagles and the like. Maybe we can have breakfast out instead, because the stores probably won't be open when we drop the representatives of the Y chromosome at the golf course. She ain't buying it.

Now, I have no idea what this bratty girl thinks that there is to do in Townsend, Tennessee, at 8:30 in the morning, cause it's a one stoplight town that just got an IGA a few years ago. I'm thinking that sleep is a good option, not only for us, but for the whole time. She finally says not to wake her up, "go AHEAD and leave me ALONE in the WOODS while you go SHOPPING. I'm sure I'll be just FINE."

No bear ain't comin' anywhere near this girl. She'd bite it.

Next day, I get up, drive the boys to the golf course, and go out for a little shopping. Found a fabulous 40s velvet beaded dress, and this royally inspired Lewella girdle. Royally inspired? Who thinks about the queen's underwear? But I digress. I drove back to the cabin, where Jill opens the door for me, with a look of death on her face. She looks half asleep,and fully unhappy. I asked her, "how did you sleep? Do you feel better today" to which she said, quite emphatically, "NO. The phone woke me up." Phone?

I go on vacation to get AWAY from phones, but it turned out the telemarketers knew where we were, because they called every morning. Jill never did answer the phone, but I'll tell you what, if she had, those people would not only not call again, they'd probably leave their job, and move into the Unabomber's cabin, in fear for their life. And maybe I'd join them.

Hale, high water and the old man in the blue suit

My dad preached his last sermon today. No, I don't mean the kind that he gave me when I'd wander in after curfew, I mean the church kind. He's finally retiring, at the ripe young age of 80. I'll believe it when I see it. After all, this is what? The second or the third attempt to retire? I can't remember. He keeps retiring, usually to become a travel agent, because minister or cruise director, heaven or the high seas, he wants to get you where you're gonna go.

I guess the fact that he can't stay retired makes him some type of repeat offender. Not bad for a Methodist. I suspect that he'll keep being the go to guy for the funeral home, in Hale, Michigan, where he's done services for the churchless, because you can't keep a good guy down for long (unless they're the one in the casket of course, and Dad's nowhere close to that)

My dad got started in the preaching business late. I was in seventh grade when he got his first church, and suddenly became "the preacher's kid." It was odd to me that suddenly I was defined by my dad's job, where I never was before that, but I just rolled with it. I can't tell you the number of times that I was told that I wasn't the typical preacher's kid, because I wasn't prim and proper, and I sure wasn't a partier.

Middle of the road, baby, that's where I stayed.

It's always enlightening to see the world through a preacher's kids eyes. Like the time my niece, then 2 years old, walked up to the pulpit in the middle of the sermon, and announced "I have to go doodoo, Grandpa." Or the time, in his first church, in Winfield, Missouri, our half blind and fully deaf collie walked up to the altar during a sermon. Maybe she heard the call, who knows. Of course, it's no fun getting called out by dad in the middle of the sermon, for talking in church. THAT is something that only happens once, trust me. To this day, I don't let my kids talk in church.

But there are also the fun moments, like being married by your dad, who explains all of the important things, like what a "nuptial" kiss is (not too long, nothing gross, just a "nuptial" kiss), and to be sure to hang on to my veil when I blew out the unity candle, lest I go up in flames. I remember the photographer asking me if Dad would be ok during the ceremony. I thought the guy was nuts. Of course he'd be ok, but apparently the photographer had done a wedding the week before, and they dad/minister could barely make it through, he was crying so badly.

Dad did pretty good. He started, his voice cracked, he took a deep breath, and went through it like he'd done it a million times. Maybe he had, I don't know, but I guess it's different when it's your daughter, even when she's the baby of the family.

And so, no more weddings for Dad, unless he marries one of the grandkids, I suppose. Lord knows, I'm not going through another wedding. Matter of fact, I think there are people who would pay me not to have another wedding, after that craziness. But in ten years, my dad can explain the whole nuptial kiss to my daughter, and then marry her off, hopefully with less drama than her parents had.

But until then, he'll will be doing funerals in Hale. So, for the old man in the blue suit, this one's for you. From Swing
Candy Fashion.

Things start looking up

OK, so we finally arrive at the cabin, amazingly, without any arguments about navigation. This is nothing short of a miracle, because our arguments about navigation, or lack thereof, are legendary amongst our kids. Dan just flat doesn't navigate. His version of navigation, though he'd beg to differ, is to study the map like it's the bar exam, then let me know that the exit I needed was two exits ago, and why didn't I take it?

This does not go over well, to say the least.

I decided when the kids were young, that they would learn to navigate, so their spouse can't blame me someday. I'd make them navigate me home from wherever we were. I even had Thomas navigate me through Chicago one time, during Taste of Chicago. "Turn right. Turn left, turn right. Elvis."

What in the world? Turned out yep, an Elvis impersonator was standing at the corner we were at, on Michigan Avenue, in Chicago, complete with white jumpsuit. Crazy, but really, this kind of weirdness happens to us all the time. It's not like I could make it up.

Teaching the kids to navigate has actually paid off, because my kids can get all over the place, most days, without getting too lost. So we got to the cabin without getting lost, and it was a proud moment for the kids, I suppose. We didn't even stop at the Food Lion to shop, like we normally do, figuring that we'd shop later.

No sooner got in than a debate starts between the kids, about the bed upstairs. No way Jill was sharing it, so Seth relented and said he'd sleep on one of the couches. After all of that was settled, we decided, for some odd reason, that Gatlinburg sounded like fun, so after the four hour drive we'd already done, we got BACK in the car, and drove the 45 minutes to Gatlinburg, home of fudge, Ripley's Believe It or Not, and a lot of T shirt shops.

Jill wanted Italian to eat, so that was the main reason we'd gone there. Ate at a so so Italian place (good food, slow service but hey, we were in the South), then decided to wander around. First place we came to was an old time picture place, and Jill asked if we could do a picture. I've always wanted to do one, but no one else ever did, so I was all over that. Only thing was, I felt weird doing a "family" picture, because Thomas was at home, so I told her that she and Seth could do it.

We looked through the book, laughed at a bunch of the photos that they'd done, and told the clerk that Dan wouldn't hesitate to be like the guys who dressed as saloon girls. The kids decided that they wanted to be bank robbers (no saloon floozy for my girl!), so they were in the process of picking out costumes when Dan walked in. We were alone when we first went in this place, but by the time the kids decided on what they were going to do, the place was getting pretty full, and the crowd came to a standstill momentarily, when Dan asked -- rather loudly -- if he could dress like a woman.

Told ya so. Again.

So he hops up on the bar in his fishnets, and here is the end result. Be prepared, and don't say I didn't warn you. I love the first one -- look at the kids' faces. For some reason, the sober look just cracks me up.


The second one, she told them to do something crazy. She, of course, had no idea who she was working with. The Utter's threshold for crazy is somewhat more accelerated than most people's, so we ended up with this:


I'm not sure exactly WHAT Dan is doing. Looks like he's getting ready to shoot his boob off, but whatever the reason for his posture, the picture cracks me up, till I realize that it's MY husband sitting there in a barmaid's outfit, with hundred dollar bills stuffed in his hose. Oye. That's my man.

So yeah, because those pictures are worth a thousand words, I'm not including any vintage today. I'm not sure anyone would want to be associated with those pictures anyway. If you do, message me, and maybe I'll include you tomorrow.

Seth-anese

So, we were on our way to Tennessee in a rented van, with the two youngest kids, both of whom are teenagers. That means that there is always some enlightening conversation.

Now, before you read further, realize that I live with a very dingy blonde kid. He's been like this since birth, and we love him for it, of course. It's one of his endearing qualities, and everyone's been aware of it, at least since he pronounced, quite loudly, during the children's sermon at church, that "we have food in our house." Never one to quit when he was ahead, he also shouted "I threw up on Daddy." When the sermonizer said "I'll bet your mom took good care of you when you were sick," he proudly announced "no, she was on a cruise."

Granted, it wasn't a lie, but still.........

So there we sit in a restaurant in Lexington, and Dan decides to take advantage of a teachable moment, and asks if Seth knows what state we are in. "Yes. Nashville," says my baby.

Ummmm.... wrong. And wrong. Dan just shook his head.

Later that day, we were playing word games in the car. Seth loves puzzles. We were playing things like "give me a three letter word for a mode of transportation." When it was Seth's turn, he said, "give me a five letter word for a color." Dan said "green," to which Seth replied in the negative. I said "purple," and was, of course, right. Dan promptly went into protest mode, saying purple didn't have five letters, but I told him he didn't speak Seth-anese. Seth is an excellent speller, and a whiz at math -- he's just dingy. Did this several times, and I was right every time, so Dan started using my strategy. He never did pick it right, when Seth-anese showed up, because it's erratic, and probably only predictable to the mother.

On the way home, Dan was reading the newest issue of People. I had bought it so that he could read about Tim Russert (RIP), but somehow he got reading the article about the sexiest bachelors. Actually, he wasn't reading, he was just making fun of all of them, whilst Seth peered over his shoulder. Seth said "Lance Armstrong. I know about him. He walked on the moon."

His sister just rolled her eyes, his dad choked on his drink, and I tried my best to explain to the spare to the throne that that was NEIL Armstrong. ::sigh::

Somehow, the conversation drifted to Billy Bob Thornton, which means that Dan went into his best (aka annoying) Sling Blade imitation. Having a discussion about the merits of Billy Bob, especially in "Bandits", led to my kid saying "OOOOH! I know who he is. He was on Dancing with the Stars."

What planet does this kid live on? I know he wasn't born in a barn -- I was there -- but what in the world?

Turned out he was confusing Billy Bob Thornton with Billy RAY Cyrus, who WAS on Dancing with the Stars (though what he did could only very loosely be called dancing). But Anglelina Jolie never walked around with a vial of Billy Ray Cyrus blood around her neck, that's for sure.

You just have to love this kid though, because he may be clueless, but he's always very sincere. Everything he says comes from the heart, including the time on a cruise when, in the middle of the night, he suddenly shouted "I don't know what it is, but it's REAL ketchup-y!" Darn near gave his brother a heart attack, right there in the middle of the Caribbean. Of course, then he sat and laughed, but Seth was none the wiser, because he was sound asleep.

You can have whole conversations with him when he's asleep. He'll respond with totally nonsensical things, eyes open, and it's just hilarious. He fell asleep on a plane, on the way home from the aforementioned cruise. Suddenly, he sat straight up, looked me in the eye with a mournful look and announced, "I fold. AGAIN."

Can you tell the kids had played a lot of poker on that cruise? Who says homeschooled kids live in a box?

And so, for the spare to the throne, the poster child for all persons blonde, here's a cute vintage baseball uniform pattern, from my store. In honor of his illustrious baseball career at Irvington Sports Association, his papa's alma mater. It's almost as cute as Seth.

The Wrong Witch, or, Lord, Take Me Now, Part II

Now, I never mentioned, for those of you who wonder why in the world we only drove three hours from home before getting a hotel: We couldn't get our cabin in the Smokies till Tuesday, but since we both took Monday off, we decided to leave a day early, and have a "leisurely" drive down to Tennessee. So, two hours into vacation, and it's just a big ole dose of Utter Chaos, which means we are having a grand old time. SEVERAL grand, I might add. But at least we are now in a van that has air conditioning, which means that that everyone can chill out till we get to Lexington.

Well, at least OUR version of chilling out, which means that hubby is doing the math to figure out just how many gallons of paint equal an engine, I am trying to figure out how to read the directions to the hotel that Thomas texted me after the originals flew out the window, and the kids are just wondering just what in the world is gonna happen next.

Thomas' directions had to go into two texts because they were so long, and they were kind of odd to read in text form, but I knew that the last part said "text me and let me know that you got this." I didn't realize that that stupid ABC word predictor thing was activated on my phone, so he got a very odd message back, that said something like "ohiiii if goblin," instead of the "OK, I got it" that I intended. Of course, Jill rolls her eyes and says that I'm not allowed to text, because "when adults text, it just means that they are trying to act young," so I figured that even if he couldn't read it, Thomas would know that I wasn't on crack, but that I did, indeed, get his messages.

I finally deciphered the directions, and we got off the interstate. Turned left like they said, and ended up in Egypt somewhere, so I told the hubby to go back, because maybe we just needed to turn right, not left, despite the directions. Ended up having to stop and ask directions at a gas station(I was driving. Don't worry, the hubby didn't have to break the male code regarding directions), because we couldn't find New Circle Road for love nor money. Got directions (yep, we just hadn't gone far enough), and finally found the Hilton at Lexington Green, which was originally supposed to be a nice surprise for the little family, but now had become a refuge. The hotel, which was rated pretty well in the online reviews, and was by a nice mall. I had figured, a little swimming, a little breakfast the next morning, maybe a little shopping, or something horse-y, cause we were in Lexington, and then we'd take off for Tennessee again. Wrong.

The kids were kind of impressed that we were staying at the Hilton. We got in the room with the kids loudly exclaiming "isn't the Hilton for rich people" to the point of embarrassment. I had booked a two room suite, thinking they'd love it, but The Brat laid claim to one of the beds, and then it all broke open. Mind you, when she's at home, she doesn't think a thing about crashing on her brother's bed if she's tired, but there was NO WAY she was sharing a bed in the Hilton, and he didn't want to sleep on the couch -- mainly cause he's a fairly sensible kid, and didn't see the sense of sleeping on a couch, when there was a perfectly usable bed in the bedroom. I pointed out that the couch opened up to a sleeper sofa, but neither of them were biting (though I was a little worried that she might actually bite HIM). After the day we'd had, I just figured I'd let them duke it out, so I just climbed into my bed and pulled the covers over my head. Dan said he was taking them all down to swim. I didn't plan to go, cause I was a bit over the whole vacation thing by now, so I just hung out in the room. Did some yoga and just chilled out.

For about fifteen minutes, till they all came tramping in, informing me that, even though it was still light outside at 9:30, the pool closed at 9, so they couldn't swim. New session of griping opened up, and I climbed back into bed, whilst they decided to watch some DVDs in the other room, on Dan's new laptop, cause the pay per view movies from the hotel were 10 bucks each. Translated: husband bitching about being nickelled and dimed by the man, when he was already having to pay thousands of dollars for a new engine on the van. We've now gone into the third circle of vacation hell.

I fell asleep and woke up with Dan climbing into the bed opposite me. I hissed at him to get over with me, or he would pay the price of the daughter's wrath, since she had claimed that bed -- and to come over there and find him in HER bed wasn't end well, to say the least -- especially late at night, in the dark, when I was trying to sleep. He said he wasn't gonna be able to sleep in the little full size bed with me, but finally realized that his life might be in danger, gave up the ghost and came over to the bed I was in.

I woke up the next morning to Seth in the next bed, Jill on the couch (without it pulled out), with just a little blanket over her. Dan decided it was best to wake her up for breakfast. It was about 8 or so, and was also, in case you haven't yet realized, the second day in a row that he has decided to wake up the girl before her time..

It was at this point that I decided that our darling daughter, cast in her first stage role next month as Glenda in the Wizard of Oz, had been cast as the wrong witch.

In the midst of her rantings, I got dressed, told Jill to get in our bed and go back to sleep, and the three of us survivors headed for the restaurant, with Dan asking "why in the world would she not want to get up to eat" and Seth and me repeating the mantra "never wake Jill up. Ever." This was our entire conversation, all the way down to the restaurant, where we were served excellent food by a rather effeminate, very polite, transplanted Hoosier, sans accent, and his Bulgarian sidekick, Anna. All in all, it was decidedly NOT like being in Lexington, but the food was great, and Dan and Seth finally got their swim in, whilst I checked email at the business center, trying to avoid waking the sleeping dragon in Room 416.

When it couldn't be avoided anymore, I headed up, and find that Jill was half awake, but in a much better frame of mind. Of course, it was now almost 11:30, so I could understand. All in all, it was obvious that the day would go better, so there was still hope. Maybe we'd all survive the vacation, thought it still felt a lot like Chevy Chase was gonna show up at any minute, with Aunt Edna strapped to the roof of the station wagon.

You know, I still gotta sell some patterns to pay for the whole thing, so if you are in a mood to sew, try this hooded goth cape pattern, from my store. Maybe not the thing for Glenda, but it is good for when the Big Bad Wolf arrives.

Lord, take me now

Just back from vacation, and what a vacation it was. It's probably worth more than one blog entry, but I may need some therapy first.

So, the hubby says to me, last Sunday night: "we're leaving in the morning. I want to get an early jump on it, so we're leaving right after rush hour." I inform him that a) there IS no rush hour in the direction that we are going, on the road we plan to drive, and b) I am not in a rush, because we don't have to be anywhere at a certain time and c) (and most importantly) The Brat doesn't wake up happy, when wakened against her will and Monkey Boy doesn't wake up quickly. Therefore, we are probably NOT leaving in the morning. "I want to leave in the morning, I'm going to be ready to leave in the morning, and we ARE leaving in the morning," says the king. "Yeah, right," I think, but of course, do not speak, because it'd be spitting in the wind.

So, he wakes me up at 8:30 the next morning. I get up, get the suitcase (I'm a last minute packer), and pop in the shower. Get out, get dressed, get packed, and look for the van.

It's gone.

"Where is your father," I ask the boy. He mumbles something unintelligible, indicating he doesn't know (I think). I ask the girl, and live to regret it, because I get the full-on, head spinning around, spitting nails diatribe about getting woke up too early in the morning. And I still didn't know where the hubby and my van went. I figured he was going to gas up, and went back to packing. And waited, and waited and waited.

Finally, the hubby gets home, and informs me that he has been to Jiffy Lube, to get a radiator flush and fill, figuring it would help the mild knocking that's been going on under the hood. Informs me that, after paying $188 for a flush, fill, oil change, and God knows what else, they told him that they think that my beautiful Town and Country has a cracked piston rod, or something to that effect, and will need some major work. But, he says, it's ok to take on vacation, and get the work done when we get home.

"Do they realize that we are going to the mountains," I asked, to which the hubby says, with that "what, do you think I'm an idiot" look that only is exchanged from husband to wife, "of course, I did, and they said it will be ok, but to get the work done when we get back." "Maybe," says I, "we should get a rental and just leave it here." "Nonsense," he says, "we're gonna go, and we'll put it in the shop when we get back."

We leave town at 1pm. That, for those of you who are not familiar with Eastern Standard Time, is NOT morning. Definitely not worth waking up The Brat at 8:30 for, because she was still griping. And the boy was complaining, because the air conditioning is also out on my van, which means that we can't really watch DVDs, because the wind noise is a bit much for his viewing pleasure.

Not even out of the city, and I'm regretting this trip already.

So, we get close to Cincinnati, and turn down the odd mix CD that Jill has made -- Maroon 5, Taylor Swift, and Hannah Montana -- and realize that the mild knocking has now become a full blown clatter. Suddenly, the wind catches the van and I realize that a bunch of stuff flew out my window -- 40 dollars that I had made the bad decision to set in my door, and the directions to our hotel in Lexington. Oye and vay, did I ever hear it from the hubby over THAT, but what I was most concerned about was the noise under the hood, and getting it looked at without any bodily harm. We were planning to go to the zoo -- ok, so HUBBY wasn't planning it, but I was, cause it's a nice zoo, and the kids had never been there. At this point, we were close to it, so we dropped off Jill and Seth there, whilst we went in search of a garage. Jill was still griping about us dumping her off in a strange city and why don't we ever do anything as a family when we drove away, and yeah, maybe it IS odd to drop them off at the zoo, but man, I didn't want those kids in the midst of what I knew was gonna happen.

Did you ever have "I told you so" sitting on the edge of your tongue so close that you can not only taste it, but if you stick your tongue out, people can probably SEE it, too? Cause that's where I was at, when the guy at the garage informed us that there was no way that van was going anywhere, cause a piston rod was blown, and we either needed an entirely new engine, or an entirely new car.

Two hours into vacation, and we were already in the hole something like 3-5 grand. Oh yeah, this trip is fabulous. Really. ::sigh:: Typical Utter Chaos.

We got a rental -- hubby hoofed it seven blocks over to Enterprise, just to move it along, so that we could pick up the kids before the zoo closed -- and I sat at Parkway Automotive, downloading ringtones that amused me, like "It's the End of the World as We Know It (and I Feel Fine)," and "Rehab," (which has lyrics that said "they tried to make me go to rehab, I said no, no, no. I really didn't want rehab. I wanted the drinks. MANY drinks). Got the kids picked up, hit the road -- with air conditioning, but without a DVD player -- and headed for Lexington, with a choir of angels singing, and me thinking "it's gonna take one hell of a lot of patterns to pay for that engine, so Lord, just take me now." So someone, please, go buy some patterns from my store, cause Mama needs a new engine.

Part II tomorrow.

Hide and seek

A couple of things, for the road, as most of the family is leaving for Tennessee for a little getaway, till Sunday. The heir to the throne will stay home, for so he can "chill." Not sure what ELSE the boy does, but hey, I wouldn't mind a week alone either. We're just hoping that a) the house doesn't get burned down, b) the animals survive, cause the heir to the throne will not survive if anything happens to the brat's animals, c) no beer is involved at any point of the week, d) no one gets pregnant.

Actually, probably the worst thing that he'll do is sit nekkit on my couch which, as he told me last night "wouldn't be the first time." I could've done without the visuals that that evoked, but oh well.

And so we're off, to have the kiddies, and most likely the hubby, go down the hill in a Zorb ball:


Crazy stuff, but it's got Seth written all over it.

Meantime, tell your friends, I made the blog easier to find. You can now just type in www.randomactsofvintage.com, and you'll be directed straight here, so you won't miss a minute of the fun. Or the pretties, like this Lurex leaves pinup sweater, from Fast Eddie's Retro Rags, who also bought her own domain recently. If you get too lonely for me, just go look at her stuff, and get in touch with your inner delinquent. My delinquents will be rolling down the hill.