Half My Life

We were just about to fall asleep that night. It was the night before our anniversary and we were talking about our plans for the next few days. It wasn’t very different than any other night. Then the weirdest thought came into my head. I sat up just a little and looked at my husband.

“I have been with you for almost half my life”

“I hadn’t thought of that,” he said.

Nothing else was said as we listened to the sounds of the night and he slowly fell asleep. I moved over to my side of the bed and tucked myself under my blanket. For a long time I thought about half my life. I had a lot of strange and conflicting emotions. Some what-ifs both for the past and the future. I was in a very lonely and doubtful place for awhile.

Then I rolled over and whispered into his sleeping ear.

“It’s been the best half.”

I went to sleep looking forward to the night I’d realize that I’d spent 2/3 of my life with him. I bet we’ll be really cool grandparents.

Frozen Waffles and The Dominator

We celebrated our Frozen Waffle anniversary this week. We spent the day of our anniversary in Richmond and the day after we took the kids to Kings Dominion. We had fun both days but riding the new roller coaster ‘The Dominator’ was a lot of fun. I’d rank it on the top of list, the first time I rode it. The second time my youngest wanted to ride too. Thanks to the recent growth spurt that left me in tearful pools of nostalgia she was just big enough to ride. I wasn’t prepared for the fear I would feel just as the ride started. That’s when I realized my baby, who was just (like ¼ an inch just) big enough to ride, was going to

“fly through five inversions at speeds reaching 65 mph, including the world’s largest vertical loop”.

In my mind the shoulder harnesses and seatbelts were nowhere near adequate. The world is a totally different place when you’re a parent.

Just as the ride started moving I turned to MyHusband with a look of absolute panic. He has the amazing ability to read my mind and we both grabbed the handles on her shoulder harness and made sure she didn’t fall out. There was no way she was going to fall out but you don’t question a mother when she’s protecting her kids. You don’t tease her about it later either. Even if she can see it your eyes.

The ImPerceptible Top 10

I was curious and decided to find out what posts were my most popular. It took some work. I sorted through my feed views on FeedBurner and my page loads on StatCounter. Then I was going to factor in the comments but decided against it - that was too much work. The final list kinda surprised me and kinda didn’t. Some of my favorite posts made the list. I guess you guys have good taste. I was going to do this for my Blogiversary in July but then I realized I’d have to sort through all that data again. I’m not that dedicated. So what? Spank me. Here’s the list:

Indigo Blue
What is it About The Olive Garden?
Happy 5th of July
Stupid Grownups
Seven Things I Dig About Whit
Scarlet Red
Think of Me
Can’t Help But Smile
Discrete Packages
Through the Mist and Fog

Then I decided to find my most unloved post. I have many posts that belong in the virtual dumpster but the official results surprised me. Here it is.

We’re Like Corn!

Awwhh, come on! That was pure 7yo genius there. I can’t believe you guys don’t appreciate a good poop joke.

Nothing.

I went to check my e-mail today. There was nothing. No one loved me. No one missed me. No one wanted me to go anywhere or do anything. No one wanted to tell me about their accomplishments or heartaches. There were six spam messages. I could increase the size of my penis. I thought, “Even if it tripled in size I’d still have nothing.” What a waste of disk space. Then I deleted them. They became nothing. It felt right.

For school today we did nothing. I decided to take the day off. I had a dentist appointment. Everyone else gets the day off when they go to the dentists. So should I.

I sat in the dentists’ chair and wondered if she got her hygienist license from the Marquis De Sade School of dentistry. She poked and scraped until I bled. I figured I deserved it.

My teeth looked great. I would have to wait to see the dentists or I could leave. There was nothing wrong. I told her I would wait. He came right in. I asked him to check my filling on my back tooth. I felt weird. Nothing in particular. Just different. He said it was fine. It was just getting old. Nothing to worry about. Nothing at all.

Nothing remarkable happened at the grocery store. Just the same old food in the same old aisles. They gave me 20 cents off for using my own bags. But that really amounts to nothing. I thanked her anyway. I’m nothing if not polite.

I came home and decided to drop some things off at the food bank. When I got there they were closed. No one was there. So I left them nothing.

I did next to nothing for the rest of the day. I wasn’t in the mood.

Now I need to wrap up this post with something meaningful, or funny, or stupid, but I got nothing. I guess that’s the point.

Deli Sliced Chicken Salad + Fistballs = Parent of the Year!

Sometimes we get sliced honey roasted chicken breast from the deli. Some days, like most people, the girls make sandwiches out of it for lunch. Today would have been one of those days except for a small problem. There wasn’t enough sliced meat to make two sandwiches. There was only enough to make 1.5 sandwiches. (Maybe only 1.25 sandwiches) Neither one wanted to be the one with half and they loudly an obnoxiously made their point very clear. Being a sane parent I suggested that they divide the meat in half and make ¾ of a sandwich. That wasn’t going to work. The negotiations became heated and turned into an argument. The argument turned into a screaming match. Before I realized I needed to intervene and made it all the way down the hall, the youngest had the bag of chicken tucked under her shirt. She was on the floor and the oldest was on top of her trying to get it. Chaos erupted. A glimpse of an arm or leg, half-formed fists, hair, and pink bunny socks was all I could make out in the confusion. From this jumbled pile came screams of, “MOM! It’s mine! Ouch! You have to share! MOM!”

“Enough. Stop it. Stop shouting. God Damn it, stop fighting!” I told them. They weren’t listening. I was trying to stay calm but it didn’t work out for me. I wondered if I should get the garden hose and spray them.

The pile eventually began to mutate and formed itself into two separate beings. They stood there face to face glaring at each other.

It was then my turn to make sense of the situation. I grabbed the pack of chicken, tore open the bag, and ripped the meat in half. I was in no mood for that crap. Squeezing it in my hands and holding it up above my head I shook my fists and yelled, “You each get half! Is that so hard to understand?”

“HALF!” I shouted as I stomped my foot on the floor.

Then I plopped the battered meat into their bare hands.

They stood there for a second looking at what was to become their lunch.

“What are we supposed to do with this?”

“Do with it as you wish.” I told them and I went to wash my hands of both the situation and the meat juice.

The oldest shoved hers into her mouth and the youngest got a piece of bread and made a sandwich. They both seemed happy.

A little later they were best friends again. Sitting together discussing life. I overheard the youngest tell her sister that the chicken was pretty good. All mushed up it tasted like chicken salad. The oldest didn’t have any complaints either. Hers was like a big meatball. Except it was shape like a fist. A fistball. Kinda like a knuckle sandwich, but different. It was good to hear them laughing together. I hope it lasts.

And now I’m left thinking, “I am so gonna get the Parent of the Year award this year.” I just know it!

I Made A Basket

I made a tiny little basket. It was fun and easy, except for the top. I have enough left over to make another just like this one. Except maybe it won’t be as crooked. I think I’m going to give it to my mommy. You didn’t know I was so talented, did you?

Like Oil and Water

There is something you guys don’t know about me. I feel I need to get this off my chest. So I’m going to come right out and say it. I have problems with hippies. Don’t get me wrong, I like hippies. I appreciate the long hair and flowing skirts. I like the bright rainbow colored art and drum music. I can even tolerate a tambourine or two. The hippies and I always start out well. We share vegetarianism and organic gardening. We believe in human rights, comfortable shoes, and (in theory) free love. We can share stories of a hand-rolled masterpiece that was purchased from a Jamaican guy, by a former roommate, at a Grateful Dead concert. Yes, It changed my life as well. Then I make an innocent comment like, ‘Hey, Wal-Mart has disposable razors on sale for half off.’ and that’s when things turn ugly. Mentioning the two for one deal on deodorant usually does me in. The next thing I know, I’m rocking gently in the corner and sucking my thumb. They leave in a vapid patchouli scented cloud, off to molest their next unsuspecting victim. It ain’t pretty. It’s a problem. Like oil and water, we just don’t mix. I’m not sure if I’m the oil or the water. Maybe I’m the vinegar. Or the seasoning. Maybe I should go and make some salad dressing. My homegrown, organic, non-GMO, heirloom lettuce is about ready to pick. I’m going to store it in a plastic bag.

Revenge of the Spider

It was like a scene from a horror movie except the spider was just bigger than the tip a pencil. Besides that it was scary. Imagine waking up to a spider slowing descending from the ceiling just above your head. Making it’s way toward your face. Trying to make you it’s bitch. My sleepy eyes went in and out of focus as it worked its way slowly toward me. I’m sure if they hadn’t been too tiny for me to see, its eyes would have been glowing an evil red. Its fangs would have been poised and ready to strike. I reached up and pinched it between my fingers. Then I looked around for others. I hope that wasn’t the scout spider out looking for a new home. Do you think the spider queen will send out a search party of bigger meaner spiders? Spiders hell bent on getting revenge for their brothers unjustified death? You never know. I’m watching my back. And my ceiling. You can never be too safe.

Good Grief!

Good grief. Just go over there and read it. Please tell him my post scared you away from his blog. I can’t explain. My Write it - Post it policy may be flawed. It’s really warm in here. I might be getting hives.

Home Again, Home Again

Home was tucked between fields planted with corn or sometimes soybeans. Go-carts, dirt bikes, and BB guns. Cows mooing in the distance and naked feet run through fields and managing to miss most all of the cow piles. There were apple trees along the drive and rotten apples to pelt both the unsuspecting and the deserving. There was always the smell of gasoline and engine oil from a newly repaired engine and dust from a freshly driven road. We never did slow down. What would have been the fun?

Home was also tucked between two rivers. One tasted like salt and seaweed. The other like dirt. I swam both long before my memory can remember. I learned about love and war on their shores. Oyster shells make good bombs, unless you hurt someone. Crab pots make good forts, unless you fall on them. The sand is cold, damp and uncomfortable, unless you’re in love.

At home, big trees grew smaller as I grew taller. Grannies kitchen always had treats. A bottle of Coke tasted good even if I had to share. Green garden snakes became monstrous demons and spiders wove deadly webs between the corn. We weren’t scared. Or so we said. We had the dog and a stick to protect us. He always led us home to dinner. At the end of a long day it was the only place we wanted to go.

There were grownups that wanted to hear our stories, warm bath before bed and full round of goodnight hugs. I would fall asleep to the sound of crickets and frogs. I didn’t know they were supposed to be annoying until the trees grew too small to climb and bare feet started wearing shoes. Crab pots became work tools and Coke gave way to wine. The boys became lovely demons and girls spun their webs. But we weren’t scared. Or so we said. We had arrogance and pride to protect us. We knew how to get home for dinner. Even if it was the last place we wanted to go. We never once considered we’d miss it.

More people write about a sound, smell, or taste they find comforting or that reminds them of home at the Thinking Homeschooler Project.