Couch Conversations

A conversation that took place last month.

A commercial showing a guy fly fishing comes on TV.

Me: I'd love to do that, Bill we should go fly fishing!

Laughter breaks out from my son and daughter.

Me: hey, I can fish.

Katie: I've heard you can skin a squirrel too.

Andrew: poor Dad, he's going to be getting hooked, literally. 

Me: I CAN FISH.  As long as there are no snakes.  Do you think there'll be snakes?  We should just go when it's cold so there won't be snakes.

Andrew:  What about bears? 

Me: Bears? Will there be bears? .  I could shoot a bear, but not with a pistol I heard those just piss them off.  I'll need something bigger. 

Andrew: This isn't looking good for Dad. 

Me: I wouldn't shoot Dad.

Bill: Not on purpose. 

Me: NOT AT ALL, I CAN FISH AND SHOOT. 

Andrew:  Better make sure your insurance policy is paid up.

Me: What are you doing over there?
Andrew:  Tweeting.  Hey Mom, you're trending.
Me: Trending what?
Andrew:  Sh*t my mom says.
Me:  I hate bears. 

The middle part.

There's a story I'd like to tell.  But I can't. I've been asked to restrain myself. An almost impossible feat, and not for the faint of heart.  Whatever that means.  So I'll start in the middle of the story......and you can have fun guessing the first part until my personal restraining order is lifted by you know who.

I have braces.  No, I didn't plan on them. No person in their right mind decides on braces 4 MONTHS before their son's wedding.  They're a last minute addition to a sudden change in the proximity of my teeth.  Along with my beautiful cast on my left arm.  Also a sudden and unplanned adornment.  And a major pain in the @ss.   And it makes shopping for that stupid Mother of the Groom dress MUCH more challenging.  As far as the braces go I think I know why teenagers in general are just plain cranky. Everything I put in my mouth ends up displayed across my front teeth.

And the timing of this new and unusual punishment couldn't have been better.  My entire front desk staff is gone.  One, hopefully will be able to return, is on  medical leave.  The other is on a different kind of "leave". So watching me flail around at the front desk, looking much like a circus seal with a bad flipper trying to will a phone to levitate to ear level by mere visual contact is extremely entertaining.  I looked like Nanny McPhee, not the good one at the end of the movie but rather the OTHER one , no mole.

So I found myself in an absolute panic as the Mother of the Bride, who I LOVE ( I say that alot lest anyone doubt my devotion to my new in-laws) texted me that she had found her dress.  And of course she looks fabulous in it.  Most size zero women can look fabulous in a flour sack.  With the right necklace of course. And she's no exception. In her defense she works hard to maintain her shape and is to be commended for it.  I commend thee!  I, on the other hand, calculate daily how many hours before the event I should stop eating Snickers to lose that one pound.  I really think 4 is enough, anything more than that and a war might break out.  Currently I have to put my Snickers in the Vitamix to liquefy it before consumption.  Adventures in blender food.

And so with the dead line looming I started looking in earnest to find a real dress.   And by "in earnest" I mean I actually went into a store with the intention of looking at an actual dress.  Not like before where I pin all kinds of fantasy dresses on my Pinterest board in hopes that I'll have chronic diarrhea in order to achieve the chic heroin look of the models in said dresses.  Diarrhea being slightly less expensive than heroin unless I'm wearing the "good" underwear.  Seriously, have you priced woman's underwear lately?  The next patient that complains about the cost of sealants while holding a bag from Victoria's Secret I'm going to punch right in the throat.  And it doesn't offer protection from cavities.  Although in some profane way it is a cavity protector.  Wait for it.  You're welcome.  The first store I went into said they had formal dresses.  I asked if they had anything that wasn't designed for pole dancing or aging beauty queens.  The store clerk actually smiled and then said "honestly, no. Everything in there is designed for the raging hormonal puberty set." To which I agreed.  So I bought "mom" pants instead and told them my sad story that I can't tell you.  Which doesn't seem very fair, but I don't make the rules, I'm just forced to abide by them.  Or something like that.
And so I went to the next shop.  And spied not one but TWO dresses.  I felt like I was hunting wild turkeys and hit the jackpot. .  I listen to a lot of talk radio hosted by good ole boys so I feel confident using this expression.  Also I found myself sneaking up on them, the dresses not the turkeys, and calling to them. Clearly this is lot like hunting.  The saleslady lugged them to the dressing room and shut the door.  I stood there for a second wondering if I could navigate the zippers with one arm and then went for it.  I HATE breaking out in a sweat just trying on clothes.  My right arm took on the shape of a tiny Chinese contortionist.   ( if she was 5'9") . I kept giving that arm a pep talk " almost there, almost there" . Which just now occurs to me probably didn't sound right to the woman changing in the room next to mine.   And then I guess I really made her uncomfortable when I started taking pictures with my phone which was making shutter noises with each snap.

Strange woman in dressing room next to me ( yelling to her husband) " HEY, ARE YOU TAKING PICTURES OF ME OVER THERE?"

ME ( realizing what is happening): " No that's me.  No, I mean I'm taking pictures of myself to send to my daughter"

SW: " oh....."     She then leaves rather abruptly.  No doubt to report me to the store security.

I keep peaking out the dressing room door for another Mom-Person to zip me up and take my photo as Flipper the one armed wonder keeps taking shots of the ceiling.  I track one down and she helps me out.
Then I have to wait for the sales clerk to pass my door again to get OUT of the dress.

After spending that much time alone in the dressing room with the 2 dresses we all bonded and  I didn't feel it was fair to leave one behind after all we'd been through together.  Plus there's the damning photos.  So they're both hanging in my closet.  Unless I eat more Snicker Bars.

I'm keeping the receipts.

making my bed

Everyone has their quirks.  Some of us are blessed to have a variety of quirks.  I'm quirk friendly.  And there is a distinct difference between a quirk and an obsession and an illness.  It's a fine line.

When I go on vacation.....I make the bed.  I can't help it.  I make the bed.  With all the little decorative pillows and shams fluffed up and back in their places.  I love walking in and out of my room as if I'd just gotten there.

places everyone!!!

And then I get a HUGE cup of coffee with extra cream BECAUSE IT'S VACATION. And I sit and stare out the window. 

the window

No one puts their crap on my bed.  That would be a mistake.  One doesn't want to rock the happy boat on vacation.  ( all of Bill's stuff is in the closet) 

Sometimes I take pictures of things in my room.  I usually forget I've taken them and then later can't figure out where the heck the door knob is from. 

dresser door

Knob

water color.  All I can think of is it probably smells there. 

Sometimes I do this as early as 6:00 am.  Fortunately for Bill he's already down at the beach staring out at the ocean from his chair.  He knows all the chair guys, lifeguards and the 15 or so dogs that walk the beach every morning.  He reports back later how many sharks, sea turtles and supposed seals ( this is a major bone of contention) that he's seen.  He also has his quirks, although it's safe to say he'd label them being focused on a issue that needs to be resolved.  A quirk by any other name.  His are the beach chairs. And I'm good with that.   

These are my chairs.  From which I stare out from the balcony and see his chairs.  But no seals.  

Buster could swim here safely 

Laundry Songs

Sinatra sang about Ermine.  Those were the days.  

Me:  Anybody have laundry they need done?  Looking for colors only.

Andrew:  Laundry in my white tee.

Me  What? No, I said colors.

Andrew:  Making demands, in my white tee.

Me: What? No, I SAID GIVE ME YOUR COLORS TO WASH!

Andrew: Yelling, in my white tee.

Me:  What are you talking about? Do your own laundry then.

Andrew: Laying down the law, in my white tee.

Katie: Mom, he's making fun of the very large white t-shirt that you're wearing.

Me: Well it's comfortable and I like it. Why is that funny?

Andrew: Asking questions, in my white tee.

Katie: It just is, don't ask.

Me:  Well, I think we both know I'm going to keep asking until someone tells me. Or I Google it.

Andrew: Googling, in my white tee.

Me.  That's it......


Don't , just don't look it up.
Seriously.
( It's a very catchy rap song about all the fun and illegal things one can do in a white tee clearly written by very sad and lonely children with too much time on their hands.   With words I can only find in the Urban Dictionary.)

I'm still wearing it though.

Summer Reading Contest

Every summer vacation our family quietly ( hahahaha) has a reading contest.
Me: woohoo, just finished my first book on the beach!
Andrew: Did you start it on the beach? because technically that doesn't count.
Me: says who?
Andrew: When did you start it?
Me: well, June 10th, but I don't think...
Andrew: So , not on the beach.  Doesn't count.
Me: Hey, YOU'RE rereading a book, that doesn't count either!
Bill:  Please stop.
Me: Tell him to stop.
Bill: Both of you stop.
Andrew: Doesn't count mom.
Me: You're not the boss of me.
Katie:  CHANGE APPROVED
Bill: Oh, good grief.
Me: This is why I read on the balcony. It's a hostile reading environment down here.
Andrew:  Mom look....smoking beer shooting teenagers with a radio....go get em!
Bill:  Stay in your chair.
Katie:  Yeah Mom, go smack that radio with your book.
Me: Technically 1/2 a book. I'm going to need a bigger book.  [Jaws reference]
Katie: Use Andrew's book, he's already read it.

a field guide perhaps

Bill: Nobody is smacking anybody.
Me: Well no, because I'll need a bigger book. and a taser.
Bill: Why do you resort to violence?
Me: Code of the beach.

Andrew is reading a Brad Thor novel ( for the second time)
Katie is reading Game of Thrones: A Storm of Swords
I'm on my first WHOLE book - Dave Barry, "Lunatics"
Bill is reading some book on Integrity.  
Need I say more?

Mom, you're old and crabby

ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhh

I recently discovered I am old and crabby.  By discovered I mean Andrew said, "Mom, you are old and crabby."   I think I was born old.  The crabby part I have nurtured and cultivated to a point of perfection or contention depending on who you talk to.

Things I do well on the beach.
Sleep
Read
Drink
People watch
Laugh
Tell very accurate stories rarely embellished at all. Especially about squirrels.
Repeat.

Things I don't do well on the beach
tolerate teenagers ( which is why we rarely come here during spring break)
a radio
any radio
any music
wind chimes ( yes)
being read to ( especially if it's good for me)
being told to pray for people I'd like to see get eaten by sharks
cigars
cigarettes
fishing lines
sharing water with teenagers who were just shooting beer while their parents watched and whine that it's too far to walk back to their house and get some. (true story)

I was a kid once.  We did stupid things too.  Not at my parents house.  And not with my parents liquor. And we knew our parents would hold us accountable.  We were not allowed a sense of entitlement.  Which is probably why I was born old.  And if you really want to cultivate a crabby side work in a pediatric practice of any kind and watch the parade of clueless parents that are too busy being friends to their lost and boundary-less brood while feigning shock that anyone would require any amount of decorum while around said monsters.  Listen to them talk to their parents in such a way that is both disrespectful and degrading while the parent is writing a check for they're next entitled activity.  Dance, Football, Rock Climbing, Camp, Nails, Hair, Tanning Beds, New Car, etc.    They aren't all like that, most are wonderful.  But sometimes I feel like the tide is turning.

I'm pretty sure I got my attitude from my father.  He wasn't perfect but there were some things he got right. My mother had a dinner party at our home and invited some family she knew that had 2 daughters that were mine and my sister's ages, 6 and 8.  We were definitely a lower middle class working family. My dad had worked hard to get my mom a piano.  My mom could play and she loved that piano.  Over the course of the evening the guest monsters had gotten on top of the highly polished piano bench IN THEIR PATENT LEATHER SHOES and tapped away.  My mother although horrified would never had said a word and I feel certain she asked my father NOT to say anything.  And he didn't.  Until they got ready to leave.  As they were saying their goodbyes at the door and telling my mom what a great cook she was and how wonderful the evening was my dad leaned into the door and said " We had a great time too, we really enjoyed your company, and you're welcome here anytime, however don't ever bring your kids in my house again. I don't allow my children to act like that in my home and I won't allow it from yours either.  Have a nice evening."
And then he went to bed.  My mother and my sister and I stood there stunned.  Probably not as stunned as they were.

They never came back.
I inherited the piano.  And the attitude.

The piano, mom, Kim, Me and Mr. Attitude. 

Slides. Not the playground kind.

My mom took tons of pictures.  She only took slides.  We sat many summer nights outside with a white sheet hanging on the side of the house as a screen  just looking at slides.  When my mom died I insisted on taking as many of the family photos and slides as possible with the good intentions of getting everything copied and scanned to share with my sister.  

That was 1993.    

The road to hell should be finished by now with a bypass and several interchanges complete with scenic overlooks and rest stops.

And my mother didn't store them in small boxes. Nooooooooooo.  I brought home about 50 Kodak Carousels jammed packed ( 100 slides each) plus a couple of boxes of the tiny boxes of slides which of course is just so easy to find a place to store in a controlled environment.    And so begins my scanning projects.

I picked up a cheap simple slide scanner, which I regretted almost immediately , as I have to hand feed each slide.  Plus I get side tracked looking at the tiny 2 x 3 inch screen with my less than perfect vision trying to discern which tree in the state of Missouri my mother felt the need to commemorate.  And there are lots of them.  And after scanning a couple of the boxes and complaining about NOT having a clue how to clean the slides I discovered it wasn't the slides it was the darn scanner.  Yay for the hundreds I've already scanned.  And my highly observant skills.

I am not exaggerating

And here we have......trees.

when I say 80 percent of each Kodak Carousel that I've scanned is trees.  Trees on the side of hill.  Trees by the lake.  Trees on the farm.  Trees on the side of the road as they drove about 75 miles per hour  down some unnamed highway while clicking pictures out of the car window.  And she saved all of them.  Bad shots, missed shots, unfocused shots.  I know because they are numbered. And none are missing.  At first I tried to just scan the good ones but it was easier to set up a rhythm and scan them all.  Which is probably how she came to keep all of hers too.

Occasionally I run into real gems.  Ones that answer age old questions, you know, like  Why are the animals in zoos so far away from the people now?

Clearly some parents.....

use questionable methods.....

for expanding their toddlers education.  Thanks Dad. 

Or this,  did Colonel Sanders just sell chicken? 

Apparently not.  Beef AND Ham.  

Or - Were there any signs that I had terrible eyesight as a child? 

nahhhhhhh..

And the treasure hunt continues.  

Stay tuned for more secrets revealed 

1969  trip to the Smokies.  More damn tree pictures.