2003

 Archives 2003 - My Thoughts as I Knew Them, a diary of Sandra Lynn

I have finished the first two books in the Lord of the Rings trilogy.  It is funny to me how a book (or books) can have such an effect on you.  I have been talking as if I were a hobbit or a wanderer of Middle Earth for several days now.  My daughter caught me talking as such and mentioned that sometimes she too, gets so involved in a book or movie that she feels like it is part of her life.  I told her that was the sign of a darned good book or a genetic sort of mental illness, one of the two.  Of course, getting caught up in a book doesn't give anyone the right to copy what was in the book and go kill someone or the like.  That applies to video games as well.  Just because you can run over someone in a video game with a video car doesn't give you the right to do it in real life.  Just because McDonalds offers food on their menu gives you no right to sue them for offering the food if you are going to eat too much of it.  Oh, and another thing, COFFEE is most always HOT!  Sigh.  People can be so stupid.   But I digress ...

I had best hasten my departure to the place of my work, hence to bring forth a paycheck, fine indeed yet intended not for a throne or an account of savings, but the grocery store it goest. 

January 29, 2003 - As you get older, you tend to look in the toilet more.  "Why?" you may ask, not being so old yourself to know the reason.   When you get older, things start falling off or out.  You have to check after you use the toilet to make sure you didn't lose anything important that you planned on using later in life, or to confirm the fact you did not produced something that a medical professional should examine.  Have you not looked first before going potty then looked after you went potty and worried for hours if what was in the toilet came out of you?  ("Is that a kidney stone or is the water just really rusty!??")  Aging has it's downfalls.  I noticed something else the other day.  I thought I felt old when they played "my songs" from my "glory days" on the oldies station, but they are now playing the stuff I thought was way too stupid and young for me (once I had kids and all and moved on in life) on the oldies station.  It feels like an insult.

This has been a very 'angry' week for me.  I have been angry, mad, upset, pissed off, bent out of shape, getting my panties all in a wad ... you get the picture.  It is not due to PMS nor the fact my life is necessarily bad at this time.  I'm just mad.  I'm mad as hell, and I'm not going to take it anymore.  All I have to figure out is what "it" is.  Stupid things that people do bother me a lot more than normal.  When stuff is on the floor, I don't want to pick it up.  When dishes are dirty, I could care less.  My patience level is low with any one or thing.  The anger surges in the morning and ebbs by nightfall.  It seems to be a phase of sorts.   I'm sure it will pass.  It had better pass, or I'll no doubt get pissed.   As I type I think I know what it is - I feel like I have so much to do and why can't somebody else do stuff for a change.  Wow, typing is therapeutic!  Maybe tomorrow won't be such and angry day.  I am hoping for at least a step up to self pity!

Real life stops me from just getting in my car, flipping off the world and driving away.  Sometimes I just feel that way, however.  Of course I know that if I need a change, only I can do the changing, but once in a great while I fantasize about just smacking someone upside the head, leaving my gum wrappers all over, throwing garbage out my car window, and playing music way too loud.  Real life dictates that I do not do these bad things.  Real life indicates that my kids will copy me if I hack fur balls out the window and pick my nose while driving down the street.  Real life assumes my kids will see my anger and disgust and become angry and disgusting themselves.  Tonight, REAL LIFE sucks and should keep it's nose out of my business.  I should smack real life upside the head and dump coffee grounds on it's shoes.  That would teach it.

February 11, 2003 - Last week I was home for three days from work with my youngest.  He was sick with strep throat.  The worst case he has ever had.  He didn't speak for two whole days, he was just a limp figure on the couch.  My daughter was also sick the prior weekend and was on the couch - flat out and feverish - until I could get her to the doctor's on Monday morning.  She had bronchitis.  She was keeper of the couch until Tuesday night, when my youngest started to get a fever and took over the couch watch.  I got him into the doctor's office on Wednesday morning.  His fever hit an all time high of 104 on Thursday.  I couldn't get it down under 100 all day.  Sigh.  I love being a Mom.  I held their heads up when the threw up and kept the hair out of their faces.  Having someone there to tend to you when you are sick makes a difference, I think.  Helps speed recovery?  When we get older, that kind of care stops.  If we as adults get sick most often than not we are the ones holding our own heads up when we vomit or we take our own temperatures.  We fix our own chicken soup.  But at a younger age, when you get hit harder (or so it seems sometimes) by sickness, having someone there forcing you to sip on liquids is a good thing.  Having someone there to hold your head up when you wretch your guts out puking is a good thing.  Having someone soothe your head with a cool wash cloth is a good thing.  I think sometimes as a Mom that I make no difference but really, I do.   (Otherwise there would be regurgitated chewable Tylenol all over the floor.) 

It also dawned on me, after being so angry at the world for so long, that this was a blessing -  the kids getting sick.   It reminded me to be kinder and gentler.  It reminded me I did have a purpose in life.  It reminded me I was needed and even if I was taken for granted, it was for a good cause.  Funny how that works.  When God closes the bathroom door because one kid is in there hacking up a lung, He hands you a wastebasket for the other....

February 16, 2003 - It is 1:17 a.m. on Sunday morning.  I had to get out of bed to allow my blood to circulate and find a spot to pool in other than my rear end.  I have been laying in bed for the last 28 hours being sick.  I get up long enough to pee and take my medicine, then I'm right back in bed.  I went to the doctor's on Friday morning to have her tell me what I already knew;  I had ear infections and I was just plain sick.  The cooties from the kids finally migrated to me.  It is nice to share, right?   Both ears are clogged up with fluid and the last two days I haven't heard much more than my own cranial noises.  I'm on antibiotics and soon I will be feeling normal again.  Normal for me, that is, which isn't normal at all by normal standards. 

I should have known by all indications that I was on a downward spiral into sickness from Thursday's events.   When I get extra stupid, it is either an indication I am due for my period or due to be sick.  This has been documented by leading medical magazines to be true. 

The first stupid thing I did was actually on Wednesday night, when I decided to add filling to my kid's bean bag chairs.   After two years, they were near flat.  (The chairs, not the kids.)  I saw a four foot long bag full of bean bag balls in the store, and decided it was time to fill up their bean bag chairs.  Static issues never crossed my mind.  I was hell bent on filling those chairs.  I started with my son's.  He helped me fill his chair.   Opening the bean bag ball bag went fine.  It was the filling part where things went from stupid to worse.  The static factor was phenomenal.  For every bean bag ball I got in the chair, four more were set free to cling to my son or the carpet.   I wish I had it on video tape.  I'm sure the process would have won me $10,000 on America's Funniest Home Videos!  As I struggled to get the bitsy balls in to the bean bag chair, my son discovered that if he ran his hand up and down the bag full of bean bag balls, that he could make them repel away from his hand and fly out the hole.  I also neglected the fact that the furnace tends to come on when it's winter out.  We have a space type heater that stands in the living room.  It came on, because, of course, it's winter.  The cats soon found that they were covered in clingy bean bag balls, which irritated them to no end, since batting at them only made them more static and clingy.  Longer story shortened, an hour later the chairs were filled with some of the filling, and the cats were de-balled by hand, and I had vacuumed off my son and the carpet.  Next time I am letting professionals handle such a chore.

Thursday morning was not much better.  I sometimes bring my work laptop home to work with.  I had it by the door in it's case so I wouldn't forget it.  I forgot it.  I was almost to work before I remembered it.  Duh.  I called my departments main Help Desk line to leave a message that I was just plain stupid and would be a bit late.  I came home, retrieved my laptop, and scooted off to work.  Figuring I was already late, I decided in my infinite wisdom to stop quickly at the ATM at my bank to see if my Federal return had been deposited.  Mind you, I have been hard of hearing so the radio at the time I arrived at the bank was turned up quite loud so I could hear the news on NPR. It was also cold out.  I had the heat on full blast.  With my car's alarm control in my pocket and my bank card in my hand, I jumped out of my running car, slammed the door and checked my balance.  No return.  So I went back to the car and tried to open the door.  The door was locked.  I thought, oh, no big issue, I had my car alarm thingy in my pocket.  I learned that very morning that the car alarm thingy doesn't unlock the door if you didn't lock the door with it in the first place.  Sigh.   I took my bank card, withdrew 20 dollars, walked across the parking lot to get change to use the pay phone, since my cell phone was snug and warm in my car, and called my husband who had a spare key.  He works 40 minutes away.  Then I sat patiently at the local grocery store drinking their free coffee and waiting.  At nine a.m., NPR tends to stop playing news and kicks into classical music.  Even with my bad ears I could hear it blaring all over the parking lot when I would peak out to check to see if he was here yet.  All in all, it was quite comical, to say the least.  I did manage to make it to work by 10:15 a.m.  I had to drive to work with the window down, since the interior was hot enough to fry eggs on ...

All of that was a sign unto me that I needed to see a doctor.  As soon as I got to work I scheduled an appointment.   You don't have to hit me upside the head with a bat to make me understand, you just have to lock my keys in my car and attempt to fill my bean bag chairs.

February 23, 2003 - Here I sit, still in tears.  The performance by James Taylor and Yo Yo Ma on the Grammy's (of James Taylor's "Sweet Baby James") was just marvelous.   It wouldn't have had the same effect, perhaps, on someone younger since that wasn't "their" music.  Hearing it was like seeing an old friend.  It was wonderful.  And it's OK to cry tears of happiness when you see an old friend.   Hearing Simon and Garfunkle sing "Sound of Silence" in the beginning of the show as also very moving.

I had to have the T.V. cranked to hear it, however.  My ears are still blocked by fluid.  I return to the doctors tomorrow for a re-check.  It dawned on me during the song by James Taylor that I would really miss my hearing.  There are, after all, so many wonderful things to listen to.  I'm sure if I went deaf completely, it would only help sharpen my other senses and I would end up feeling things and seeing things I had been missing all this time, but for now I will not take music for granted in my life, in the event I end up losing the privilege to hear it someday. 

Music - that has been on my mind lately.  I have been wondering how neat it would be if someone would sing me a song.   We all have those fantasies in our head where someone loves us to the point of stalking us and singing to us.  I had always hoped someone would sing me Billy Joel's "She Got a Way" and mean it.  In my heart I secretly wished that to someone, I really did "have a way about me" that was worth singing about.   But that is, after all, just fantasy.  It would be my luck to have someone sing me a song five minutes after I was declared officially deaf.  Sigh and chuckle.

March 15, 2003 - Yesterday at work I was running up front to put mail in the interoffice thingy and a coworker came around the corner.  I have a habit of bowing when I meet up with someone in the hall.  (I used to curtsy but bowing gives me a better chances to get up again.)  So I bowed to my coworker as is my custom, and just as I was bent over along came my coworker's guest, a man of obvious Japanese decent.  My coworker rolled his eyes at me and threw me a backward glance.   His guest came to a screeching halt in the hall, and returned my bow.  I scurried along my way after that, knowing in my heart I probably was the rudest American that man had ever met.  I do not know the proper protocol for meeting a Japanese person.  I hope with all my heart I did not insult him.  Sigh.  I think tonight I will research this fact on the internet - proper bowing protocol.

My daughter and I had a nice day out.  She drove us to the mall and we spent my Christmas Bed and Body Works coupon that my cousin gave me on lots of stinky stuff.  We will smell fine tonight.  We both are putting in bids for tub time.  Having one bathroom sucks at times. 

It was near 65 degrees today, and felt like spring.  I never saw so many motorcycles on the road in March in my life!   And people on their bicycles!  Cripes.  People were no doubt ready for some warm weather.  I have already seen my first robin a few days ago, and one pair of sandhill cranes are back!!  I love to watch their mating dance.  I am a bird pervert?

I don't post to the diary much anymore.  I life has been utterly boring.  I have had ear infections again and am scheduled with an ear specialist on the 7th of April, so that is something.  I will have to get tubes.  My ears can't drain on their own anymore.  Every other part of my body drains on it's own free will without my consent except what is supposed to!  Stupid human body!  The other day my friend Sue and I were lamenting about the fact that things were falling out of our bodies or off of our bodies at an alarming rate and most of the time it's pretty gross, and "who's idea was this, anyway?" when it dawned on us we were complaining - out side and in plain view of the Designer himself.  When we got our feet out of our mouths, we begged Him for mercy, bringing up all the good points of the human body, and assured Him there was no finer design for a machine ever made.  A humbling moment for both of us, yet funny at the time.  I pity the people in the break room who saw all of this happening through the glass with no clue what we were saying and why we were talking in fear to the sky.

I know that as a youth I knew about the references that my parents made to World War II, and Glenn Miller, and the like.   How did I know about my parents 'youth' when the 'youth' of today don't have a clue about my past?  Maybe it's because we spent more time listening to stories instead of watching T.V.?  I am not sure.  I did watch my share of T.V. when I was young.  Those three channels we received on the black and white T.V. got a work out, for sure.  And now I can rattle off all episodes of Spongebob Squarepants before my kids open their mouths!  My kids borrow my C.D.s to listen to!  I think my age group got caught in an odd time frame.  We were the generation that was crawling out of the lake and developing legs, so we understand fins and feet.  Sigh.

My son was sick over the weekend with stomach flu.  It was coming out both ends of the poor little dude. He would wake me up in the night screaming, "I'm dying...I'm dying..."  (All mother's know that it is much better to vomit with a witness than alone when one is young.  My son has no hair to hold, but he does require a regurgitation cheer leading squad.)  I know he is better today because he just finished his Cheerios with half the bowl still left, claiming he couldn't eat it all, then turned around and asked for candy. 

April 9, 2003 - Tonight I spent ten minutes deleting "Spam" mail from my email inbox, and reporting it to my ISP as Spam, although really - how can one control this thing call Spam?  In my day Spam was best dipped in eggs and rolled in corn flakes then fried.  The range of the topics of this Spam was incredible.  One claimed to have many "young hot lolitas" just for me, and I was going to email them back to ask if the hot young women waiting just for me did windows and laundry.   But you can't email them back to complain, then they know they have hit a valid internet email address and you will continue to get hounded.  There were others about "enlarging my penis" and then I am in a quandary, for where will I find a penis to enlarge!?  Tell me that!!!  Would I not enlarge one if I had one?  Isn't it mandatory to enlarge it if you have it?  But the funniest of all things in the Spam parade is not the porn mails or viagra mails, it's the ones about the care and feeding of septic tanks.  Right there amidst all the smut is email about sludge.  What a combination.  I guess lolitas do have to poop from time to time, yes?  I would fall of my chair laughing if Hormel started an email Spam campaign for the real Spam!  Smile. 

We had ice storms in the grand state of Michigan, and in my area, snow.  Last week it was 65 degrees and the birds were all building nests and mating and buds were budding and spring cleaning seemed almost possible in my mind.  Now this!  Plop - snow.  The birds seemed a bit confused to say the least.  My son almost cried the morning I told him he had to wear boots and snow pants again.  "When will this madness end?" he lamented.   (Actually, he threw himself on the couch in a heap and beat the pillows with his fists cursing the snow and life in general.  It is tough being 10 years old.)   The whole time change thing had left him with a brain spasms in the first place, now snow?  (He was convinced that since we had to set our clocks ahead that he would never get enough sleep again until fall when we set them back.  I tried to explain to him that if he went to bed at nine p.m. EST now and woke up at seven a.m. EST now, it was the same amount of hours of sleep as it was prior to the time change, but he is still not convinced, and is sure I am lying to him, and periodically announces how tired he is from lack of sleep...)

April 24, 2003 - It's been an emotional week for me.  Pride for my children has been oozing out of me like so much grease from a fast food burger, and life in general has tended to overwhelm me.

It started on Good Friday, when my son came home from school with a high fever.  Please note that it seems to be a tradition in our family that every Easter someone is either sick and/or one of our major appliances explodes.  It used to be quite upsetting, now it's part of the ritual that binds my family together.  My son being sick was just part of our annual ritual, and to be honest I was very pleased it wasn't the dryer or washer catching fire - not that I wanted my son sick, mind you!  He spent the weekend on the couch, feeling very crappy.  His throat hurt and you could tell by the way he talked it hurt a lot.   He wasn't so much talking in a nasal fashion as he was talking in a nasal sound out of his ears.  To the fined tuned instincts of a Mother, it was obvious he had strep throat.  His fever reached 102 several times.  I doctored him as a good Mommy should.  I felt glad we didn't plan any huge family get together since he would have infected everyone in a SARS type manner with his enormous tonsils of doom. 

The feeling of pride was not over the fact my son was so sick.  It was how he handled himself this time while he was sick.  He was not whiney.  He didn't lay there claiming to "be dying" as he did any other time he's been ill.  He was a pleasant patient.  He was excited about Easter morning.  I was worried to death, to be honest.  I had toned down Easter baskets this year to be just a bit of candy and a small gift.   Normally I go overboard, but the place where we work is cutting back, downsizing soon, and I didn't want to waste the money.  After Christmas my son would say that he was so looking forward to Easter for he was sure he would get a new Game Boy Advanced.   That was the topic of many discussions for us.  "What makes you think you can get such a big gift as a Game Boy for Easter?" I would ask him.   "Because, geez, Mom - I got a skateboard last year!  Those are like 100 dollars or something.  A Game Boy is only like 80 bucks!"   He didn't realize that the skateboard was a 15 dollar special.  I tried many times over the last few months to explain to him that Easter was not about presents, and gave him all the details of Easter, and he would wander off mid-lecture claiming he knew everything in the whole world and I was just boring him. 

So, I was worried he would be very disappointed to only see candy and a stuffed duck on Easter morning.  I heard he squawking to his sister to get up on Sunday.  He wasn't able to yell due to his throat.  He rushed down to find his basket.  He looked at the items in it.   He sat down next to it.  Normally, my capitalistic spoiled rotten American son would have thrown himself to the floor and cried, flopping like frying bacon.  He didn't.  He took the stuffed duck out of his basket and stared at it a while.   Then he ran upstairs and came flying back down.  He brought down one of his old radio controlled cars and stuffed the duck in it, and drove that duck around the house all day in that car.  He tormented the dogs with the driving duck.  He would ram it against the back of our feet if we happened to be walking through the living room.   He played all day with the duck.  Not once did he indicate he was upset.   Not once did he act greedy.  He even said "Thank You!" for his basket.  I kept waiting for something to happen, either smoke to come flying out of the refrigerator to add to the holiday or my son to lament his life, but it didn't.   I know the little goober was sick, but now I fretted all day about how sick he must be!  "Maybe the fever's gotten into his brain!" I worried.   "Maybe I should take him to the emergency room!" I pondered.

I was amazed and so proud of him.   Here was my baby - growing up?  I couldn't believe it.  I thought maybe his sister had given him a lecture about how to behave, but she has nothing to hold over his head as a threat to force such good behavior out of him.  I asked her about it the next day.  She said she had not talked to him about being good.  We were both stunned.  He was good on Monday at the doctor's office.  His strep test practically flew out of the petri dish it was so strep positive, but the doctor assured me his fever hadn't destroyed his brain after all.  The doctor told him he couldn't go back to school until Wednesday.  "It's all good..." he claimed as we left to go get his medicine with the Dum Dum sucker from the receptionist hanging out of his mouth. 

My dear friend Diane brought home his school work on Tuesday night.  I thought, "OK, now we are going to see some fireworks.  He'll really blow a cork and cry over doing homework!"  But he didn't.  He grabbed it all up and ran upstairs and just did it.  I called up twice to make sure he wasn't setting it on fire of feeding it to the dogs.  I paced the floor.  Something wasn't right!  He finished most it without help.    He needed help on fractions, but he didn't even complain when I forced him to watch me demonstrate 4ths and 8ths by dividing piles of crayons.  Sigh.  He counted the crayons with his chin in his hand and humored me.

So, even though I am still a bit suspicious about the whole thing, I have also let myself feel pride for him.  I have told him this as well.  His response to my praise?  "What ever, Mother..."

Tonight was the High School Academic awards.  My daughter received her letter.  I cried to watch her walk up to get it.  In those seconds she was walking up on stage, I played out the next three years in my mind and zeroed in on her graduation.  I cried harder.  On the way home I tried to talk to her.  I cried more.  I managed to tell her what a joy she was to me.  How I was so proud of her and couldn't imagine my life without her.   This took 10 minutes, coming out between choking gasp in an attempt to talk through my tears.  She laughed at me the whole time, and when I finally was near hyperventilation and couldn't speak for a bit, she patted my shoulder and said, "You know, you're a pretty cool Mom."  I managed to tell her I would most likely pass out at her graduation.  "I know ..." she said in a loving, motherly voice, patting my shoulder some more. "It will be OK, really.  It's all good, Mom..."

And you know something?   Tonight, it is - all good.

May 4, 2003 - My dog Sparky was so excited on Saturday about the front of my car.   She went out to pee and just went nuts over my tires in front.  She was practically vibrating with joy.  I figured some studdly male dog from the neighborhood had marked my white walls in the name of his manhood and she found this irresistible.  Later in the day my daughter commented on Sparky's actions as well.   "She's going nuts over your tires, Mom.  Did you run over a skunk or something?"  Towards evening my son came running inside the house, "THERE'S SOMETHING IN YOUR ENGINE, MOM!  I CAN HEAR IT MOVING AROUND AND STUFF!!!"   He was so proud of himself and the sleuthing job he did.  "It's ALIVE!!" he proclaimed wildly.  The whole family went out to follow up on his findings. 

When I say the whole family, it means two dogs, five people, and three cats, mind you.  What ever was in my engine was not going to be taken by surprise by our small army, that was for sure.  I did manage to get the family quiet enough to listen while Sparky wedged herself under the right front part of my car, tail slapping loudly against the side, and Muffy under the left side of the car, tail whipping with intent to kill.  Sure enough, a faint scratching noise was emanating from the under the hood.  "What the hell could it be?" I pondered out loud.  My oldest son smacked the side of my car a few times.   My other two kids took turns trying to follow the pets up and under.  My daughter popped the hood of the car to look, and there on top of my engine was a squirrel.    We all jumped back and watched a tiny little baby black squirrel scramble for his life from Sparky and Muffy.  The little fellow ran up and under the Dodge Dart that sits on blocks behind my house, apparently as some form of lawn art.  Sparky and Muffy were in hot pursuit.  We all followed.  Then the little guy attempted to run again, this time around the shed a few times.  Muffy went one way and Sparky went the other and had him trapped behind some wood leaning on the back of the shed.  My daughter and I both cooed together, "Oooooooooooo, he's so cute!"  My husband was urging the dog on to "Get 'im!!" and my oldest son was laughing and shaking his head.  Sparky grabbed at the poor little guy's tail, and the chase began again.  The little squirrel was running as fast as baby squirrels can run, and he took the herd around the shed again, and then right back up into my engine.  Sigh.

I wish I had an aerial shot of this whole event.   Benny Hill would be proud of it.  You know your life is boring and uneventful when Saturday night is spent chasing rodents.   There he was, however, right back where we started.  "Now what do we do?" I lamented.  My daughter got in the car and beeped the horn several times.  The baby did not come out.  My daughter started the car.  The baby did not come out.   My daughter slowly drove forward a few feet.  The baby did not come out.   She backed up ever so slowly.  The baby did not come out.    "Where is the poor thing's Mother?" I said, being a Mother myself and knowing I certainly would never let my kids climb in some stranger's engine. 

My husband explained that he had taken down the awning out back that the squirrels were using to spring board from the old junk Dodge Dart to the awning then to the roof to run over the roof to the other side to jump onto my bird feeder.  "They were living in the rotten wood up there.   They must have had a nest.  But they can't get to it anymore!" he proclaimed proudly.  "No, they can only reach my engine..." I pointed out.   I personally would have thought getting rid of the old junk car would have been the answer here, but I'm only a girl, what do I know?

The sun was setting on our little mob scene, and still we could hear "Scampy" as he was now dubbed running amuck in my engine.  "I'll fix this!" my husband said in a manly voice.  He jumped in the car and started it up.  "The mother must have left 'em!" he assured us.  Just as he was telling us this, my daughter cocked her head and said, "Do you guys hear that bird?  Something is seriously wrong with that bird!"    My husband drove away down the road with that poor baby squirrel in my engine. 

The rest of us stood there a while, shaking our heads, holding our faces in our hands and wondering where the Mother was.  Just then I could hear the bird my daughter was mentioning earlier.   "Noisy damned bird..." I began to say until I spotted what was making the noise.  "THE MOMMY SQUIRREL!!  OH NO - RUN OUT TO CATCH YOUR DAD!" I cried.  Literally.  I cried.  Here all this time that poor thing was scolding us in squirrel slang and no doubt shaking her fists at us, and we didn't know!   There was the Mom, very agitated and flicker her tail and pacing in the branch above where all of this was happening.  The Mother squirrel was making a sound similar to a car alarm going off in the middle of the night.  Consistent and irritating.  My youngest son was clear down at the end of the driveway trying to flag his father in.  "Here he comes!" he screamed, and he started jumping up and down waving his arms to stop his father.

My husband sped by at a high speed, beeping as he went, assuming I'm sure that the dance my son was doing was cheer leading in honor of the squirrel frying going on under my engine.  My daughter and I both cried then.  "We are murderers!"  Finally when my husband did pull back into the driveway, he was upset.  "Well, the thing didn't fall out.  Maybe I roasted it."  We explained that the Mom was up there screeching at us.  It was decided in an impromptu family meeting that we'd leave the hood up and all go in and hopefully she would come and get junior, if he indeed still lived.  We ran into the house, hauled the pets in with us, and grabbed the binoculars.  We then all crowded around the bedroom window trying to see if the Mother squirrel would come down and do the right thing.  She didn't.  She sat in the tree, glaring at us, as if she knew we were watching her. 

Eventually everyone lost interest except me.  I quietly slipped out and sat in a brown chair with a green coat on, attempting to blend into the background and was silent.  The Mother squirrel was silent too.  After a bit, Scampy popped his head out of my engine and scampered all over my filter, my battery, and power box.  He twitched his little tail, sat up and looked around, then down again he went into my engine.  I put the hood down.  At least I knew he lived.  I was happy.  I prayed he didn't chew through essential wiring, and went inside. 

Today the cats and dogs could care less about my car.  I am hoping this indicates that Scampy moved out and found his Mom and they lived happily ever after.  (Preferably in the neighbor's van.)

May 20, 2003 -I bought myself some flowers to put out, finally making the decision to move and do something constructive last weekend.   I planted petunias mainly, since they are low maintenance and pretty, all in one fell swoop. Plus you get to pinch off their heads from time to time, so it's also therapeutic.  I got myself some pansies to put out as well, in memory of my Mom.   She loved pansies. 

I also purchased two new bird feeders to replace the one that the family of nomadic squirrels (who no longer live in my engine so I am not complaining, mind you) destroyed by free falling into it from higher branches.   The one they broke was a hanging feeder.  This time I got feeders on poles.  More of a challenge for them to break and balance on.  I also thought that it would be smart to buy dried corn on the cob to give the squirrels something specific to eat so they would leave my bird feeders alone.  I believe this idea would have worked, had it not been for the geese...

I have had families of sandhill cranes take over my yard, so majestic as they strut around with their kids.  I have had skunks and stray dogs make regular stops out back.  I have a my regular rotation of birds to my feeders and even bird families nesting in my rotting roof, and most recently my inventory on squirrel stock has increased by leaps and bounds, but I never ever had herds of geese in my yard until this year.  They hold up traffic just to honor me with their guano.  They come from the field across the road by the dozens to graze on my fine selection of worms and now the corn cobs.  Apparently there was something posted at the local Goose Lodge that informed them that I was a sucker to put out such a bountiful banquet just for them.  Sigh.  I have deduced that these are bachelor geese who struck out on the mating circuit at all the local lakes and ponds.   There are no goslings.  There are no "couples."  There are just dozens of very angry male geese who seems to be quite hungry and produce a lot of poop while still finding time to challenge each other in honk matches to show they still 'got it' even if nobody wanted it.  Sparky the Wonderdog sees them, goes nuts, barks like a girl, then squats to urinate before running to hide.  I don't let little Odie dog out to "go after them" because I am sure they would consider him a barking Hershey bar.  Muffy the great white hunter can no longer stalk and hunt due to his hips, so he lays and watches them, switching his tail and making threatening sounds under his cat breath.  I send my son out with squirt guns and permission to whoop and holler like an idiot to break them up most of the time, although he has pointed out that he's "way outnumbered and it really doesn't seem fair that I get sent into the piles of goose doo to do your dirty work, Mom!" 

Perhaps I shouldn't be so hasty in getting rid of the geese, now that I ponder it.  They are laying off people like crazy at work, and everyone fears for his/her job lately.  Those geese might be looking pretty darned tasty come this fall....

June 9, 2003 - Before I drifted off to sleep last night, I had an epiphany of sorts.   In my pre-sleep semi-dream like stupor, I wondered if maybe God wasn't just thinking ahead a bit with the whole Titanic thing.  I wondered if maybe God didn't think to himself in 1912, "What will these mere mortals compare their lives to when something is slowly sinking out of their lives and out of their control?  They will smack themselves upside the head trying to come up with a comparison, and there just isn't any....Hey, wait!!  I'll just inch this iceberg over this way just a tad near that boat..."  Apparently that worked out so well for Him, he added the whole Hindenburg ordeal for situations where we feel the need to cry, "Oh, the Humanity!"

OK, so I was sleepy.  I am sure God had nothing to do with the Titanic and Hindenburg.  (It seemed to make sense last night, however.)  And the Titanic does make a wonderful visual for my place of employment right now.  It's sinking.  Slowly.  It has a leak.  It's going down.  I had always hoped to play in the band on deck until the whole ship submerged, but I don't think I'll get the chance now.  I have a feeling I might be pushed off the side by a guy in a woman's dress trying to save himself.   Sigh.  

I have many friends who have gone through this before - worked their whole adult lives at a place only to get closed down and have to start new.  Now it's just my turn.  Thousands of jobs around these parts have been eliminated by one company or another.  My situation is nothing special.  My husband is in the same 'boat' as it were.  We have both worked for the same company since 1979 and it will be hard to start fresh and new at the same time.   I honestly, deep inside, have no fear yet.  I know we will find something, even if it's only McDonald duty, but we'll survive somehow.  I am just sad to see the company go.  It's like seeing your oldest kid who has moved out of the house and started his own life get involved with drugs and nothing you can do for him can save him.   So the ship sinks.  I don't know how to swim so good.  Wish me luck!  

We went to see "Finding Nemo" today.  Excellent.  Very Good.  GO SEE IT!  I laughed out loud many times.  The graphics were to die for.  I left the theater crying my eyes out, however, not because it has a sad ending, but because it sums up the true story of a parent/child relationship.  (Apparently I can't even go see a Pixar film when it's near that time of the month without flooding my face.)

My daughter and I are both pacing the floor and on occasion rocking in a fetal position, sucking our thumbs and muttering "precious...." in anticipation of the release of the 'Lord of the Rings' second movie on DVD (August 27th), as well as the movie release of the third film (December 17th).  It's taking too long.  They know they have us all where they want us.  This is just not fair.  Oh, the Humanity!

July 1, 2003 - My oldest son came over and presented me with the newest Maine Quarter for my "State Quarters" collection.  I was thrilled.  I have had no luck finding it in my little town.  (Begging at corners maybe was not the way to go?)  If I was a good Mom, I would have done a collection for each kid.   Instead, I opted to do a collection just for me, and they can re-enact the civil war after I'm gone to claim their share of the quarters.  Hopefully by then the USA will add one more state so there is an equal amount to share amongst themselves. 

Then whole family went tonight to watch the mass balloon launch at the Balloon Show in Battle Creek.  We saw Tony the Tiger, Sugar Bear, a very large Uniroyal Tire, and many others.  Then went for ice cream and took the back way home.  It is amazing the scents one can smell in the country.  So I serenaded the family... "Green Acres is the place for me...foul smells from animal feces...crap spreadin' out field after field...gross enough to barf on the windshield..."  They were not amused.

We took my daughter on a road trip over the weekend.  My oldest son watched his brother for the weekend, so we were free to meander across the country side to give my daughter behind the wheel time.  When we left, we were driving on wet roads after a much needed rain shower, so we were warning my daughter not come up so fast to the intersections, which she was doing with gusto.  She started to cry when we calmly pointed out that she needed to "STOP, YOU'RE GOING TO HYDROPLANE AND KILL US!!"  Apparently she had been worried about the road trip all week, convinced she would kill us all.  It didn't help that we were teasing her all day prior to the driving, of course.  Perhaps we did contribute a bit to her worries.  Statements like, "Don't forget your purse, they'll use it to identify your body" and "bring your cell phone in case mine gets thrown out during impact" most likely didn't boost her confidence.  (Hindsight....go figure.)   All in all, the road trip went well.  We got to see Notre Dame (in Indiana, mind you, not France) and spent the night at a terrible Days Inn in Mishawka that had puke in the corner of the room and a T.V. from the early 1950s.  The beds were similar to sleeping on a large piece of rubber bologna.  I slept on the floor instead.  The air conditioning was broken so the candy bars in the lobby were melted in the vending machine.  I am complaining about it, but we DID stay there after all.  We could have driven away, but facts are facts - my bladder is a loose cannon.  It demanded we stop when we did, no questions asked.

Tonight we were discussing license plates we had seen at the hotel, and then again tonight at the balloon show.  We were trying to decide what they call people from Indiana.  I know in Michigan we are called Michiganders, so what do you call Indianians besides, um, well, Indianians?  "Hoosiers!" was the vote.  Then we wondered "Ohioians or Buckeyes?"  As we pondered this, my youngest son asks us, "What do you call Hawaiians?"   Needless to say, we laughed long and hard while trying to explain to him that Hawaiians were Hawaiians...  But let's face it, really,  none of us are anything until your state ends up on the butt end of a quarter.

July 26, 2003 - Just to make it perfectly clear to myself and to anyone who had doubts about it, I would like to make the statement publicly that I AM ON VACATION FOR TWO WEEKS.  My team leader at work was kind enough to let me go early yesterday.   As he well knows, there is no productive work done in the last few hours before vacation time.  (What my team leader doesn't know, however, is there was no productive work done the week prior.  Smile.)  I really need time off.   Really.  No, seriously.  I need this time off.  It's been a long last few months.  The last few months have been hard at work, people being let go every six minutes or so.  Stressful to say the least.  Mind you, I am very thankful I still have my job.  Jobs are good.  Money seems to be a key factor in the procurement of food, clothes, and a place to live.   It's just hard to see your company change like a lava lamp on speed every day, especially if you have no idea if you are next on the whacking hit parade.  I need this down time to sit around and let my beard grow wild and free, never get out of my t-shirt and underwear ensemble, and not have to worry once about work.

My cousin recently had vacation, and he did productive things on his time off.  He rode his bike, spent quality time with his child, etc.  He moved physically on his vacation.  I have laid in bed at night being mentally productive - planning what I could do on vacation.  I doubt very much any of these well thought out plans will materialize.   I do hope I can get off my large rear and paint my daughter's room while she's up at band camp next week.  Then I will have to paint my son's room, because how fair is it to paint just his sister's room?   No matter what I do or do not do - I am on vacation, and isn't that all that really matters?

A friend at work told me yesterday that Mick Jagger turns 60 today.  My first thought was, "He's only 60?"  Hahahaha.  Sorry, it was just funny to me. 

My daughter heads off to Marching Band Camp tomorrow for a week of fun in the sun.  I bought her weights to use to help build up her upper arms earlier this summer.  I think that using them have helped.  When she came back from practice the other night, she claimed that the pain was almost tolerable (which is nice considering I've had to drag her, weeping, from the practice field as in times past.)  I often wonder if she could do it all over again, would she still choose the trombone, or an instrument that was lighter?  We'll never know, because damnit,  I don't have a time machine. 

We will go to see her show the weekend of August 1st.  We'll then spend quality time together as a family crammed into a small car.  Actually, I'm renting a bigger car so the kids have their arms free to smack each other in the head freely.  My youngest son's only goal this summer is to see Canada.  I am not sure what is in his little head...I can only imagine he pictures Canada as so different from Michigan that he'll crap himself in amazement when we cross the border. 

Another old person plowed into a outdoor market in Florida!?  Sigh.  I am convinced it's a plot by the senior crowd to take over the country.  Internal elderly terrorist?  Or maybe it's a mind control plot - broadcast over the airwaves by some foreign country...subliminal mental suggestions that only effect people Mick Jagger's age or older, that render their right foot spastic when they see crowds of people.  Clever.  Very Clever. 

There is a car commercial on T.V. about a car that 'talks' to you - suggest things, etc.  We were commenting on this technical wonder.  "How cool!" we said, "A car that tells you what to do!!"  My youngest son jumped in, imitating the 'voice' of the car, "Kill your sister...Kill your sister."  It was a good laugh for all. 

August 7, 2003 - There are two Sandhill Cranes that have decided to be brave and eat at one of my bird feeders.  They did have a baby, this couple, but the baby is gone now.  I fear a car got it, or an animal.  The couple comes several times of day to eat what the other birds have thrown to the ground.  Those cranes keep it pretty cleaned up, I must say.   Not all the waste at that feeder, like there is at the feeder right outside the front window.  The feeder outside the window is the normal hang out for the smaller birds.  They eat with abandon, throwing seeds everywhere.  The seeds they throw fall to the ground under the feeder, and the mourning doves will sit patiently and eat some, but not all of it.  Then it will rain, and KABOOM, the ground is two feet higher from all the seeds taking root.  But I digress....

The cranes have made my one feeder a hang out, and I'm impressed.  The dogs don't like it.  Sparky will hang over the couch watching out the window and whine while they are eating out there.   She has chased them once.  They are much louder and bigger than she'll ever hope to be.  They had her pinned up against the house one day.  The neighbor's dog has also come to visit the cranes, but the noise that came out of them and the display of the "pissed off crane" dance was enough to stop the visit short.  There was one morning I woke up and in my morning stupor opened the door to let Odie out to pee.   The crane couple just happened to be RIGHT THERE walking past on the way to the feeder.  The noise that came out of them worked much better than coffee in regards to waking me up.  Odie, the miniature Doberman/Chihuahua mix 14 year old dog who is almost blind decided it was his duty and his alone to save us.  He had no fear going after them.  Of course, he couldn't see what he was going after, just the shadows of the cranes.  He pursued them until the chain ran out and then barked annoyingly at them, just to let them know who was the alpha male around these parts.  They were not impressed.

Vacation has been nice.   Relaxing, except for last week for Tuesday and Wednesday.  On Tuesday and Wednesday I painted my daughter's room and son's room.  That about killed me.   Each night I worked to the wee hours of the morning finishing the rooms up.  I wanted to surprise her, however, when she came back from Band Camp with a new room scheme, so I was bound and determined to do it.  My son's room desperately needed carpet, so my husband did that after I was done painting in there.  After the carpet was finally in, we laid on the new carpet like two beached whales, enjoying the feel of it, but mainly just laying there because we were too exhausted to get up.  My daughter liked her room, so it was all worth it.  My son liked his room for approximately 20 minutes, but he's 10 and male so he was soon back into the mode of greedy capitalistic youth, whining because we won't let him get a laser light in which to harass the cats.

We went up to Petoskey to pick up my daughter from Band Camp.  Their show rocked.  They did a marvelous job.   Such hard work for all of them in one week, but they did so well!!  I had reserved rooms for the whole trip that had hot tub/jacuzzi, so she could bubble her pain away.  We picked her up Saturday after the show, and went right to the hotel.   She bubbled and passed out on the bed for hours.  The next day we drove up to the Upper Peninsula to see the Tahquamenon Falls.  It was odd, because there was no road kill out there, no birds flying, no wildlife present.  In such a remote National Forest setting, you would expect to see animals here and there.  There were tons of 'snowmobile crossing' signs, but no animal crossings that we saw.  On the road to the falls, my husband mentioned that there weren't even ducks on the ponds in the woods along the road.  True.  Nothing.  After we saw the upper and lower falls, and we were on our way back down the road, there was a family of ducks on the exact pond that was pointed out earlier.  "Ah Ha!" I exclaimed, "it's a government plot!   They must have heard us via spy satellites!  Now there are ducks there to throw us off!"  There were spiders in the bathrooms at the roadside stop, so I guess that does count as wild life. 

We then scooted over to Sault Ste. Marie to see the Soo Locks.  I had seen the locks when I was 12 years old in one of my Dad's famous "drive like a bat out of hell idiot" weekend vacations my Mom forced him to take us on.  Normally these weekend excursions, of which there were exactly two,  were whirlwind, straight shot trips up to the Bridge without pee breaks type of trips.  My Dad was not a social creature, nor did he like to travel.  My Dad was odd.  You could say my family was dysfunctional.  (But then again, who's family isn't?)  He got half way up to the Bridge on the first trip and wanted to come back.  I remember my brother and I sitting on the curb waiting as my Mom and Dad verbally duked it out.  We ended up going as far as the Bridge, so Mom must have won.   I remember she also won the battle of seeing the Tahquamenon Falls on the other trip, since we pointed that out on signs to Dad and we started there, not knowing how far away it was.  He let us know exactly how far out of the way it was once we got there.   We went to the Soo Locks on that trip too, but only long enough to stand by the fence and watch some boats pass through.  Ah, family togetherness. 

But anyway, my herd went to Sault Ste. Marie, bought fudge on the tourist street and took the boat tour of the locks.   The kids loved it.  It was fascinating.  We saw Ontario from the Canadian locks, and the boat captain pointed out tons of cool stuff.  Watching the locks fill up and empty was too neat.  The steel mill up there on the shore in Ontario is HUGE and was fascinating.  There was a storm cloud that almost seemed to follow us with rain and lightening, but that only added to the 'coolness' of the boat trip.  After the Soo Lock tour, we went back to the hotel.  The hot tub there was big enough for a small third world country, and felt wonderful to just soak in.  The water jets in a jacuzzi can be your very best friend if positioned correctly!  I got to get me one of those things one of these days...

Now it's Thursday.  I have four days left of vacation.  Sigh.  I dread going back.  I will be swamped with three huge projects right away.  There is also talk of the company who bought us several years ago, selling to another company.  So that is something else to worry about.  More layoffs?  Maybe they will just shut us down all together?  It will be interesting to see.  But that is four days off.  Until then, I can just watch the cranes, eat fudge from Sault Ste. Marie, and sit here in my jammies.  Life, at least for four days, is good.

School starts on Monday.   The kids are experiencing various emotions at this time.  My daughter is excited yet leery.  She likes school, but starting a new year always gives one a wary feeling.  She is happy about Jazz Band and Marching Band, but worrying about the amount of homework this year. My son feels as if we are forcing him into bloody bowels of hell.  "School is boring!" he mumbles from time to time.  He doesn't want to go back because he has to WORK and STUDY and LEARN.  (Boring has nothing to do with it.)

September 21, 2003 - Getting time to post to this thing is a rare treat.   Life is busy as of late.  School stuff and homework stuff and life keeps getting in the way. 

Everyone is still asleep, so I will steal these few minutes for myself to type.  Of course, now that I'm typing, I can't think of anything to say!  I find that funny.  It is like forgetting your grocery list when you go to the store so you end up coming home with EVERYTHING except what was on your list.

The kids are settled into the school routine.  Being if fifth grade is hard on my youngest.  He cannot just throw things together like he used to and have it good.  He has to actually work, and that about kills the poor boy.  He still has not come to realize that the world doesn't spin for him exclusively.  That will be a hard reality for him when it hits.  I hope it hits soon. 

My daughter is doing well in 10th grade.  She is in both Jazz bands that meet before school, and she is loving Marching Band.  She just turned 16 years old.  We had a surprise bowling birthday party for her.  It was fun.  She has a good set of friends.  Makes me proud, it does.  We went yesterday to spend some of her gift cards se received as gifts at the mall.  "It feels good to shop sometimes!" was her statement as we left the mall.  She got herself a cool watch and a new CD. 

We have lost one of our cats to the great outdoor elements, I fear.  Spazzy, the stuck up feminine acting cat was gone several days before we noticed.  He has yet to come home.  I fear for the worst - around here there are many wild animals to haul off a little cat.  I tried to comfort my daughter by saying that since he is so little, maybe someone thought he was a kitten and took him.  He's actually four years old, but was very small.   Spazzy is my son's cat, but the loss of him doesn't seem to effect my son at all.   They were never that close, really.  Spazzy mainly attached himself to my daughter, Dr. Doolittle herself, and would sleep in her hair.  The other cats don't seem bothered by it either, although Muffy is upset at Sparky the Dog as of late, attacking her for no good reason out of the blue.  We are wondering if Sparky didn't witness a cat mob hit (by Muffy on Spazzy) hence the violence from Muffy directed at Sparky.  There really should be a soap opera based on family pets, don't you think?

The cranes have now gotten brave enough to eat our of the main bird feeder right out front.  I looked out the bathroom window the other morning and there was a crane RIGHT THERE and we scared each other.  They should be getting ready to fly south soon and I will miss them.   They have been good entertainment this summer.  Many people driving by stop to watch them in our yard.  I hope when they come back next summer that they will feel they can bring any new babies with them.  (Hmmmmmm, maybe the cranes ate Spazzy, now that I ponder it...everyone is suspect at this point!)

The whole family is up now.   Except my daughter.  My son wanted to play on the Playstaion 2, but it's in her room, so the rule is he can't play until she's awake or she grants him the permission.   She had come down earlier because the dogs woke her up for food.  They want to be fed like everyone else, and they know she is the official giver of food.  So she came down, fed them, then disappeared.  My son just came from upstairs and he was pouting.  "Geez, she went to back to bed!  She can't go back to bed!   She was just up!  When somebody wakes up, they should STAY UP!" he lamented.  "I go back to bed all the time on the weekend!" I claimed.   "Yeah, but that's because you are OLD!" he replied.   "Well, little Mister, maybe it's not because I'm so OLD as it is the fact I don't have a Playstation in my bedroom, aye?"  (OK, so it's because I'm OLD.)

We did our bathroom in a SpongeBob Squarepants motif.  There is a SpongeBob toilet seat, SpongeBob Border, Squidward Green paint on the walls, my whole collection of SpongeBob things people have left for me at work, SpongeBob rugs, wastebasket, toilet brush, bath mat, shower curtain and  ... I think it's pretty cool.  It's fun to poop at my house now. 

There are many temporary workers working at my place of employment lately.   Sometimes I hear groups of them talking when I’m on break.  One group was talking so casually about court dates and prison time, as if it were a normal thing for them.  I was sad.  I was sad because they grew up thinking this was normal - All families have this issue – parents/siblings in jail…violence is a way of life and accepted.  Sad.  Actually, I’m just damned lucky to have the situation I have.  I should NEVER take any blessing for granted. 

My friend Diane moves away this week.  Her husband worked for the large pharmaceutical company that laid off many many workers.  He found a job in Indiana.  So they are changing their entire life to move there.  I think they are very BRAVE.  I think it takes a lot of GUTS.  I couldn't do that.  I wouldn't leave state to pursue a job like they are.  I am too wimpy.     Diane is the ultimate kindred spirit.  (I counted in the Archives, I have mentioned her 19 times.  That is a 1000 times too little.)  I can't even bring myself to see her before she goes.  I cry instantly when I think of her leaving.  My husband just told me he saw a Mayflower Moving semi truck at her house today, and I wept.  We were den mother's together for our oldest boys many moons ago...and I couldn't begin to tell anyone how I feel about her.  She's a sister, a friend, and a glorious human.  Knowing she was there was a comfort.  Knowing she's moving away is like swallowing Drano after burping up freshly chewed uncooked carrots. 

October 7, 2003 - Sometimes I amaze myself.   Really.  I am floored at what I say or do.  Things fly out of my mouth or I do things that take myself by surprise.  As I near the ripe old age of 43, I still think to myself I would be a cheap fun date if I say so myself, because I am fascinated by little things.  I have been known to wander off after butterflies in the middle of conversations.  Odd things spew forth from me faster than projectile vomiting by a baby trying spinach for the first time.

Today was no exception to "The Amazing Sandy Chronicles."  I work in a computer department.  As you well know, IT people can be quite verbal and weird.  I'm not totally 'IT' in nature.  I am good at what I do, mind you, but not a born 'geek' as it were.  I am actually a born manufacturing person, who can type fast and find bugs in software.  (Since I called the IT people for help all the time, they thought it best in 1995 to make me an IT person to shut me up and make me responsible for answering help calls from people like me.)   Clever of them. 

But I digress.  I am not your normal IT person.  (I'm just plain not normal, to be honest.)  I am quite "alive" you could say, for lack of a better term.  (One step away from an institution most likely.)  I tend to express myself with gusto, especially to people I feel close with by hugging them or touching them or smacking them or poking them or throwing things at them...you get the idea.

So today when the herd of males I work with gathered in the cubicle next to mine, and I saw what I thought was my coworker Doug's butt poking through to my side of the cube, I poked it with my finger.  It was a slow, deliberate poke, aimed straight for the left cheek.  As I poked said cheek, I was saying, "pooooooooooooooooooop" in a high pitched comic voice.

To my shock and dismay, the pair of jeans I was poking did not belong to Doug.  A perplexed Finnish man with blonde hair jerked around to stare at me in shock.  The owners of our company hail from Finland, and this was one of the people who had been over here for a while helping with our in mold decorating process.   I didn't know this person.  I have only seen him in the hall and waiting in line for coffee in the morning.  We have exchanged head nods and 'hellos', but we were far from the stage where cramming my finger into his tush would be considered acceptable behavior.

I hardly ever blush, but I was way past blush in seconds to outright broiling mode.  Layers of skin on my face peeled away from the heat.   Had I not added the sound effects as I poked his butt, I could have claimed I bumped him when getting up, but no! - I had to add sound effects!  Butt poking sound effects!  Fearing the total break down of international relationships between the US and Finland, I flew from my chair and grabbed a hold of the poor fellow in a bear hug, apologizing profusely.

Seconds after I did that it dawned on me that having his arm lodged in my cleavage as I hugged him was not necessarily the right thing to be doing either, so I pushed myself away from him.  "Oh my God, I'm so sorry, sir!!  I thought your butt was Doug's butt!"  Doug was the next man over, and was laughing quite hard by now.  So I flew to Doug and hugged him.   "Doug, I thought it was your butt!  Really!" 

The poor man from Finland said, "It is OK" over and over between my raving of apologies.  This all happened in a matter of seconds, but in my mind I could still see my finger aiming at that rear end and it played out in slow motion over and over.  I could see the butt cheek bound back from my finger's impact like the top of a cake when you test it for doneness.  The whole time in my mind all I could hear was a long, drawn out "p o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o U U U U U U P!"

I left the men there, stating that "I think I really need to leave now..."

When I saw him at the coffee pot later, I apologized more.   "It is OK!" he said with a smile.  I left it at that.  I wonder how long it will be before I get a pink slip?  I wonder how you say "sexual harassment" in Finnish?  Maybe "It is OK" means "you are so gonna hear from the big guy tomorrow!"  Sigh.  I have to remember not to use my sormi to koskettaa one's butt poski in the future unless I personally know that person. 

October 30, 2003 - Last night as I was harvesting my facial hair which I try to do once a month at least to avoid being mistaken as a 'Mr.' instead of a 'Mrs.', I noticed the gap in my front teeth was much wider.  I have always has a slight gap, but not this much of one!  I sat there mussing about it to myself for the longest time, and finally took a survey of the family to see if they noticed when apparently my jaw had split and each side receded to a different hemisphere.   No one noticed, apparently, that my once tiny gap was now able to house a small third world nation.  Sigh.  I know for the last year I have had troubles with my jaw alignment off and on, but I didn't know it was having such an impact on the alignment of my teeth.  I will point this out to my dentist the next time I go, although I could not go through braces nor have anything done to my jaw without being in some form of a drug induced coma, since I freak over things like that.  The family did offer up many handy suggestion on what I could do with my gap, such as using it as a high pressure water dispenser during conversation at people.  My family is always such a comfort to me.

They installed stink control devices in the bathrooms at work.   It was a promotional offer from one of our vendors, I believe.  The things spray a mist of air freshener at timed intervals.  They are mounted at the head level of most of the males on my end of the building, and anticipating/dodging the sprays of stench-no-more machines has thrown several of the boys into flashbacks of their combat duties.  The other day I'm convinced I heard the paging system proclaim, "Man down!  We've got a man down in the South bathroom!  I need eye wash and a stretcher!!"  It is rather intimidating to be sitting on the toilet, trying to time your visits to avoid the stinky snipers from above.  It's almost as if the thing is watching you, waiting until you finally relax, then PFSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS.

As if forced-smell evasive maneuvers weren't enough at work, my youngest son has insisted on using hair gel and cologne now on the home front.  He's in 5th grade, and is often seen in the company of many young women on the playground.   He has groupies.  He's gotten to the age where he is aware that keeping such a fine harem of groupies means being stylish and apparently stinky.  He requested cologne during one trip to the grocery store.  We let him pick out one he liked.   He picked one fragrance he claimed smelled like his big brother.  He was giddy as a school girl thinking of how wonderful he was going to smell to others.  We all left the store that day reeking of samples of men's cologne.  My son thought the only way you could pick a good cologne was to drench yourself in it.  My daughter tried to instruct him on how to test a cologne in the store, and testing it didn't mean drinking it or rolling in a puddle of it.  My son did not agree on that one.

Getting used to his hair gel use was bad enough.  He would layer it on his head like peanut butter on bread.  My daughter came out of the bathroom one morning and said, "What is this stuff?" as she held up the comb that was entombed in a cocoon of hardened gel.  The residue left on the faucet handle and door knob had to be torched off with fire and a wire brush on a daily basis.  Add to that fun the art of applying cologne, and you have a sitcom worthy of Fox. 

We tried to show him how to just spritz a bit on him for a subtle effect of scent.  He took our advise to heart - NOT.  He would come out of the bathroom with a haze around him.  Plants within 20 feet died.  The whole bathroom would reek all day from his cologne use.  For days we tried to convince him he was just smelling too damned good and he had to back off.  He wouldn't listen.   Then last week at my daughter's band concert, he hosed himself down right before we left and we didn't catch it until we all got in the car and we all shut our doors, I was immediately thrown into dry heaves.  "What did you do, inject that stuff into your veins?" I cried between gags.  "I just put on a little!" he insisted.  That was not a little.  The cloth on the roof was peeling back.   The car alarm was going off.  We drove to the concert in the rain with the windows down.  It was all I could do to not visually gag in the auditorium when we got there.  I made him sit on the end of the row.  People would come and sit in the row behind us.  That would last for approximately 3.6 seconds, and they would leave.  When the auditorium got so full that people had no choice but to take the seats behind us, there were constant murmurs from them about "who stinks?" and "somebody is wearing too much perfume!" or "I think I'm gonna be sick!" 

The concert lasted two hours;  the longest two hours of my life.  As soon as it was over, I fled the premise, grabbing my daughter and breaking free into fresh air.  We drove home as fast as I dared, this being deer season and all although the smell emanating from our car would have killed all wild life in the greater tri-state area, and the second we walked in the door I demanded that my son strip to the bare skin, throw his clothes in the washer with gasoline and matches, and take a shower immediately.  He no doubt was insulted at my clear misunderstanding of the art of smelling good.  The next morning we reviewed the proper way not to reek and make people vomit, yet still smell fresh as a spring rain. 

December 14, 2003 - To the kind young man in California who was curious if I was a man or woman, I am a woman.  (Hear me roar.)   Unwanted facial hair is just one of the many things I enjoy as a woman.  (Some of us women are just blessed that way, I guess.)  The woman you eventually marry will also end up with facial hair and you will love her even with a beard, just as she'll love you when you forget your anniversary and her birthday and when you start growing hair in your ears so thick birds want to nest there.  Yes, I saw a power plant on my vacation to the Upper Peninsula of Michigan.  Come visit us sometime here in Michigan, and take the boat tour of the Soo Locks - you'll love it.  It's not salt water like in California, but it rocks, nonetheless.  You can't surf it, no...I'll give you that much.  Thanks for writing.  I hope you had fun surfing.

My Christmas shopping is done!  Yeah!  I'm so happy I could poop.  Presents are wrapped and I am so ready for this Friday when I will officially be on vacation for two weeks.  Staying home with hyper children prior to Christmas is something I enjoy.  I love to torment them and build the tension.   Anticipation of something is more than half the fun.  I am also done with my Christmas cards, and all is merry and bright. 

We need snow, however.  The winter storm that hit out East completely missed us, making me quite jealous and upset, but I would settle to get some good old Lake Effect snow.  I love snow, as has been noted in the 'World Book of What Sandy Likes' which as we all know is now housed in the Smithsonian Museum, and open to the public. 

Lord of the Rings 'Return of the King' comes out this week, and my daughter will hyperventilate prior to the time we can go see it, she's so excited.   I want to see it too, and I have heard many people talking about it at work.   We won't see it until next week when the crowds have backed off a bit.  Maybe we'll go as a family herd and see it on Christmas Day.  I remember the first time I went to see a movie on Christmas Day.  I had no idea movie theaters were open on holidays!  I went with my friend Tim B., and we saw the movie 'Magic' starring Anthony Hopkins back in 1978.  That was a morbid movie to see on Christmas, now that I think of it!  And I left my parents alone, too.  I would just drop over dead if my kids left me alone on Christmas day!  What was I thinking back then?   Cripes.  I did have fun being with Tim, mind you... but I digress...

Guess I'll head to bed.  I'm happy but tired, so sleep will be welcome.  First I have to pull my sex crazed cat off of the afghan he's getting "romantic" with at this time.  (I had put this particular afghan away months ago after washing it, and found it the other day when trying to make room in my closet.  I couldn't remember why I had put it away, so I got it back out and put it back out on the couch.  After catching Taffy playing his little kitty Barry White C.D.s and getting, um...well, fresh with that afghan, I now remember why it was hidden.)   After I wash it again, I'll put the afghan away once more - and keep it hidden until we need some entertainment at parties and we run out of catnip. 

December 28, 2003 - Christmas was wonderful.  I am always sad when it's over, since the anticipation is the thrill of it.  My oldest son has been here since Christmas Eve.  (I believe it's the draw of free food.   He has the two weeks off from work over the holidays.)  I took down the Christmas stuff today.  Normally I have it down the day after Christmas, but I must be mellowing in my old age.  Putting it all away is something else.  Taking it out every year is exciting.  Often is heard expressions such as, "Oooo, I forgot we had that..." or "These are so pretty..." or "Remember when you made this?..."   When putting it all away, there normally is only one expression thrown out, "When did we get so much crap!"

The kids had a good time on Christmas.  They all got what was on their "letter to Santa" and seemed pleased and happy and content.  I insist that we wait to open presents until I have a cup of coffee.  One last way to prolong the agony.  My sister and two of her daughters came over for Christmas Eve, and that was nice.  We didn't get very much snow, but it did snow a little bit.   It was a semi-white Christmas.  If we don't have a blizzard soon, I'm gonna bust a liver.

I had a dental appointment for the 23rd to get a tooth fixed, but I cancelled it.  I had bronchitis, but I couldn't have sat through a filling, I'm sure.  I panic so over teeth fixing, it's sad.  Within two hours of canceling the appointment, a huge chunk of the tooth directly above the bad one fell out.  Then yesterday at dinner, another tooth lost a chunk.  I used to have nightmares of all my teeth falling apart at once, and now I'm living it.  Sigh.  I wrote a letter to my dentist last night, and will take it to him tomorrow.  I need help to survive these visits.  My doctor gives me klonopin to help calm me down, but it doesn't work so well.  I hope my dentist will have some suggestions. 

Now we are all home, waiting the New Year to come in.   Nothing special is planned, except for tomorrow, when we have to take my daughter's new set of DVDs of "Sailor Moon" back to exchange.  I got her the Japanese version like an idiot, and as much as our public schools have advanced over the last few years, they do not teach Japanese yet.  We have sparkling juice (in lieu of wine) to toast 2004's beginning.  I doubt we'll watch anything on T.V. this year.  My husband and son got so many new DVDs we will be watching those.  It will be a New Year's Eve full of "Red Green" and "Mr. Bean" I'm sure.

December 31, 2003 - It came out of the blue the other night while talking to an old friend on line, "The Big Chill" hit hard.  It hit me inside with a loud "thunk."   We both got quiet after talking about times gone by.  It was just so "there" in print in front of us, bits and pieces from the last 20 plus years.  Life is amazing, but it also passes amazingly fast.  Sigh. I don't know what I want for the New Year.  I have no big dreams nor wishes.   The only thing I hope for is to wake up every day, breathing.  That would be good. 

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