Funny Guy Friday is written each week by my husband Mark. So, I married a funny guy...
Happy Halloween!
Mine did not start out so well. Unfortunately, last night, an idiot ghost took over my body and I am currently typing with nine usable fingers.
Like most of my stories, this one started a long time ago... about 25 years ago... when I used to invite my family over for a pumpkin carving contest. My family, of which I am a proud member, tends to be competitive about... well, just about everything. I have written about this contest before: here, here, and here.
But just to review...
I came up with the idea of having a family pumpkin carving contest back before I had even met Cheryl. For years, I organized and ran the Annual Palumbo Pumpkin Carving Competition.
In the inaugural year, all my little loser nieces and nephews carved silly faces or worse yet, painted various colors that made no sense. Basically, some of them just colored their pumpkin a different color!
Imagine that... they just colored their pumpkins! Seriously, even at the age of 3, did they think that that was the type of effort that would bring home the gold?
Those silly little pumpkins did not even deserve the sympathy "Pap Pap vote" that every grandchild received.
Ah... gotta love my dad.
The Pap Pap vote was sort of a participation medal. I let the old guy stuff the ballot box because I knew that I had carved the winner. Plus, whenever I reached over to remove one of his illegal ballots and replace it with one of my illegal ballots, he would say something like... You touch that piece of paper, you are going to be picking up your teeth with a broken arm!
I did not think he'd actually do that... But I did think he was capable of doing that. I would think to myself... my pumpkin carving days would be over if he knocked out my teeth and broke my arm... so I'd let it go! Besides, I have always considered myself to be a benevolent dictator... let the old man have his fun.
Anyway, that first year, I did blow away the competition with a haunted house that matched the napkins at our pumpkin carving party. It was ridiculously good, and, I might add, was done without a pattern.
In subsequent years, my little bratty nieces and nephews raised their game.
Their pumpkins became much more intricate, and my winning became more of a challenge. Of course, this meant that my carving became more challenging. But with the help of some friendly voting machines that changed Republican votes to Democratic votes... er uh... I mean... changed votes for other people's pumpkins to votes for my pumpkin, I still managed to win every year.
So, what does all all of this have to do with my injury?
Well, we no longer have the yearly competition, but I still like to carve cool pumpkins with my kids.
Sort of continuing a family tradition in some small way, I was up late last night with Noah and we were putting the finishing touches on our pumpkins, when I had a little mishap.
If you have ever carved a difficult pumpkin, you may know that there are times when you cut off an important piece by mistake. You don't start over, but, instead, you reconnect the important piece with a toothpick. That is, unless your wife has long since gone to bed, and you cannot find the toothpicks... or anything else for that matter... ever since she reorganized the kitchen.
I started to look around for a suitable toothpick substitute when I saw it: an old staple gun that I have not used for years. I thought that I could remove one staple and straighten it out. As fast as you can say MacGyver... problem solved.
Unfortunately, I could not break off just one staple from the tightly secured row of staples, so I had to get one staple out of the gun somehow.
No problem. Just shoot the staple out of the gun into a cardboard box.
I grabbed the staple gun and shot away.
Did I mention that I had not used this staple gun in years? I forgot that the end of the staple gun, where it looks like the staples should come out, is the end you are supposed to hold... and vice versa.
As I shot the staple gun, I felt a twinge of pain and immediately thought that I had pinched my finger in the shooting mechanism. When I looked at my ring finger, I saw one of the sharp staple prongs alongside my finger, just missing being plunged deep in.
Wow, how lucky was I that I did not have a staple actually plunged deep into my finger?
Then I started to think that the staple looked kind of weird because there was only one sharp prong... I honestly thought that the staple broke in half and that I had to find that other half so nobody would step on it.
It didn't take long to find that other half. as the throbbing started shortly thereafter! Yes, you guessed it, the other sharp prong of the staple was plunged as deep as humanly possible... into my ring finger!
MacGyver, my ass! I wanted to cry out like a little girl but remembered that poor Noah was still within ear shot.
Have you ever had to pull a staple... a long staple gun staple... from your finger? Well, I am here to tell you... it hurts!
It hurts a lot. But the games must go on.
My finger was not severed; it was merely bleeding. In a show of defiance, I took that embedded staple out of my finger... straightened it out... and hammered that bad boy into my pumpkin... thereby saving the severed piece and showing that staple who is boss!
Honestly, using that same staple was less a show of defiance and more of a show of fear. I was kind of afraid to use that staple gun for a second time. Who knows what that thing would have done to me if given a second chance!
Having been an athlete, I know the difference between pain and injury. You can play with pain,
but you cannot play with injury. I am proud to say... I played with pain.
As I look back at my Herculian efforts from Halloween eve, I wonder...
Could I have carved a pumpkin while picking up my teeth with a broken arm?
Upon further review... I dare say, Yes, I could.
Friday, October 31, 2014
Friday, October 24, 2014
Funny Guy Friday... Details, details...
Funny Guy Friday is written each week by my husband Mark. So, I married a funny guy...
When Matthew asked us if he could ask a girl to his homecoming dance, Cheryl asked, You mean like a date? Then she joked, What are you going to do, ride your bike over to her house and pick her up?
Of course he wasn't going to do that.
I mean, he wasn't sure what he was going to do for transportation, but he did know that he wasn't going to pick her up on his bike. In fact, I am convinced that, somewhere in his mind, he may have thought that he wouldn't see her until they both arrived at the dance. A quick exchange of flowers and in they'd go. Well... maybe pictures, somewhere, ahead of time.
As the big day approached, I kept asking him if he knew where she lived.
I dunno.
Well, when are you going to find out?
I dunno! Why does it matter?
You have to pick her up... and then get her to the dance.
I think she lives like twenty minutes from the school.
That narrows it down for us. Do you know in what direction... north, east, south, or west?
I dunno.
And that was as much information as we had until Friday.
Did you ever find out where she lives?
I dunno... but we are meeting for pictures in Arnold.
That is kind of in the opposite direction of the school.
I dunno.
I am not asking you... I am telling you... it is in the opposite direction. Do you have an address?
Uh, no. Hey... can I go to a party after the dance?
Where?
I dunno. Millersville, I think.
That's good... that is near the school. What time?
I dunno.
Do you have an address?
I dunno.
What time does it end?
Not sure.
Are the parents going to be home?
YES... I know this one.... YES! I asked because I knew you would ask me that.
Is your date going?
I dunno. Why?
If she is not going to the party and you are, you need to take her home first.
Dad... this isn't like a real date-date. I think her mom can pick her up.
Matthew... it is a real date. You asked her out on a date! You take her on the date, and you take her home after the date!
Oh, by the way, she lives in Severna Park.
Great... that's not that close to Millersville. So, you're telling me that I have to take you to Arnold for photos... then take you both to your school in Millersville a half-hour away... then we take her home to Severna Park... and then take you to the party back in Millersville and then I have to hang out for a couple hours and then pick you up and drive you home?
Uh, I dunno. But I do know that you also need to take me to my baseball game at the school at 2:00 p.m. and have me home by 4:15 p.m.
Guess what... that wasn't all the driving I did that night.
After we dropped Matthew and his date off at the dance, we had to go back to our house to get Grace and Noah, who were babysitting at my nephew's house... near the high school. And Matthew's date's mother invited us to dinner with them at a restaurant... near our house.
I was discussing my chauffeuring experience to a friend when he explained that these dances are not really dates but instead, they are photo opportunities. I have no idea if this is true or not but I do know that if all they wanted to do was take some good photos... Mission Accomplished.
The young lady that Matthew took to the dance was a very pretty girl who loves art and likes to play piano and bake. Cheryl and I both agreed... she is perfect for Noah. Oh, did I mention that she may just be the most photogenic person that I have ever met?
And the old saying that... The rising tide floats all boats... was never more evident. Matthew actually looked good standing next to her. Dare I say... he looked handsome!
Cheryl is very hesitant to allow Matthew to date... in the traditional sense. But I think that we all learned something this weekend. Cheryl learned that an occasional dance isn't so bad. Matthew learned that there are responsibilities that a young man has when he is out with a young lady.
And I learned that if Matthew is going to go on more dates like these... I'd better have a full tank of gas!
When Matthew asked us if he could ask a girl to his homecoming dance, Cheryl asked, You mean like a date? Then she joked, What are you going to do, ride your bike over to her house and pick her up?
Of course he wasn't going to do that.
I mean, he wasn't sure what he was going to do for transportation, but he did know that he wasn't going to pick her up on his bike. In fact, I am convinced that, somewhere in his mind, he may have thought that he wouldn't see her until they both arrived at the dance. A quick exchange of flowers and in they'd go. Well... maybe pictures, somewhere, ahead of time.
As the big day approached, I kept asking him if he knew where she lived.
I dunno.
Well, when are you going to find out?
I dunno! Why does it matter?
You have to pick her up... and then get her to the dance.
I think she lives like twenty minutes from the school.
That narrows it down for us. Do you know in what direction... north, east, south, or west?
I dunno.
And that was as much information as we had until Friday.
Did you ever find out where she lives?
I dunno... but we are meeting for pictures in Arnold.
That is kind of in the opposite direction of the school.
I dunno.
I am not asking you... I am telling you... it is in the opposite direction. Do you have an address?
Uh, no. Hey... can I go to a party after the dance?
Where?
I dunno. Millersville, I think.
That's good... that is near the school. What time?
I dunno.
Do you have an address?
I dunno.
What time does it end?
Not sure.
Are the parents going to be home?
YES... I know this one.... YES! I asked because I knew you would ask me that.
Is your date going?
I dunno. Why?
If she is not going to the party and you are, you need to take her home first.
Dad... this isn't like a real date-date. I think her mom can pick her up.
Matthew... it is a real date. You asked her out on a date! You take her on the date, and you take her home after the date!
Oh, by the way, she lives in Severna Park.
Great... that's not that close to Millersville. So, you're telling me that I have to take you to Arnold for photos... then take you both to your school in Millersville a half-hour away... then we take her home to Severna Park... and then take you to the party back in Millersville and then I have to hang out for a couple hours and then pick you up and drive you home?
Uh, I dunno. But I do know that you also need to take me to my baseball game at the school at 2:00 p.m. and have me home by 4:15 p.m.
Guess what... that wasn't all the driving I did that night.
After we dropped Matthew and his date off at the dance, we had to go back to our house to get Grace and Noah, who were babysitting at my nephew's house... near the high school. And Matthew's date's mother invited us to dinner with them at a restaurant... near our house.
I was discussing my chauffeuring experience to a friend when he explained that these dances are not really dates but instead, they are photo opportunities. I have no idea if this is true or not but I do know that if all they wanted to do was take some good photos... Mission Accomplished.
The young lady that Matthew took to the dance was a very pretty girl who loves art and likes to play piano and bake. Cheryl and I both agreed... she is perfect for Noah. Oh, did I mention that she may just be the most photogenic person that I have ever met?
And the old saying that... The rising tide floats all boats... was never more evident. Matthew actually looked good standing next to her. Dare I say... he looked handsome!
Cheryl is very hesitant to allow Matthew to date... in the traditional sense. But I think that we all learned something this weekend. Cheryl learned that an occasional dance isn't so bad. Matthew learned that there are responsibilities that a young man has when he is out with a young lady.
And I learned that if Matthew is going to go on more dates like these... I'd better have a full tank of gas!
Friday, October 17, 2014
Funny Guy Friday... If I knew then what I know now...
Funny Guy Friday is written each Friday by my husband Mark. So, I married a funny guy...
I often have the stupid desire to either live vicariously through my kids... or to go back in time and relive parts of my childhood but with the same skills and knowledge that I have today.
For instance, when I watch my son's ten-year-old baseball team getting crushed by a team of bullies (they aren't really bullies, I just call them that because they are better than we are), I have the burning desire to grab a bat and go up to the plate and take a few swings or to line up deep at short and gun down those little brats as they sprint down the sixty foot base path. Chicks dig it when you gun down little punks. Of course, a fifty-year-old guy would look kind of silly out there doing all of that with a bunch of ten-year-olds.
Buuuuut... if I could do that in a ten-year-old's body... then, we'd be in business.
Or how about Grace... off in college.
Let's see... sleep, eat, walk five minutes to class, eat, and study. No bills... no clients... friends around 24/7. That would be the life.
Similar thoughts have crossed my mind as Matthew regales us with high school tales.
He is having a great time. He seems to be doing well in his classes. He seems to be making friends. He seems to be completely at ease with all the new people he has met... including the gals.
I am going to let everyone in on a little self-revelation. I may not have been as cool back in high school as I thought I was.
I know what you are thinking: Wow... he is way cool now. How is it possible he wasn't cool in high school?
Well, let me be clear, I may have been cool, but I did not know it.
I was a nice guy but sort of shy and insecure. Don't get me wrong, had I gone to all those parties that I did not get invited to, people would have spoken to me... I think.
Upon reflection, nobody actually got invited to those parties anyway; everyone just kind of showed up and ruined the houses of kids whose parents weren't home. But that was really not for me. There was no way I was going to go to somebody's house for a party if their parents weren't home.
Okay, in high school, I was definitely not as cool as I thought.
In my defense, bad things happened at those parties.
I recall going to the store with my dad when I was a junior and driving past a house that had the gutters falling off the roof, the front door was off the hinges, and the shingles were dangling from the house. My dad stopped and wondered aloud what had happened. I told him that the kid who lived there had had a party and kids ransacked the house.
He asked for names and I told him that I didn't know exactly who had done it because there were more than a hundred kids there... so I had heard. His exact words were I would find out which of those hundred kids did that to my house, and I would hunt them down and would beat the hell out of them.
I chuckled nervously... because he wasn't smiling... and commented that it was probably some kids that he knew that were friends of mine and/or my brother. He demanded names and I obliged. After all, I wouldn't want him to beat the hell out of me. Then he said...
Those kids would never do that to my house.
How do you know that those kids wouldn't do that to your house?
Because those kids know me well enough to know that I would... hunt them down... and beat the hell out of them!
My dad was correct with his analysis of the situation. Those kids did know... and they wouldn't have messed with his stuff!
My dad was cool!
I wish that I had been as cool as he was. He was a bad ass.
I, on the other hand... I stayed home on Friday nights and watched Dallas.
JR was a bad ass, but I soon learned that the goings on in Dallas were only make believe. Did they seriously expect us to believe that Bobby could come back from the dead? Seriously, his wife dreamt all that? C'mon!
I digress.
So now Matthew has me thinking that I would like to go back to my high school days... but with the same skills and knowledge that I have today.
I would have been a better student. I would have had way more friends. I would have gone to all the cool parties. I may have even smashed a door or something cool like that. And I would have been way smoother with the gals. My life would be way different than it is today.
Don't let Cheryl know this, but if I had it all to do over again, I would go back and date a cheerleader or a pom pom. Back in the day, I felt that those girls were out of my league. They went to all the parties... they had all the friends... they went to all the pep rallies and games.
But now, in a do-over, if you will, I would approach them with all the wisdom of a fifty-year-old. How could they resist me?
What's that? Cheryl was a pom pom? But she didn't go to the cool parties... Did she? She didn't have a bunch of cool friends... Did she? She didn't go to all the pep rallies and the games... Did she? She didn't smash any doors. At least I don't think she smashed any doors... I mean I wasn't at the parties or anything, but I can only assume.
No way.
I am not going back in time with all of my current skills and knowledge only to date Cheryl. Cheryl was one of those girls that stayed home on Friday nights and... watched... uh... watched... uh... Dallas... right?
Oh my gosh... Cheryl was cooler than I was back in high school. This is humiliating.
Okay, maybe I could go back and at least look her up.
This might not be such a bad idea... to approach her with all my fifty years' worth of knowledge because my life isn't so bad. In fact, it is pretty good, so there is no reason for it to be all that different.
Although, I wonder what Cheryl was like when she was ten.
Maybe if I go back in time as a fifty-year-old guy in a ten-year-old's body, she'd come and watch me play baseball and take a few cuts and line up deep at short and gun down little brats as they sprint down the 60 foot base path.
She would love it!
You see, over the years, I have learned that chicks dig that kind of stuff.
I often have the stupid desire to either live vicariously through my kids... or to go back in time and relive parts of my childhood but with the same skills and knowledge that I have today.
For instance, when I watch my son's ten-year-old baseball team getting crushed by a team of bullies (they aren't really bullies, I just call them that because they are better than we are), I have the burning desire to grab a bat and go up to the plate and take a few swings or to line up deep at short and gun down those little brats as they sprint down the sixty foot base path. Chicks dig it when you gun down little punks. Of course, a fifty-year-old guy would look kind of silly out there doing all of that with a bunch of ten-year-olds.
Buuuuut... if I could do that in a ten-year-old's body... then, we'd be in business.
Or how about Grace... off in college.
Let's see... sleep, eat, walk five minutes to class, eat, and study. No bills... no clients... friends around 24/7. That would be the life.
Similar thoughts have crossed my mind as Matthew regales us with high school tales.
He is having a great time. He seems to be doing well in his classes. He seems to be making friends. He seems to be completely at ease with all the new people he has met... including the gals.
I am going to let everyone in on a little self-revelation. I may not have been as cool back in high school as I thought I was.
I know what you are thinking: Wow... he is way cool now. How is it possible he wasn't cool in high school?
Well, let me be clear, I may have been cool, but I did not know it.
I was a nice guy but sort of shy and insecure. Don't get me wrong, had I gone to all those parties that I did not get invited to, people would have spoken to me... I think.
Upon reflection, nobody actually got invited to those parties anyway; everyone just kind of showed up and ruined the houses of kids whose parents weren't home. But that was really not for me. There was no way I was going to go to somebody's house for a party if their parents weren't home.
Okay, in high school, I was definitely not as cool as I thought.
In my defense, bad things happened at those parties.
I recall going to the store with my dad when I was a junior and driving past a house that had the gutters falling off the roof, the front door was off the hinges, and the shingles were dangling from the house. My dad stopped and wondered aloud what had happened. I told him that the kid who lived there had had a party and kids ransacked the house.
He asked for names and I told him that I didn't know exactly who had done it because there were more than a hundred kids there... so I had heard. His exact words were I would find out which of those hundred kids did that to my house, and I would hunt them down and would beat the hell out of them.
I chuckled nervously... because he wasn't smiling... and commented that it was probably some kids that he knew that were friends of mine and/or my brother. He demanded names and I obliged. After all, I wouldn't want him to beat the hell out of me. Then he said...
Those kids would never do that to my house.
How do you know that those kids wouldn't do that to your house?
Because those kids know me well enough to know that I would... hunt them down... and beat the hell out of them!
My dad was correct with his analysis of the situation. Those kids did know... and they wouldn't have messed with his stuff!
My dad was cool!
I wish that I had been as cool as he was. He was a bad ass.
I, on the other hand... I stayed home on Friday nights and watched Dallas.
JR was a bad ass, but I soon learned that the goings on in Dallas were only make believe. Did they seriously expect us to believe that Bobby could come back from the dead? Seriously, his wife dreamt all that? C'mon!
I digress.
So now Matthew has me thinking that I would like to go back to my high school days... but with the same skills and knowledge that I have today.
I would have been a better student. I would have had way more friends. I would have gone to all the cool parties. I may have even smashed a door or something cool like that. And I would have been way smoother with the gals. My life would be way different than it is today.
Don't let Cheryl know this, but if I had it all to do over again, I would go back and date a cheerleader or a pom pom. Back in the day, I felt that those girls were out of my league. They went to all the parties... they had all the friends... they went to all the pep rallies and games.
But now, in a do-over, if you will, I would approach them with all the wisdom of a fifty-year-old. How could they resist me?
What's that? Cheryl was a pom pom? But she didn't go to the cool parties... Did she? She didn't have a bunch of cool friends... Did she? She didn't go to all the pep rallies and the games... Did she? She didn't smash any doors. At least I don't think she smashed any doors... I mean I wasn't at the parties or anything, but I can only assume.
No way.
I am not going back in time with all of my current skills and knowledge only to date Cheryl. Cheryl was one of those girls that stayed home on Friday nights and... watched... uh... watched... uh... Dallas... right?
Oh my gosh... Cheryl was cooler than I was back in high school. This is humiliating.
Okay, maybe I could go back and at least look her up.
This might not be such a bad idea... to approach her with all my fifty years' worth of knowledge because my life isn't so bad. In fact, it is pretty good, so there is no reason for it to be all that different.
Although, I wonder what Cheryl was like when she was ten.
Maybe if I go back in time as a fifty-year-old guy in a ten-year-old's body, she'd come and watch me play baseball and take a few cuts and line up deep at short and gun down little brats as they sprint down the 60 foot base path.
She would love it!
You see, over the years, I have learned that chicks dig that kind of stuff.
Friday, October 10, 2014
Funny Guy Friday... Clearing out...
Funny Guy Friday is written each week by my husband Mark. So, I married a funny guy...
As we prepare for my mother's arrival, we have decided to purge our house of all of our junk.
And when I say "all of our junk," what I really mean is all of the stuff that Cheryl will let me throw away. Clearly, Cheryl's definition of junk is different than mine, but by any definition, we have a ton of junk. So much junk that we rented a dumpster... or can, as those of us in the dumpster business call them... that has been sitting in our driveway for more than three weeks.
It's kind of trashy looking... pardon the pun... but it is necessary.
I realized we had a problem about ten years ago when we finished our basement.
The basement used to be the dumping ground for all of our junk. It was out of sight and out of mind. I was the only one that ever went down there, and I never let on about how bad it was. In fact, I made a game of going down to the basement without letting my feet touch the floor as I hopped from junk to junk.
Then we decided to have the basement finished and needed to do something with all that stuff.
We rented a small can... as we in the dumpster biz like to call them... and filled it to capacity. Despite our best efforts, we still had heaps of junk. There was only one thing to do with it all.
At this point, I would like to take a moment of silence for my garage.
Thank you. Now I would like to say a few words about my old friend.
You were always there for me. You kept my car warm and safe and dry. I'd like to say that I loved my wife more, but I never like to lie. You're gone now... just a storage bin for the basement junk. It's not your fault though... we did it to you. We should be ashamed of ourselves. We can't pull the trigger and throw away our junk, so we just used you. We stuffed you and rendered you useless. Your doors were always open... inviting me into your bosom... even during the most horrible weather conditions. You asked for nothing in return. You were my friend... and I miss you.
So for a long time, the garage was our main junk holder... but certainly not the only junk holder in the house.
The junk seemed to magically expand.
It includes... but is not limited to... ungiven gifts, Christmas decorations, unopened mail, Grace and Matthew's diddly drawings and school projects, tax returns, Noah's very cool drawings and school projects, decade-old receipts, clothes, toys, games with missing pieces, and photos... lots and lots of photos.
And there is no rhyme or reason to what we find in each bin.
You would think that the tax returns would be with the tax papers, but you'd be wrong. I am not kidding when I say, I found tax returns, in the garage, in the same box as unused Labor Day Festival tickets and Nerf guns. The only explanation for the variety junk packs is that whenever we quickly clean up for a party, we come across various items that we don't quite have a place for. So we throw them in a bin and then stash that bin in the garage... so we can review it at a later date when we have more time!
We never have more time, so that date never comes.
And a byproduct of all the mismatched junk bins... you cannot comfortably toss anything without a full-out review. Unfortunately, I am completely incapable of this type of review due to a condition I describe as junk ADD. After three minutes, I am done!
Having said that... some bins are fun to go through... like the photo bins.
I just want to make an observation... I look good in a tux.
I mean, I look really good in a tux. I found two or three pictures of Cheryl and me at various formal functions over the years and was very happy with how good I looked. I looked so good that I made Noah run upstairs with the photos to show his mother and tell her that, as good as she looked in the photo... I looked better! Specifically, I told him to go tell his mother that she out-kicked her coverage!
There weren't many of those kinds of photos so I just wanted to revel in the fact that I looked better than she.
Some bins were not fun to go through, tho'... like... oh... let's see... the photo bins.
For a guy that looks so good in a tux, I generally don't look good in most other photos. And I found the worst school picture ever taken in the history of school pictures. I still remember that day. It was seventh grade, and I wore a blue turtleneck kind of shirt that was too tight. I was uncomfortable and apparently, unaware it was picture day. I must not have washed and/or combed my hair. I didn't smile, nor did I frown. The look on my face was kind of in between... a smown, if you will. You can't tell from the photo, but my lips were even chapped.
What a train wreck!
The only thing that could have made the photo worse was if I were wearing wire-framed glasses that were too big for my face. Oh, wait a second, I was wearing wire-framed glasses that were too big for my face!
And get this... that was the photo that was used for my Benjamin Tasker Tiger Junior High School ID card. Three years of staring at that stupid photo.
I kept that photo ID card. I cannot imagine why I kept it... but I did. Much like all of the other stupid things that we have kept over the years. Stuff that we acquired for some good reason... but never used. And then, prepping for parties time and again, we couldn't quite figure out where it went, much less why we ever acquired it in the first place... only to toss it in a bin and throw it into our garage!
So, the time has come.
The can, as we in the dumpster biz like to call them, is nearly full. We are going through the final bins and are days away from a clutter-free home.
We are almost ready for my mother to move in. In just a couple of weeks, she is coming... the house has to be prepared for her.
You know what else is coming with her? That's right, eighty-three years worth of her junk!
No problem, our garage will be clear.
As we prepare for my mother's arrival, we have decided to purge our house of all of our junk.
And when I say "all of our junk," what I really mean is all of the stuff that Cheryl will let me throw away. Clearly, Cheryl's definition of junk is different than mine, but by any definition, we have a ton of junk. So much junk that we rented a dumpster... or can, as those of us in the dumpster business call them... that has been sitting in our driveway for more than three weeks.
It's kind of trashy looking... pardon the pun... but it is necessary.
I realized we had a problem about ten years ago when we finished our basement.
The basement used to be the dumping ground for all of our junk. It was out of sight and out of mind. I was the only one that ever went down there, and I never let on about how bad it was. In fact, I made a game of going down to the basement without letting my feet touch the floor as I hopped from junk to junk.
Then we decided to have the basement finished and needed to do something with all that stuff.
We rented a small can... as we in the dumpster biz like to call them... and filled it to capacity. Despite our best efforts, we still had heaps of junk. There was only one thing to do with it all.
At this point, I would like to take a moment of silence for my garage.
Thank you. Now I would like to say a few words about my old friend.
You were always there for me. You kept my car warm and safe and dry. I'd like to say that I loved my wife more, but I never like to lie. You're gone now... just a storage bin for the basement junk. It's not your fault though... we did it to you. We should be ashamed of ourselves. We can't pull the trigger and throw away our junk, so we just used you. We stuffed you and rendered you useless. Your doors were always open... inviting me into your bosom... even during the most horrible weather conditions. You asked for nothing in return. You were my friend... and I miss you.
So for a long time, the garage was our main junk holder... but certainly not the only junk holder in the house.
The junk seemed to magically expand.
It includes... but is not limited to... ungiven gifts, Christmas decorations, unopened mail, Grace and Matthew's diddly drawings and school projects, tax returns, Noah's very cool drawings and school projects, decade-old receipts, clothes, toys, games with missing pieces, and photos... lots and lots of photos.
And there is no rhyme or reason to what we find in each bin.
You would think that the tax returns would be with the tax papers, but you'd be wrong. I am not kidding when I say, I found tax returns, in the garage, in the same box as unused Labor Day Festival tickets and Nerf guns. The only explanation for the variety junk packs is that whenever we quickly clean up for a party, we come across various items that we don't quite have a place for. So we throw them in a bin and then stash that bin in the garage... so we can review it at a later date when we have more time!
We never have more time, so that date never comes.
And a byproduct of all the mismatched junk bins... you cannot comfortably toss anything without a full-out review. Unfortunately, I am completely incapable of this type of review due to a condition I describe as junk ADD. After three minutes, I am done!
Having said that... some bins are fun to go through... like the photo bins.
I just want to make an observation... I look good in a tux.
I mean, I look really good in a tux. I found two or three pictures of Cheryl and me at various formal functions over the years and was very happy with how good I looked. I looked so good that I made Noah run upstairs with the photos to show his mother and tell her that, as good as she looked in the photo... I looked better! Specifically, I told him to go tell his mother that she out-kicked her coverage!
There weren't many of those kinds of photos so I just wanted to revel in the fact that I looked better than she.
Some bins were not fun to go through, tho'... like... oh... let's see... the photo bins.
For a guy that looks so good in a tux, I generally don't look good in most other photos. And I found the worst school picture ever taken in the history of school pictures. I still remember that day. It was seventh grade, and I wore a blue turtleneck kind of shirt that was too tight. I was uncomfortable and apparently, unaware it was picture day. I must not have washed and/or combed my hair. I didn't smile, nor did I frown. The look on my face was kind of in between... a smown, if you will. You can't tell from the photo, but my lips were even chapped.
What a train wreck!
The only thing that could have made the photo worse was if I were wearing wire-framed glasses that were too big for my face. Oh, wait a second, I was wearing wire-framed glasses that were too big for my face!
And get this... that was the photo that was used for my Benjamin Tasker Tiger Junior High School ID card. Three years of staring at that stupid photo.
I kept that photo ID card. I cannot imagine why I kept it... but I did. Much like all of the other stupid things that we have kept over the years. Stuff that we acquired for some good reason... but never used. And then, prepping for parties time and again, we couldn't quite figure out where it went, much less why we ever acquired it in the first place... only to toss it in a bin and throw it into our garage!
So, the time has come.
The can, as we in the dumpster biz like to call them, is nearly full. We are going through the final bins and are days away from a clutter-free home.
We are almost ready for my mother to move in. In just a couple of weeks, she is coming... the house has to be prepared for her.
You know what else is coming with her? That's right, eighty-three years worth of her junk!
No problem, our garage will be clear.
 |
| ~ All dressed up... not a bad pic! ~ |
 |
| ~ Not too shabby, if I do say so myself ~ |
 |
| ~ Who put these two in charge of a household anyway? ~ |
Friday, October 3, 2014
Funny Guy Friday... A sign of the times?
Funny Guy Friday is written each week by my husband Mark. So, I married a funny guy...
Soooo, sometimes I get it right.
I don't want to gloat or anything, but I was right. Right as all get out! That is not gloating, is it? Because I wouldn't want to gloat.
I really don't even want to tell this story, but there are two reason why it must be told. First, there are some dads that might find themselves in a similar situation with their sons. They need to know how to handle it.
And second: I was right!
So, it all started with Matthew asking if he could take a date to the Homecoming Dance.
The answer, of course, was no.
In an interesting turn of events, I was the gentle no, and Cheryl was more of the Hell no... no way... not in this lifetime... you are only fourteen... you have got to be kidding me!
Now if you know Cheryl, you know she did not really say that... but she wanted to! What she really said was how are you gonna go on a date? What, are you going to go pick her up on your bike? That is silly!
As I mentioned, I took a gentler approach. Look, I am saving you from yourself. If you had to go on an actual date, the girl would figure out that you were a chucklehead in the first fifteen minutes. I go on dates with your mother, and even we have nothing to talk about after appetizers. Talking with a girl for any period of time is awful!
Okay, maybe I was not as gentle as I had thought.
As the weeks passed, we began to have a slight change of heart.
We... and by we, I really mean I... thought it would not be such a bad thing if he took a girl to the dance, but if... and only if... he were to go with a group of friends. Not so much a date as an outing with friends... an outing where you don't really have to give the person you go with exclusive one-on-one attention for an entire evening.
As I think about it... I wish I could go on one of these types of dates.
I digress.
Cheryl was still pretty steadfast... no dating under any circumstance. Too young... too much drama! But she agreed that going in a group is okay.
When Matthew decided on the girl he wanted to ask, he obediently sought the final blessing. I arrived home last Friday, and he once again asked if he could go to the Homecoming dance. I spelled out the "group of friends" rule once again. I told him that the girl had to understand this or he would not be going. He said he understood, so I inquired as to when he was planning to ask her.
I was going to ask her at lunch, but a friend of hers said I should wait until she comes into the stadium at the football game.
Have you figured out what you are going to say?
This is when he dropped the bomb.
I am going to make her a sign.
Say what?
A sign; everyone does it. It is kind of a big deal for the girl, so she can have some memento to keep.
Stupid. Why do these girls need a memento? What do these girls expect in a few years when it comes time for the prom? Better yet, what is a guy supposed to do when he asks a girl to marry him? No... no signs. Are you sure she is going to say yes? And what if she wants to say no? Then she has the pressure from the sign. No. No signs.
This brought me back to last spring when I learned about the sweeping phenomenon called the "promposal."
A promposal is an elaborate plan for boys to ask girls to the prom. It is crazy. I youtubed "best promposals" so I could show my secretary the lunacy, and I found about eight videos. I would start each one and then have to stop it before the big finish because I was embarrassed for these kids.
After about the fifth time of starting and stopping a video... before the kid could pop the question... my secretary laughed at how I would torture myself by starting each one, cutting it off right before the big finish. I told her it was similar to when you have a sore in your mouth, and you keep touching it to make sure it is still sore.
Apparently, the boys use these elaborate schemes for homecoming dances as well.
Matthew persisted that this is what the girls want. I said no!
Finally, I relented with this caveat... you can use the sign, but you have to ask her face to face and use the sign as a back up prop that you can give her afterward.
Agreed. And he was off.
Well, when he returned home from the game, I was upstairs with Noah, who advised me that she had said no. All I could think of was poor Matthew standing there with that stupid sign. Well, as it turns out, she did not actually say no. Remember the kid who told him to ask her once she came into the stadium at the football game? Well, he asked her in the parking lot.
All I could think about was poor Matthew standing there with that stupid sign.
I was kind of obsessed with that stupid sign.
So there you have it... I was right and I should have stuck by my guns. Wish that I were wrong, but I was right. Right as you can be.
Matthew still disagrees. You see he gave his sign... along with the roses he purchased on the way... to three different dudes who successfully snagged dates to the dance. I still stand by my assessment of the situation... poor Matthew standing there with that stupid sign.
Well, it turns out that there is a happy ending to this story for Matthew.
The young lady had a change of heart and decided that she would not go with that kid from the parking lot. Matthew got a second chance and simply walked up to her at her locker after school and asked her... the good old fashioned way. The way it should have been done in the first place.
So there you have it.
And the moral of the story... Dad is always right!
But if you think about it, Cheryl was even more right.
Perhaps, Matthew should not be going on any dates... under any circumstance. Cheryl should have... somehow... someway... made her position a little bit clearer.
Oh, I dunno, maybe she could have made me a sign!
Sure would have saved us all a bunch of drama if she had.
Soooo, sometimes I get it right.
I don't want to gloat or anything, but I was right. Right as all get out! That is not gloating, is it? Because I wouldn't want to gloat.
I really don't even want to tell this story, but there are two reason why it must be told. First, there are some dads that might find themselves in a similar situation with their sons. They need to know how to handle it.
And second: I was right!
So, it all started with Matthew asking if he could take a date to the Homecoming Dance.
The answer, of course, was no.
In an interesting turn of events, I was the gentle no, and Cheryl was more of the Hell no... no way... not in this lifetime... you are only fourteen... you have got to be kidding me!
Now if you know Cheryl, you know she did not really say that... but she wanted to! What she really said was how are you gonna go on a date? What, are you going to go pick her up on your bike? That is silly!
As I mentioned, I took a gentler approach. Look, I am saving you from yourself. If you had to go on an actual date, the girl would figure out that you were a chucklehead in the first fifteen minutes. I go on dates with your mother, and even we have nothing to talk about after appetizers. Talking with a girl for any period of time is awful!
Okay, maybe I was not as gentle as I had thought.
As the weeks passed, we began to have a slight change of heart.
We... and by we, I really mean I... thought it would not be such a bad thing if he took a girl to the dance, but if... and only if... he were to go with a group of friends. Not so much a date as an outing with friends... an outing where you don't really have to give the person you go with exclusive one-on-one attention for an entire evening.
As I think about it... I wish I could go on one of these types of dates.
I digress.
Cheryl was still pretty steadfast... no dating under any circumstance. Too young... too much drama! But she agreed that going in a group is okay.
When Matthew decided on the girl he wanted to ask, he obediently sought the final blessing. I arrived home last Friday, and he once again asked if he could go to the Homecoming dance. I spelled out the "group of friends" rule once again. I told him that the girl had to understand this or he would not be going. He said he understood, so I inquired as to when he was planning to ask her.
I was going to ask her at lunch, but a friend of hers said I should wait until she comes into the stadium at the football game.
Have you figured out what you are going to say?
This is when he dropped the bomb.
I am going to make her a sign.
Say what?
A sign; everyone does it. It is kind of a big deal for the girl, so she can have some memento to keep.
Stupid. Why do these girls need a memento? What do these girls expect in a few years when it comes time for the prom? Better yet, what is a guy supposed to do when he asks a girl to marry him? No... no signs. Are you sure she is going to say yes? And what if she wants to say no? Then she has the pressure from the sign. No. No signs.
This brought me back to last spring when I learned about the sweeping phenomenon called the "promposal."
A promposal is an elaborate plan for boys to ask girls to the prom. It is crazy. I youtubed "best promposals" so I could show my secretary the lunacy, and I found about eight videos. I would start each one and then have to stop it before the big finish because I was embarrassed for these kids.
After about the fifth time of starting and stopping a video... before the kid could pop the question... my secretary laughed at how I would torture myself by starting each one, cutting it off right before the big finish. I told her it was similar to when you have a sore in your mouth, and you keep touching it to make sure it is still sore.
Apparently, the boys use these elaborate schemes for homecoming dances as well.
Matthew persisted that this is what the girls want. I said no!
Finally, I relented with this caveat... you can use the sign, but you have to ask her face to face and use the sign as a back up prop that you can give her afterward.
Agreed. And he was off.
Well, when he returned home from the game, I was upstairs with Noah, who advised me that she had said no. All I could think of was poor Matthew standing there with that stupid sign. Well, as it turns out, she did not actually say no. Remember the kid who told him to ask her once she came into the stadium at the football game? Well, he asked her in the parking lot.
All I could think about was poor Matthew standing there with that stupid sign.
I was kind of obsessed with that stupid sign.
So there you have it... I was right and I should have stuck by my guns. Wish that I were wrong, but I was right. Right as you can be.
Matthew still disagrees. You see he gave his sign... along with the roses he purchased on the way... to three different dudes who successfully snagged dates to the dance. I still stand by my assessment of the situation... poor Matthew standing there with that stupid sign.
Well, it turns out that there is a happy ending to this story for Matthew.
The young lady had a change of heart and decided that she would not go with that kid from the parking lot. Matthew got a second chance and simply walked up to her at her locker after school and asked her... the good old fashioned way. The way it should have been done in the first place.
So there you have it.
And the moral of the story... Dad is always right!
But if you think about it, Cheryl was even more right.
Perhaps, Matthew should not be going on any dates... under any circumstance. Cheryl should have... somehow... someway... made her position a little bit clearer.
Oh, I dunno, maybe she could have made me a sign!
Sure would have saved us all a bunch of drama if she had.
Friday, September 26, 2014
Funny Guy Friday... Just like when I was in school...
Funny Guy Friday is written each week by my husband Mark. So, I married a funny guy...
They rescheduled Matthew's back-to-school night this past Tuesday. It had been cancelled last week due to a gas leak.
To be honest, I go to these things not because I want to but for two other reasons. First, as a parent, I should go. Second, as an award-winning writer of a weekly column... I need material.
Okay, I am not an award-winning writer... but someday... maybe.
So, with hopes of hearing teachers tell me what a knucklehead my oldest son is... I happily entered the halls of Archbishop Spalding High School.
"Happily" is probably not the right word, since I asked Cheryl if it were too late to call in another gas leak. She reminded me that you can't actually "call in" a gas leak.
So be it... Let the fun begin.
Let me start by saying that I kind of envy Matthew.
He has jumped into high school with both feet. He is playing fall baseball, playing ultimate frisbee, and has even signed up for the ping pong club. He has made a slew of new friends... both of the male and the non-male persuasion. He goes to football games, bops around from group to group, and yells until he loses his voice. He is all in and enjoying every minute of it.
Back in the day, I was kind of the same way, except I only dipped my toe in.
I played baseball all three years of high school but was never totally confident I would even make the team... which was just dumb because I was a captain as a junior. Talk about a lack of confidence. I also did not go out of my way to meet people, and I did not really see that much of the friends that I did have.
And the girls? Forget about it! And I don't mean "forget about it" in that macho Italian mafioso voice. I mean forget about it... as in, it wasn't happening. I was pretty shy. Especially in my first year!
And as much as I loved sports, I only went to a handful of football games in three years. When I did go, I usually just sat at the top of the bleachers and watched... Embarrassed to show any emotion.
Despite all that... thinking back... I was kind of a big deal... in a weird sort of way. Like Captain America. Only, more like Steve Rogers before the juice.
Anyway, as Cheryl and I entered the Spalding parking lot, I noted that there were presumably two parents for every kid. For half of these kids, the parents were arriving in separate cars. Even if 25% of the parents were complete no-shows, there was not going to be any place to park. Who planned this fiasco?
Fortunately, we were able to triple park.
At this point, I would like to take a second to offer a sincere apology to the owner of the Toyota Camry that we blocked in. But you have to understand... they overbooked this thing.
We started in Matthew's homeroom, which made sense.
What doesn't make sense is that Matthew actually goes to homeroom after second period. In my humble opinion, this would make homeroom... third period. I would have loved this when I was in high school because I was late for homeroom almost every day. I would have never been late had I not had to report until 9:30 a.m.
As we entered that first classroom, we were greeted by a parent that was very excited to see us. I gave him a hardy hand shake and he gave Cheryl a big hug. As we took our seats behind him, he turned to a parent that was seated in front of him and reported that we are practically family.
Those were his exact words... practically family. This made me feel really good that this guy, this other brother, if you will, would consider us like family.
Here is the problem... I had no idea who he was. I played along with the charade because I knew that Cheryl would know the guy.
Nope. She had no idea. I mean... she knew she knew him... but for the life of her, she could not place him.
Awkward.
I was getting that same uneasy feeling that I got back in high school.
Cheryl and I just stared at each other and wondered who it was that we were hugging. I was not going to be able to concentrate on Matthew's faults and foibles until I figured this out.
Five minutes into homeroom, it came to Cheryl... husband of a good family friend. Great. But then all I could think about was that his wife was also at the school in a different car. Probably driving that Toyota we blocked in.
I enjoyed homeroom, and despite warnings over the intercom that these ten-minute classes were not opportunities to have parent/teacher conferences, Cheryl insisted that we meet each teacher after class. These meetings were going to add to what I was already anticipating being a long night. On the
bright side, it would give me the opportunity to hear about my goofy son.
Unfortunately, Matthew's homeroom teacher gave us nothing but positive feedback.
This was the beginning of a trend.
We met teacher after teacher, and they all had nice things to say about him. In fact, instead of getting good stories about Matthew, I found myself getting overwhelmed by his classes. It seemed to me that each class required a great deal of effort, and Matthew never seems to be doing much of anything.
How is this possible? I was convinced that he must be failing every class.
Cheryl figured out how to log in and check his grades, and it turns out he is doing pretty well.
I know that I would be failing every class... except keyboarding. For those of you that are older than forty... keyboarding is just a fancy name for typing. I took typing in high school, and I can still rap it out pretty goof, er uh goos, I mean good.
By the way, I remember that typing class because I was a sophomore, and despite my shyness, there was a beautiful senior girl that could not resist me. She used to wait for me to walk her from typing to her next class. I was pretty cool, if I say so myself... and I do... often.
Turns out she was just using me to get to my older brother. Well, the joke was on her because she ended up marrying him. Ha!
What's that you say? Keyboarding is just the first part of the class, and then we have to learn about the hard drive? What's the hard drive? Then we need to run a program?
When we sat down, I noticed that there was that metal computer box thing on the table with all of its guts all over the table. The teacher said that the kids were learning about the inside of the computer... what makes it work.
I always thought it was magic.
Okay, I suppose that I would bomb out of that class, too.
Even if I understood all of this stuff, I would still fail every class. Each teacher advised that students no longer hand anything in. You do the work on your device and then you drop it into the teacher's drop box.
And every teacher warned that if it is not in the drop box by the designated time, your son or daughter will receive a zero.
This is all very stupid to me. I would never sleep worrying whether or not I had dropped my work into the right box at the right time.
Remember, all I know how to do is type.
About halfway through back-to-school night, I made the very uncomfortable discovery that Matthew is fine... I am the idiot in our family. I would never survive in today's high school.
I barely survived my own high school. In fact, if you think about it, I was the high school knucklehead. I was a shy, uncomfortable teen that was either (a) delusional in thinking that some senior girl would want to hang out with me, or (b) just a pawn in that vixen's tricky little game of love. Looking back, neither really makes me look like the stud that I recall... and speak so fondly of.
Well, here is the silver lining to the night.
I got to roam the halls of Spalding with the prettiest girl in the school. In fact, at one point, as we strolled along, trying to find the cafeteria to buy some pizza burgers and tater tots, I put my arm around her and slipped my hand into her back pocket. We walked clumsily along in that position for several seconds, if I recall. Completely starry-eyed. Reminiscent of all those cool couples from back in the day.
And get this, once we finally got out of that parking lot, I took that girl out for a beer. I even got a kiss good night.
Yep, no doubt about it... I was pretty cool.
Just the way I remember it back in high school!
They rescheduled Matthew's back-to-school night this past Tuesday. It had been cancelled last week due to a gas leak.
To be honest, I go to these things not because I want to but for two other reasons. First, as a parent, I should go. Second, as an award-winning writer of a weekly column... I need material.
Okay, I am not an award-winning writer... but someday... maybe.
So, with hopes of hearing teachers tell me what a knucklehead my oldest son is... I happily entered the halls of Archbishop Spalding High School.
"Happily" is probably not the right word, since I asked Cheryl if it were too late to call in another gas leak. She reminded me that you can't actually "call in" a gas leak.
So be it... Let the fun begin.
Let me start by saying that I kind of envy Matthew.
He has jumped into high school with both feet. He is playing fall baseball, playing ultimate frisbee, and has even signed up for the ping pong club. He has made a slew of new friends... both of the male and the non-male persuasion. He goes to football games, bops around from group to group, and yells until he loses his voice. He is all in and enjoying every minute of it.
Back in the day, I was kind of the same way, except I only dipped my toe in.
I played baseball all three years of high school but was never totally confident I would even make the team... which was just dumb because I was a captain as a junior. Talk about a lack of confidence. I also did not go out of my way to meet people, and I did not really see that much of the friends that I did have.
And the girls? Forget about it! And I don't mean "forget about it" in that macho Italian mafioso voice. I mean forget about it... as in, it wasn't happening. I was pretty shy. Especially in my first year!
And as much as I loved sports, I only went to a handful of football games in three years. When I did go, I usually just sat at the top of the bleachers and watched... Embarrassed to show any emotion.
Despite all that... thinking back... I was kind of a big deal... in a weird sort of way. Like Captain America. Only, more like Steve Rogers before the juice.
Anyway, as Cheryl and I entered the Spalding parking lot, I noted that there were presumably two parents for every kid. For half of these kids, the parents were arriving in separate cars. Even if 25% of the parents were complete no-shows, there was not going to be any place to park. Who planned this fiasco?
Fortunately, we were able to triple park.
At this point, I would like to take a second to offer a sincere apology to the owner of the Toyota Camry that we blocked in. But you have to understand... they overbooked this thing.
We started in Matthew's homeroom, which made sense.
What doesn't make sense is that Matthew actually goes to homeroom after second period. In my humble opinion, this would make homeroom... third period. I would have loved this when I was in high school because I was late for homeroom almost every day. I would have never been late had I not had to report until 9:30 a.m.
As we entered that first classroom, we were greeted by a parent that was very excited to see us. I gave him a hardy hand shake and he gave Cheryl a big hug. As we took our seats behind him, he turned to a parent that was seated in front of him and reported that we are practically family.
Those were his exact words... practically family. This made me feel really good that this guy, this other brother, if you will, would consider us like family.
Here is the problem... I had no idea who he was. I played along with the charade because I knew that Cheryl would know the guy.
Nope. She had no idea. I mean... she knew she knew him... but for the life of her, she could not place him.
Awkward.
I was getting that same uneasy feeling that I got back in high school.
Cheryl and I just stared at each other and wondered who it was that we were hugging. I was not going to be able to concentrate on Matthew's faults and foibles until I figured this out.
Five minutes into homeroom, it came to Cheryl... husband of a good family friend. Great. But then all I could think about was that his wife was also at the school in a different car. Probably driving that Toyota we blocked in.
I enjoyed homeroom, and despite warnings over the intercom that these ten-minute classes were not opportunities to have parent/teacher conferences, Cheryl insisted that we meet each teacher after class. These meetings were going to add to what I was already anticipating being a long night. On the
bright side, it would give me the opportunity to hear about my goofy son.
Unfortunately, Matthew's homeroom teacher gave us nothing but positive feedback.
This was the beginning of a trend.
We met teacher after teacher, and they all had nice things to say about him. In fact, instead of getting good stories about Matthew, I found myself getting overwhelmed by his classes. It seemed to me that each class required a great deal of effort, and Matthew never seems to be doing much of anything.
How is this possible? I was convinced that he must be failing every class.
Cheryl figured out how to log in and check his grades, and it turns out he is doing pretty well.
I know that I would be failing every class... except keyboarding. For those of you that are older than forty... keyboarding is just a fancy name for typing. I took typing in high school, and I can still rap it out pretty goof, er uh goos, I mean good.
By the way, I remember that typing class because I was a sophomore, and despite my shyness, there was a beautiful senior girl that could not resist me. She used to wait for me to walk her from typing to her next class. I was pretty cool, if I say so myself... and I do... often.
Turns out she was just using me to get to my older brother. Well, the joke was on her because she ended up marrying him. Ha!
What's that you say? Keyboarding is just the first part of the class, and then we have to learn about the hard drive? What's the hard drive? Then we need to run a program?
When we sat down, I noticed that there was that metal computer box thing on the table with all of its guts all over the table. The teacher said that the kids were learning about the inside of the computer... what makes it work.
I always thought it was magic.
Okay, I suppose that I would bomb out of that class, too.
Even if I understood all of this stuff, I would still fail every class. Each teacher advised that students no longer hand anything in. You do the work on your device and then you drop it into the teacher's drop box.
And every teacher warned that if it is not in the drop box by the designated time, your son or daughter will receive a zero.
This is all very stupid to me. I would never sleep worrying whether or not I had dropped my work into the right box at the right time.
Remember, all I know how to do is type.
About halfway through back-to-school night, I made the very uncomfortable discovery that Matthew is fine... I am the idiot in our family. I would never survive in today's high school.
I barely survived my own high school. In fact, if you think about it, I was the high school knucklehead. I was a shy, uncomfortable teen that was either (a) delusional in thinking that some senior girl would want to hang out with me, or (b) just a pawn in that vixen's tricky little game of love. Looking back, neither really makes me look like the stud that I recall... and speak so fondly of.
Well, here is the silver lining to the night.
I got to roam the halls of Spalding with the prettiest girl in the school. In fact, at one point, as we strolled along, trying to find the cafeteria to buy some pizza burgers and tater tots, I put my arm around her and slipped my hand into her back pocket. We walked clumsily along in that position for several seconds, if I recall. Completely starry-eyed. Reminiscent of all those cool couples from back in the day.
And get this, once we finally got out of that parking lot, I took that girl out for a beer. I even got a kiss good night.
Yep, no doubt about it... I was pretty cool.
Just the way I remember it back in high school!
Friday, September 19, 2014
Funny Guy Friday... And he cried, "Wee wee wee wee... all the way to the golf course..."
Funny Guy Friday is written each week by my husband Mark. So, I married a funny guy...
Last night was supposed to be Matthew's back-to-school night, but it was cancelled due to a gas leak at the school. This was bad... this was really, really bad. Not because the school was going to blow up or anything... I mean that would have been bad, I suppose. But the real tragedy was that I had planned on getting some good stuff to write about... and then, I had nothing.
Matthew started high school at Archbishop Spalding and I have to be honest... I have no idea how his academics are going, but I do know that he is rocking the social life. He seems to know everybody and has something going on every day after school. I was looking forward to meeting his teachers and finding what idiotic things my son has done.
Oh well, I guess they will reschedule, so look for some future FGF about Matthew.
Cheryl and Noah are back in the swing of home schooling, so I suppose I could write about that. Again, I have to be honest... I have no idea what is going on with home schooling other than Noah has taken an interest in cooking. He has prepared two delicious dinners the past two nights.
I have no idea if he is learning anything, but I do know that my little man is going to make someone a great wife someday.
So, now what do I have? Oh, I know...
About three weeks ago, I needed to quickly move some boxes out of my car and so slipped Matthew's slides onto my feet. Slides are best described as a flip-flop/sandal blend... only they don't stay on your feet. After the fifth time walking out of them, I kicked them off and carried on in my bare feet. Thirty seconds into my project, I jammed my two small toes into the curb... OUCH!
I am not a doctor or anything, but I am pretty sure I broke my little piggy toe! Not much you can do about a broken piggy toe except go barefoot until the swelling goes down and the pain subsides.
The pain started to subside this week, and so I did what every normal person with a broken toe does when they start to feel better... I ran the bases with Noah's baseball team to end Wednesday's practice.
Again, I am not a doctor, but I am pretty sure that this was a mistake. Not only did my toe hurt again but my lower back began to ache. This was bad. This was really really bad... not because of my health, but because I was scheduled to play golf in yesterday's First Annual Calvert County Bar Association Golf Tournament.
My good friend became a judge last year, and now that he is no longer required to work, he has time to implement all of my great ideas (see Golf Tournament and Ski Weekend). He will claim the ideas as his own, but we both know who's the brains behind the operation. Please don't say anything to him about this because he is a judge... and I am not!
So I woke up with my broken toe and sore back and entertained second thoughts about playing, which was too bad because I really like these types of tournaments. They are Best Ball or Captain's Choice; everyone hits a shot and you only play the best one. I play about three or four times a year, and for as little as I play, I am not too bad.
This is kind of a curse.
You see, I refuse to play more (not that I have much time for that anyway) because, at least, now I can say... For a guy who never plays, I am not too bad. If I played more and didn't get any better, I'd be just a bad golfer.
I couldn't handle that.
I understand I set the bar low, but it works for me.
Anyway, I was scheduled to play with my friend (the new, semi-retired, full-time judge), a retired partner from my firm, and his friend, a real-retired judge.
Now, here is the thing... a few years ago, the real-retired judge was involved in a head-on car crash and probably broke half the bones in his body. He has undergone more than twenty surgeries. He is lucky to be alive! His walking, let alone his golfing, is quite a miracle.
But I doubt if he ever had... like... you know... a broken piggy toe... or uh... er... an achy lower back.
Okay, if he could go golfing, then so could I.
I played... but not very well. He played... and here is the thing: with all of his replacement parts, he is still much better than I.
Must have been the piggy toe.
I would hit a great drive, and he would hit one forty yards further. Fortunately, he would only mention that he out-drove me... every time that he out-drove me. Teasing aside, just watching him was really an inspiration. I'd like to think that my playing injured was an inspiration to him as well.
In the end, both he and my retired partner were much better golfers than my friend and I.
So here is the take away: I need to become a judge or retire, so I can play more golf. That and a mended piggy toe... and there'd be no stopping me.
Last night was supposed to be Matthew's back-to-school night, but it was cancelled due to a gas leak at the school. This was bad... this was really, really bad. Not because the school was going to blow up or anything... I mean that would have been bad, I suppose. But the real tragedy was that I had planned on getting some good stuff to write about... and then, I had nothing.
Matthew started high school at Archbishop Spalding and I have to be honest... I have no idea how his academics are going, but I do know that he is rocking the social life. He seems to know everybody and has something going on every day after school. I was looking forward to meeting his teachers and finding what idiotic things my son has done.
Oh well, I guess they will reschedule, so look for some future FGF about Matthew.
Cheryl and Noah are back in the swing of home schooling, so I suppose I could write about that. Again, I have to be honest... I have no idea what is going on with home schooling other than Noah has taken an interest in cooking. He has prepared two delicious dinners the past two nights.
I have no idea if he is learning anything, but I do know that my little man is going to make someone a great wife someday.
So, now what do I have? Oh, I know...
About three weeks ago, I needed to quickly move some boxes out of my car and so slipped Matthew's slides onto my feet. Slides are best described as a flip-flop/sandal blend... only they don't stay on your feet. After the fifth time walking out of them, I kicked them off and carried on in my bare feet. Thirty seconds into my project, I jammed my two small toes into the curb... OUCH!
I am not a doctor or anything, but I am pretty sure I broke my little piggy toe! Not much you can do about a broken piggy toe except go barefoot until the swelling goes down and the pain subsides.
The pain started to subside this week, and so I did what every normal person with a broken toe does when they start to feel better... I ran the bases with Noah's baseball team to end Wednesday's practice.
Again, I am not a doctor, but I am pretty sure that this was a mistake. Not only did my toe hurt again but my lower back began to ache. This was bad. This was really really bad... not because of my health, but because I was scheduled to play golf in yesterday's First Annual Calvert County Bar Association Golf Tournament.
My good friend became a judge last year, and now that he is no longer required to work, he has time to implement all of my great ideas (see Golf Tournament and Ski Weekend). He will claim the ideas as his own, but we both know who's the brains behind the operation. Please don't say anything to him about this because he is a judge... and I am not!
So I woke up with my broken toe and sore back and entertained second thoughts about playing, which was too bad because I really like these types of tournaments. They are Best Ball or Captain's Choice; everyone hits a shot and you only play the best one. I play about three or four times a year, and for as little as I play, I am not too bad.
This is kind of a curse.
You see, I refuse to play more (not that I have much time for that anyway) because, at least, now I can say... For a guy who never plays, I am not too bad. If I played more and didn't get any better, I'd be just a bad golfer.
I couldn't handle that.
I understand I set the bar low, but it works for me.
Anyway, I was scheduled to play with my friend (the new, semi-retired, full-time judge), a retired partner from my firm, and his friend, a real-retired judge.
Now, here is the thing... a few years ago, the real-retired judge was involved in a head-on car crash and probably broke half the bones in his body. He has undergone more than twenty surgeries. He is lucky to be alive! His walking, let alone his golfing, is quite a miracle.
But I doubt if he ever had... like... you know... a broken piggy toe... or uh... er... an achy lower back.
Okay, if he could go golfing, then so could I.
I played... but not very well. He played... and here is the thing: with all of his replacement parts, he is still much better than I.
Must have been the piggy toe.
I would hit a great drive, and he would hit one forty yards further. Fortunately, he would only mention that he out-drove me... every time that he out-drove me. Teasing aside, just watching him was really an inspiration. I'd like to think that my playing injured was an inspiration to him as well.
In the end, both he and my retired partner were much better golfers than my friend and I.
So here is the take away: I need to become a judge or retire, so I can play more golf. That and a mended piggy toe... and there'd be no stopping me.
Friday, September 12, 2014
Funny Guy Friday... A birthday blessing in disguise...
Funny Guy Friday is written each week by my husband Mark. So, I married a funny guy...
Every few months or so, I go to confession and one of the things that I typically talk to the priest about is my failure to commit things to prayer. It is not as if I never pray... I do. Just not like I should.
I don't sleep much, and every morning when I tell Cheryl that I was up all night, she asks if I said my prayers.
How can I pray when I am trying to get past level 267 of Candy Crush?
I know what you are thinking... Level 267? That guy is awesome!
I know. I am.
Exhausted... but awesome.
Now, please, don't misunderstand; I can break out a pretty good prayer before a big family gathering. And not just the typical Bless us O Lord and these thy gifts prayer... but more of a freestyle rap kind of prayer, where I weave in and out, mentioning those people with us, those that are missing, those that prepared the meal, and those that are less fortunate.
Can I get an Amen?
Darn right I can!
Anyway, Wednesday was Cheryl's birthday.
On Tuesday, she received an early birthday present from her doctor's office. She had had a physical the week before, and had undergone a routine mammogram. Tuesday's mail brought simultaneous letters from her doctor and the radiologist advising that there were some abnormalities with her mammogram and that she had to come in for another look.
Some abnormalities are what you call it when it is someone else's test results or someone else's wife's results. When it is you or your wife... it is a BIG PROBLEM!
Cheryl called the radiologist, and they scheduled her for the very next day... her birthday.
There are two ways to handle the speed with which they got her back into that office. On the one hand, I could have been grateful that there was an opening. On the other hand I could have panicked and wondered why are they getting her in so quickly? What do they know that they are not telling us?
I preferred the panic button! Well... preferred is probably not the right word, but you get the drift.
I had court that morning, so I could not go with Cheryl to her appointment. Plus, she really didn't want it to be "a thing" until they had more information.
Anyway... this is where the prayer part comes in. I have a forty-minute drive into work and the first ten were spent thinking about all of the what if's. The next thirty minutes were spent praying about those what if's and hoping that they remained never were's.
If you read Funny Guy Friday on a regular basis, you might notice that, on occasion, I poke fun at my wonderful bride... much to the chagrin of my mother-in-law... who often facetiously refers to me as Happy Boy. But I am going to let you... and my mother-in-law... in on a little secret.
I kind of like Cheryl. In fact, I kind of like her a lot.
This trip to the doctor was not what I had in mind for my wife's 33rd birthday (I just said 33rd to see if you were paying attention).
This second mammogram... followed by a sonogram... was a cruddy birthday present. Unfortunately, it was her best present because I had gotten her nothing. Nothing but my prayers.
I called before, during, and after my hearing and finally got through to Cheryl. I am happy to report that I am an awesome pray-er. Her breasts are good to go.
Can I say that? Well... you can imagine my relief and thankfulness that she is fine.
In honor of Cheryl's birthday, I would typically do a top ten list of things that I love about her. But this year, in honor of her clean mammogram, I am going to shorten the list to, oh, I dunno... the number two comes to mind.
The first thing that I love about Cheryl is... she is the nicest person that God has ever put on this earth. I could never divorce her because if I did, I would forever be known as that guy who divorced the nicest person that God has ever put on this earth.
Who could possibly live with that?
And the number two thing that I love about Cheryl... she is a devoted daughter of Christ. Every Sunday at mass, I say the same prayer. I save this prayer for mass time to ensure that I go back every Sunday. Besides, as you already know, I am a really good pray-er, so one time a week is sufficient.
I always ask God to be with our kids that week and to help them to become better brothers, sisters, friends, teammates, classmates and Catholics. I then pray that God would continue to bless Cheryl and help her to continue to be a great mother and the spiritual shepherd of our family.
Our kids are good sisters, brothers, friends, teammates, classmates and Catholics because of the example that is set every day by their mother.
Clearly, it's not my example... I am just the idiot that writes about his wife's boobs.
Happy birthday honey!
I love you more than you could possibly know, and I have a great idea for next year's birthday present... a brand new colonoscopy!
Editor's note... from Cheryl... You didn't think this Funny Guy Friday thing edits itself, did you?
Let me start by saying that we almost didn't post this story because of, surprise, surprise, its very personal nature. Plus, when telling a story, I really don't think any grown man should ever use the word "boobs" with a straight face.
And I didn't want this whole thing to be a big deal. But ultimately, I thought that this story might help to raise breast health and cancer screening awareness... and bonus... we didn't have to wear a bucket of ice water to do it!
All kidding aside... again and again, I had always put off getting a mammogram for another day "when I have the time." And people would say, "Don't wait," and, "Early detection is key," and in my mind, I believed it, but still, no mammogram.
Finally, I decided to put it off no longer. My birthday was coming up, and I thought I should start the new year off right. Check up... blood work... mammogram. The works. All my ducks in a row from here on.
And then, of course, came the call-back from the radiologist. Just a bit scary... and I don't get scared. But soon enough, fear gave way to relief and thanksgiving. To God goes the praise.
And I will never neglect again.
Not to give you too much information (as if that's possible at this point), but my tissue is "heterogeneously dense, which may obscure small masses..." aka... really difficult to see through on a mammogram. I know now that I will have to be watched closely.
So anyway... I won't lecture you... I won't admonish you. Believe me... I'm the gal whose tombstone will read, "Nothing bad's going to happen."
But I had told myself, again and again, "Yeah, yeah, yeah... I'll go one of these days... when I have time." Trust me, now I'll make the time.
My follow-up is in six months. My half-birthday. You'll find me celebrating at the radiologist's office.
Every few months or so, I go to confession and one of the things that I typically talk to the priest about is my failure to commit things to prayer. It is not as if I never pray... I do. Just not like I should.
I don't sleep much, and every morning when I tell Cheryl that I was up all night, she asks if I said my prayers.
How can I pray when I am trying to get past level 267 of Candy Crush?
I know what you are thinking... Level 267? That guy is awesome!
I know. I am.
Exhausted... but awesome.
Now, please, don't misunderstand; I can break out a pretty good prayer before a big family gathering. And not just the typical Bless us O Lord and these thy gifts prayer... but more of a freestyle rap kind of prayer, where I weave in and out, mentioning those people with us, those that are missing, those that prepared the meal, and those that are less fortunate.
Can I get an Amen?
Darn right I can!
Anyway, Wednesday was Cheryl's birthday.
On Tuesday, she received an early birthday present from her doctor's office. She had had a physical the week before, and had undergone a routine mammogram. Tuesday's mail brought simultaneous letters from her doctor and the radiologist advising that there were some abnormalities with her mammogram and that she had to come in for another look.
Some abnormalities are what you call it when it is someone else's test results or someone else's wife's results. When it is you or your wife... it is a BIG PROBLEM!
Cheryl called the radiologist, and they scheduled her for the very next day... her birthday.
There are two ways to handle the speed with which they got her back into that office. On the one hand, I could have been grateful that there was an opening. On the other hand I could have panicked and wondered why are they getting her in so quickly? What do they know that they are not telling us?
I preferred the panic button! Well... preferred is probably not the right word, but you get the drift.
I had court that morning, so I could not go with Cheryl to her appointment. Plus, she really didn't want it to be "a thing" until they had more information.
Anyway... this is where the prayer part comes in. I have a forty-minute drive into work and the first ten were spent thinking about all of the what if's. The next thirty minutes were spent praying about those what if's and hoping that they remained never were's.
If you read Funny Guy Friday on a regular basis, you might notice that, on occasion, I poke fun at my wonderful bride... much to the chagrin of my mother-in-law... who often facetiously refers to me as Happy Boy. But I am going to let you... and my mother-in-law... in on a little secret.
I kind of like Cheryl. In fact, I kind of like her a lot.
This trip to the doctor was not what I had in mind for my wife's 33rd birthday (I just said 33rd to see if you were paying attention).
This second mammogram... followed by a sonogram... was a cruddy birthday present. Unfortunately, it was her best present because I had gotten her nothing. Nothing but my prayers.
I called before, during, and after my hearing and finally got through to Cheryl. I am happy to report that I am an awesome pray-er. Her breasts are good to go.
Can I say that? Well... you can imagine my relief and thankfulness that she is fine.
In honor of Cheryl's birthday, I would typically do a top ten list of things that I love about her. But this year, in honor of her clean mammogram, I am going to shorten the list to, oh, I dunno... the number two comes to mind.
The first thing that I love about Cheryl is... she is the nicest person that God has ever put on this earth. I could never divorce her because if I did, I would forever be known as that guy who divorced the nicest person that God has ever put on this earth.
Who could possibly live with that?
And the number two thing that I love about Cheryl... she is a devoted daughter of Christ. Every Sunday at mass, I say the same prayer. I save this prayer for mass time to ensure that I go back every Sunday. Besides, as you already know, I am a really good pray-er, so one time a week is sufficient.
I always ask God to be with our kids that week and to help them to become better brothers, sisters, friends, teammates, classmates and Catholics. I then pray that God would continue to bless Cheryl and help her to continue to be a great mother and the spiritual shepherd of our family.
Our kids are good sisters, brothers, friends, teammates, classmates and Catholics because of the example that is set every day by their mother.
Clearly, it's not my example... I am just the idiot that writes about his wife's boobs.
Happy birthday honey!
I love you more than you could possibly know, and I have a great idea for next year's birthday present... a brand new colonoscopy!
Editor's note... from Cheryl... You didn't think this Funny Guy Friday thing edits itself, did you?
Let me start by saying that we almost didn't post this story because of, surprise, surprise, its very personal nature. Plus, when telling a story, I really don't think any grown man should ever use the word "boobs" with a straight face.
And I didn't want this whole thing to be a big deal. But ultimately, I thought that this story might help to raise breast health and cancer screening awareness... and bonus... we didn't have to wear a bucket of ice water to do it!
All kidding aside... again and again, I had always put off getting a mammogram for another day "when I have the time." And people would say, "Don't wait," and, "Early detection is key," and in my mind, I believed it, but still, no mammogram.
Finally, I decided to put it off no longer. My birthday was coming up, and I thought I should start the new year off right. Check up... blood work... mammogram. The works. All my ducks in a row from here on.
And then, of course, came the call-back from the radiologist. Just a bit scary... and I don't get scared. But soon enough, fear gave way to relief and thanksgiving. To God goes the praise.
And I will never neglect again.
Not to give you too much information (as if that's possible at this point), but my tissue is "heterogeneously dense, which may obscure small masses..." aka... really difficult to see through on a mammogram. I know now that I will have to be watched closely.
So anyway... I won't lecture you... I won't admonish you. Believe me... I'm the gal whose tombstone will read, "Nothing bad's going to happen."
But I had told myself, again and again, "Yeah, yeah, yeah... I'll go one of these days... when I have time." Trust me, now I'll make the time.
My follow-up is in six months. My half-birthday. You'll find me celebrating at the radiologist's office.
Friday, September 5, 2014
Funny Guy Friday... A bullish recovery for Grandma?
Funny Guy Friday is written each week by my husband Mark. So, I married a funny guy...
As you may have read in last week's FGF, we had a busy week. If you thought that the week was busy, let me fill you in on how the weekend went.
On Friday morning, as chairman of the Sacred Heart Labor Day Festival, I made a quick trip to the church to finalize a few things for Monday's big event. Specifically, we were going to move the gambling wheel (yes, we had a gambling wheel at the festival. It is a money maker and we have very low ethical standards... but to show we are not completely without morals, I did get rejected on my idea to have strippers. That is a story for a different day).
Anyway, the Big Wheel has been in the same spot, run by the same elderly gentlemen for the past twenty years. I wanted to move it because we needed the space for a fast-pitch radar booth.
Here is what I learned: elderly gentleman who have been doing the same thing in the same spot for twenty years are resistant to change. Most people respect what little authority I wield as chairman of the festival, but old guys don't. They just tell me no. And they are emphatic with their no... NO! We need the cover from the sun that this spot provides, and we have been in this spot forever!
Well, we need it for the fast pitch booth. We will find you a new spot with some shade.
There is no other place for shade, and nobody is going to do that baseball thing... and are you (and he said "you" in a kind of mean, scary voice) willing to stand out in the sun for five hours?
He might as well have called me a young whippersnapper at this point.
A lot of thoughts went through my mind... mostly to remain respectful. I would have finished the old-timer off with some clever retort and a declaration that it was "my way or the highway," but another elderly gentleman arrived on the scene and informed me that the problem was resolved and that the baseball guy agreed to move. I okayed their plan but only because at this point it was two against one... and they looked pretty tough.
Besides, I had bigger fish to fry... I had to do battle with the Catholic Insurance people over the mechanical bull that I had ordered.
Look sir, the archdiocese has a policy on mechanical bulls!
Are you trying to tell me that the archdiocese... with all the concerns facing the church... has taken the time to carve out a policy on mechanical bulls? I find that hard to believe.
It is a dangerous thing!
Look, I am not trying to maim our parish members; I just want this to be a fun event. Can a mechanical bull be any more dangerous than the rock wall or moon bounce we are getting?
As soon as I said this, I knew it had been a mistake.
Rock wall? Moon bounce? Have we okayed those?
Uh, well. Yeah, I guess. I mean yeah. I mean we, like, have those things, like, every year.
I sounded like an idiot kid trying to explain why I had taken my dad's car without permission. Then I went on the offensive.
Look, we can agree it is a dangerous ride but that is not the question... are we covered in the event the bull gores someone?
Reluctantly, yes. But only for adults.
No problem!
"Adults" over four feet were good to go. All problems solved, and on to the big wedding!
My nephew got married on Friday afternoon at 3 p.m. in St. Mary's Church, downtown Annapolis, and I am happy to report that the traffic was manageable. Oh yeah, the Mass was absolutely beautiful. Beautiful bride, beautiful groom, handsome wedding party, and I looked awesome. Cheryl was there too! She looked okay... better than okay! Maybe even as awesome as I.
Anyway, the reception was in Pasadena at one of the most beautiful sites I have ever seen... right on the water. The only problem was that my mother was not doing well. She had been weak and confused for days. She has been staying with us for the past month and the plan had been to have her go back to Washington state with my brother Paul on Monday... to stay with his family for a month or two... and then come back to live with us permanently. All of this was in jeopardy based on her rapid downward spiral.
Only a month ago, she was going with us to our boys' baseball games and hopping up and down steps with very little trouble. She did laundry and cleaned our house whenever the mood struck her... and the mood struck her all the time.
It was great! We had had our own live-in maid service and suddenly I could see it all slipping away. Maybe that sounds kind of callous... but she did laundry every day!
All six of her kids were kind of concerned about her condition but none more than I. I mean, she cleaned and did laundry every day!
Anyway, my brother Paul is a pastor at a Lutheran church, and on Saturday morning, he mentioned that many ladies in his congregation have had urinary tract infections that caused weakness and confusion. This struck me as odd... not that a UTI could cause weakness and confusion but that old ladies were telling my brother all about it. What kind of church is he running out there on the west coast? I go to confession and that kind of stuff never comes up!
Cheryl and Paul and his wife took my mom to the emergency clinic and sure enough, the UTI was a positive. Antibiotics were prescribed with the hope that she would show some improvement. Not knowing what the next day would hold, my brothers and sisters all came to my house to discuss what we were going to do with our rapidly failing mother. Not just in the short term regarding her trip to Washington, which seemed like a long shot no matter how much she improved, but also in the long term in the event that things did not get better.
After about two hours of discussion, this is what we decided...
Lets wake mom up in the morning and ask her what she wants!
In retrospect, we could have done that without the long meeting but what the heck, we enjoy each other's company.
Happy to report, Sunday showed big improvement and on Monday, she got on that plane and headed out west. In fact, my sister-in-law just called a few minutes ago and said that my mom has been cleaning and doing laundry at their house. I want her back!
Finally, on what should have been a day of rest to celebrate the last day of summer, we headed off to the church for the annual Labor Day Festival. We arrived at 8 a.m. and stayed until after 6 p.m. You want to know something? The elderly Big Wheel guys rigged a canopy overhead, but it provided very little shade. Ironically, the location of the fast-pitch radar gun was covered in shade for most of the day. I felt bad for the guys and tried to slip them an occasional cold beverage. Hopefully, we buried the hatchet from our previous day's encounter.
Ooh, that gives me an idea for next year... The Hatchet Throw. I'll have some parish member stand against a wall and kids can buy three hatchets for a dollar and see how close they can get to the guy standing against the wall. The insurance guy will love it!
It was an exhausting day, but I am happy to report that the only injury as a result of the mechanical bull was my bruised ego... I lasted only 12 seconds on "baby speed." For some reference, there were many four foot adults that lasted well over thirty seconds with the speed increasing the longer they rode.
So just to recap my weekend... fought with old guys... fought with insurance guy... attended wedding... attended reception,,, worried about my mother... met with my brothers and sisters... single handedly nursed my mother back to health (I am taking credit for it because she was at my house during her recovery)... managed the church's Labor Day Festival... and rode a bull (poorly, I might add).
Oh, I almost forgot... I did a load of laundry Monday night.
Have I mentioned how much I miss my mother?
As you may have read in last week's FGF, we had a busy week. If you thought that the week was busy, let me fill you in on how the weekend went.
On Friday morning, as chairman of the Sacred Heart Labor Day Festival, I made a quick trip to the church to finalize a few things for Monday's big event. Specifically, we were going to move the gambling wheel (yes, we had a gambling wheel at the festival. It is a money maker and we have very low ethical standards... but to show we are not completely without morals, I did get rejected on my idea to have strippers. That is a story for a different day).
Anyway, the Big Wheel has been in the same spot, run by the same elderly gentlemen for the past twenty years. I wanted to move it because we needed the space for a fast-pitch radar booth.
Here is what I learned: elderly gentleman who have been doing the same thing in the same spot for twenty years are resistant to change. Most people respect what little authority I wield as chairman of the festival, but old guys don't. They just tell me no. And they are emphatic with their no... NO! We need the cover from the sun that this spot provides, and we have been in this spot forever!
Well, we need it for the fast pitch booth. We will find you a new spot with some shade.
There is no other place for shade, and nobody is going to do that baseball thing... and are you (and he said "you" in a kind of mean, scary voice) willing to stand out in the sun for five hours?
He might as well have called me a young whippersnapper at this point.
A lot of thoughts went through my mind... mostly to remain respectful. I would have finished the old-timer off with some clever retort and a declaration that it was "my way or the highway," but another elderly gentleman arrived on the scene and informed me that the problem was resolved and that the baseball guy agreed to move. I okayed their plan but only because at this point it was two against one... and they looked pretty tough.
Besides, I had bigger fish to fry... I had to do battle with the Catholic Insurance people over the mechanical bull that I had ordered.
Look sir, the archdiocese has a policy on mechanical bulls!
Are you trying to tell me that the archdiocese... with all the concerns facing the church... has taken the time to carve out a policy on mechanical bulls? I find that hard to believe.
It is a dangerous thing!
Look, I am not trying to maim our parish members; I just want this to be a fun event. Can a mechanical bull be any more dangerous than the rock wall or moon bounce we are getting?
As soon as I said this, I knew it had been a mistake.
Rock wall? Moon bounce? Have we okayed those?
Uh, well. Yeah, I guess. I mean yeah. I mean we, like, have those things, like, every year.
I sounded like an idiot kid trying to explain why I had taken my dad's car without permission. Then I went on the offensive.
Look, we can agree it is a dangerous ride but that is not the question... are we covered in the event the bull gores someone?
Reluctantly, yes. But only for adults.
No problem!
"Adults" over four feet were good to go. All problems solved, and on to the big wedding!
My nephew got married on Friday afternoon at 3 p.m. in St. Mary's Church, downtown Annapolis, and I am happy to report that the traffic was manageable. Oh yeah, the Mass was absolutely beautiful. Beautiful bride, beautiful groom, handsome wedding party, and I looked awesome. Cheryl was there too! She looked okay... better than okay! Maybe even as awesome as I.
Anyway, the reception was in Pasadena at one of the most beautiful sites I have ever seen... right on the water. The only problem was that my mother was not doing well. She had been weak and confused for days. She has been staying with us for the past month and the plan had been to have her go back to Washington state with my brother Paul on Monday... to stay with his family for a month or two... and then come back to live with us permanently. All of this was in jeopardy based on her rapid downward spiral.
Only a month ago, she was going with us to our boys' baseball games and hopping up and down steps with very little trouble. She did laundry and cleaned our house whenever the mood struck her... and the mood struck her all the time.
It was great! We had had our own live-in maid service and suddenly I could see it all slipping away. Maybe that sounds kind of callous... but she did laundry every day!
All six of her kids were kind of concerned about her condition but none more than I. I mean, she cleaned and did laundry every day!
Anyway, my brother Paul is a pastor at a Lutheran church, and on Saturday morning, he mentioned that many ladies in his congregation have had urinary tract infections that caused weakness and confusion. This struck me as odd... not that a UTI could cause weakness and confusion but that old ladies were telling my brother all about it. What kind of church is he running out there on the west coast? I go to confession and that kind of stuff never comes up!
Cheryl and Paul and his wife took my mom to the emergency clinic and sure enough, the UTI was a positive. Antibiotics were prescribed with the hope that she would show some improvement. Not knowing what the next day would hold, my brothers and sisters all came to my house to discuss what we were going to do with our rapidly failing mother. Not just in the short term regarding her trip to Washington, which seemed like a long shot no matter how much she improved, but also in the long term in the event that things did not get better.
After about two hours of discussion, this is what we decided...
Lets wake mom up in the morning and ask her what she wants!
In retrospect, we could have done that without the long meeting but what the heck, we enjoy each other's company.
Happy to report, Sunday showed big improvement and on Monday, she got on that plane and headed out west. In fact, my sister-in-law just called a few minutes ago and said that my mom has been cleaning and doing laundry at their house. I want her back!
Finally, on what should have been a day of rest to celebrate the last day of summer, we headed off to the church for the annual Labor Day Festival. We arrived at 8 a.m. and stayed until after 6 p.m. You want to know something? The elderly Big Wheel guys rigged a canopy overhead, but it provided very little shade. Ironically, the location of the fast-pitch radar gun was covered in shade for most of the day. I felt bad for the guys and tried to slip them an occasional cold beverage. Hopefully, we buried the hatchet from our previous day's encounter.
Ooh, that gives me an idea for next year... The Hatchet Throw. I'll have some parish member stand against a wall and kids can buy three hatchets for a dollar and see how close they can get to the guy standing against the wall. The insurance guy will love it!
It was an exhausting day, but I am happy to report that the only injury as a result of the mechanical bull was my bruised ego... I lasted only 12 seconds on "baby speed." For some reference, there were many four foot adults that lasted well over thirty seconds with the speed increasing the longer they rode.
So just to recap my weekend... fought with old guys... fought with insurance guy... attended wedding... attended reception,,, worried about my mother... met with my brothers and sisters... single handedly nursed my mother back to health (I am taking credit for it because she was at my house during her recovery)... managed the church's Labor Day Festival... and rode a bull (poorly, I might add).
Oh, I almost forgot... I did a load of laundry Monday night.
Have I mentioned how much I miss my mother?
Friday, August 29, 2014
Funny Guy Friday... Why doesn't she call?
Well, it has been one busy week at the old homestead.
It was our first week without our baby girl who went away to college. From what I can tell from the phone calls that she is not making home to her patiently awaiting parents, she seems to be having a great time. And when I broke down on day one of her college career and called her, she advised that she was "busy with some friends."
What's the big idea of her making friends? I remember being miserable on my first night away at college, so she should have the decency to have that same experience.
But that is not the worst of it.
On day two sans Gracie, Cheryl texted her and advised that she should try and make it to the Grotto and say a prayer for her cousin who was getting married this weekend (actually on Friday... but more on that in a minute) and for her first week up at the Mount. Gracie texted back that she couldn't because she was out partying with two boys lol.
No lol... in fact, no l at all! Those two boys can burn in l for all I care.
When people ask me how she seems to be adapting, I tell them that the ungrateful little rascal seems to be adapting pretty well... a little too well for my tastes.
I am not obsessing over it or anything, but I can't figure out why she is not calling us all the time wanting to come home. I mean we had a great little thing going!
Oh well... I am over it!
But a call home every once in awhile is really the right thing to do, don't you think?
Additionally, in all the excitement of Gracie starting her college career, we forgot all about our brand new high school student. That's right, little Michael is started his high school career. What's that, his name is Matthew?! Wow, we really have been ignoring the little guy!
After four years of homeschool, Matthew is ready for the hustle and bustle that goes along with a large Catholic High School... and as a bonus, he has both male and non-male classmates, if you get what I am saying.
Times are different than when I was in high school. I used to get sick to my stomach pacing around trying to build up the courage to call a girl. Of course, I always hung up if someone actually picked up the other end. But even with the hang up, I felt pretty cool calling a girl.
Today, everyone has everyone else's number, snap chat account, twitter feed, instant message or face book page programmed into their phone.
And my little hang up routine would never work today because my picture would pop up on their phone revealing my secret identity. In fact, the death knoll for the hang up was the invention of caller ID. I can remember my shock and horror when I got a call back from someone who had caller ID.
Hello.
Did you just call this number?
Huh, what, me er, uh, uh, no. And don't ever call me again! Click!
I figured the best defense was a good offense. I was an idiot!
With all of this new schooling going on, my nephew got married today.
I know what you are thinking... Isn't that kind of odd to get married on a Friday?... before Labor Day?... Isn't there a chance that traffic could be bad?
Don't worry, they took that into consideration and chose a location far away from all the tourists and the traffic... downtown Annapolis. What are the chances... 100%... that there will be a lot of people in Annapolis on the Friday before Labor Day!!
I was told that by getting married on a Friday, they got a great deal. I bet they did. I bet it would have been cheaper on a Tuesday, but they did not consult me!
Family has been rolling in all week, including Grace who arrived home on Thursday night. If you were not at the rehearsal dinner, you were invited to our house for some Italian subs, Italian sausage and Italian wine.
All great treats that we enjoyed while growing up.
As we sat around the table, eating, drinking, laughing, and telling stories, one thought kept going through my mind...
Why isn't Gracie calling me every day!
Forget it. Now I am over it. It's on to the wedding.
Say a prayer for my nephew Daniel and his new wife, Kelsie. May they have a long happy marriage and a home blessed with love, laughter, good food, and good wine. And may God bless them with beautiful, happy children. Happy... that is... right up until they go off to college. At that point, I hope, for every one's sake, the kids are a little bit miserable and call home.
Let's face it... it's the right thing to do!
It was our first week without our baby girl who went away to college. From what I can tell from the phone calls that she is not making home to her patiently awaiting parents, she seems to be having a great time. And when I broke down on day one of her college career and called her, she advised that she was "busy with some friends."
What's the big idea of her making friends? I remember being miserable on my first night away at college, so she should have the decency to have that same experience.
But that is not the worst of it.
On day two sans Gracie, Cheryl texted her and advised that she should try and make it to the Grotto and say a prayer for her cousin who was getting married this weekend (actually on Friday... but more on that in a minute) and for her first week up at the Mount. Gracie texted back that she couldn't because she was out partying with two boys lol.
No lol... in fact, no l at all! Those two boys can burn in l for all I care.
When people ask me how she seems to be adapting, I tell them that the ungrateful little rascal seems to be adapting pretty well... a little too well for my tastes.
I am not obsessing over it or anything, but I can't figure out why she is not calling us all the time wanting to come home. I mean we had a great little thing going!
Oh well... I am over it!
But a call home every once in awhile is really the right thing to do, don't you think?
Additionally, in all the excitement of Gracie starting her college career, we forgot all about our brand new high school student. That's right, little Michael is started his high school career. What's that, his name is Matthew?! Wow, we really have been ignoring the little guy!
After four years of homeschool, Matthew is ready for the hustle and bustle that goes along with a large Catholic High School... and as a bonus, he has both male and non-male classmates, if you get what I am saying.
Times are different than when I was in high school. I used to get sick to my stomach pacing around trying to build up the courage to call a girl. Of course, I always hung up if someone actually picked up the other end. But even with the hang up, I felt pretty cool calling a girl.
Today, everyone has everyone else's number, snap chat account, twitter feed, instant message or face book page programmed into their phone.
And my little hang up routine would never work today because my picture would pop up on their phone revealing my secret identity. In fact, the death knoll for the hang up was the invention of caller ID. I can remember my shock and horror when I got a call back from someone who had caller ID.
Hello.
Did you just call this number?
Huh, what, me er, uh, uh, no. And don't ever call me again! Click!
I figured the best defense was a good offense. I was an idiot!
With all of this new schooling going on, my nephew got married today.
I know what you are thinking... Isn't that kind of odd to get married on a Friday?... before Labor Day?... Isn't there a chance that traffic could be bad?
Don't worry, they took that into consideration and chose a location far away from all the tourists and the traffic... downtown Annapolis. What are the chances... 100%... that there will be a lot of people in Annapolis on the Friday before Labor Day!!
I was told that by getting married on a Friday, they got a great deal. I bet they did. I bet it would have been cheaper on a Tuesday, but they did not consult me!
Family has been rolling in all week, including Grace who arrived home on Thursday night. If you were not at the rehearsal dinner, you were invited to our house for some Italian subs, Italian sausage and Italian wine.
All great treats that we enjoyed while growing up.
As we sat around the table, eating, drinking, laughing, and telling stories, one thought kept going through my mind...
Why isn't Gracie calling me every day!
Forget it. Now I am over it. It's on to the wedding.
Say a prayer for my nephew Daniel and his new wife, Kelsie. May they have a long happy marriage and a home blessed with love, laughter, good food, and good wine. And may God bless them with beautiful, happy children. Happy... that is... right up until they go off to college. At that point, I hope, for every one's sake, the kids are a little bit miserable and call home.
Let's face it... it's the right thing to do!
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