Short on Shoes

If I Had My Wish

I’m cranky today.

 

Just saying.

 

It’s grey and rainy and chilly here, my jacket smells like the basement, and my hair won’t stay straight because of the rain.

 

I hate the cold.

 

If I had my way, I’d sleep in and wake without the assistance of an alarm clock going off at 5:30.

 

I’d have a cup of Christopher Elbow’s hot chocolate with big square marshmallows delivered to me (I’m not slogging through the rain in my If I Had My Wish world), the best hot chocolate I’ve ever tasted.

 

I’d order some new shoes from H&M, from the new Jimmy Choo line (which in the real world are not offered online, and there’s not an H&M store in this city – again, cranky).

 

Then I’d have a light lunch delivered to me (again, no slogging here) from Café des Amis, maybe the Salade de Chevre Chaud aux Abricots.  Very Cherry yogurt?  Not this day.

 

After a reading for a while (to allow for digestion, you know), I’d turn on my Ipod, pull out the flour, the sugar, the butter and start baking.  I’d make Apple Cider doughnuts and Gooey Butter Bites.  In my little happy world, I would have been able to find the edible markers so I could make cake pop eyeballs for The Boo’s Halloween party.  I’d make Bacon Cupcakes with Maple frosting for My Little Brother.  I’d make Vanilla Bean Macarons with Dulce de Leche and a Ganache filling.  I would crank out some Apple Handpies so The Sous Chef would pipe down for awhile about me making them.  I’d make Caramel Gingerbread Pumpkin Cheesecake, just because it seems like the thing to do on a fall day.  Bubba would want some chocolate, so I’d throw together a Chocolate Butter Pie.

 

I’m not sure who would really eat all of this food, but it sure would be fun to make.

 

After my baking extravaganza, the kids would come home from school, happy and excited.  Homework?  There’s no homework in my If I Had My Wish world.

 

And wait just one minute, who’s coming through the door?  The Irishman, who’s gotten off early and can actually eat dinner at a normal hour.

 

Knock, knock.  There’s someone at the door in my If I Had My Wish World.  It’s Piropo’s, delivering dinner, 5 Peppercorn Filets, medium rare.

 

After a night filled with no pressure, no meetings, no practice, and nowhere to go, it would be off to bed, refreshed and ready to face the next day.

 

Yes, in my If I Had My Wish world, it would be a good day. 

 

An Ode to the Water Heater

Oh water heater, water heater,

Where did you go?

I turned on the faucet

And there was no warm flow

I really want to thank you

For picking just the right time

Crapping out on us last night

Made this morning just sublime

We knew you had some issues

A slow persistent leak

But what the hell, what's going on?

It's not like you're antique

I know you picked this moment

'Cause we'd nothing else to do

Alas, how wrong you were

Around here it's a zoo

So after much complaint

I'd like to offer a toast

To a crapass water heater

For giving up the ghost
 

Poop Hats, Aisle 11

 

Does your heart start going pitter pat when you see one of these bags?  Does the red and white bull's eye logo send you to a happy place?  Does your adrenalin rush when that popcorn smell comes wafting towards you when you walk in the front door of the store?  Mine does.  I LOVE Target. 

I remember going to Target when I was little and at that point in time, Target was nothing more than another giant store filled with cheaply made stuff.

But times they are a changin'.

Visits to Target have become dangerous excursions.  Dangerous to my wallet.

So imagine my excitement the other day when I came home to find this:

 

Awwwww, I thought.  The Irishman went to Target and got a shiny new treat for me.  Oh, how much I love that man!  Always thinking of me.

I must prolong the experience, I thought.  I set my things down and took the dogs out.  I came back and got a Diet Pepsi.  I looked through the mail, took my jewelry off, and put the dishes in the dishwasher.

Surely I'd waited long enough. 

I reached for the bag and opened it and pulled this out:

  

Hmmmmm.  The Irishman got a hat for me?  A plastic hat? I thought.  I don't think I'm going to be able to use that.

Then I turned it over.

 

Yeah, definitely not a hat.

I called The Irishman at work. 

"What's this thing you got from Target for?"

"I didn't go to Target," he said.

"Well, well, there's a Target bag!!!"

"I had to take Bubba to the doctor today, remember?" he answered.

"Yes, but when did you go to Target?"

"Honey," he said trying really hard not to be irritated.  "The doctor asked for a stool sample from Bubba.  The white thing is what he's supposed to make his 'deposit' in.  They just put it in a Target bag so we wouldn't be carrying around that thing."

"Oh.  So nothing from Target?"

"No, nothing from Target."

My hopes were dashed.  The Irishman and Bubba went to the doctor and all we got was a stupid poop hat.

You Can Call Me Mrs. 10A

A while ago, I wrote about The Irishman and his many injuries.  He had just installed new lights on the front of our house without incident.  I was so proud!  

What an idiot I was.  I should have kept my big mouth shut.  Exactly two days later, we had an icestorm here in KC.  To most, icestorms require that extra ounce or two of caution, picking and choosing their way judiciously prior to making a move, whether on foot or by car.  To our family, icestorms mean certain disaster.  For The Irishman, that is.

Call it fate, karma, bad luck, or just simply being a klutz.  Whatever word you choose to identify it with, the outcome usually requires a trip to the hospital.  So it was with very little shock that I received a call from The Irishman that day, saying he had stepped off a curb at work onto a thin sheet of ice, his feet flew out from under him, and he'd hit his head on the concrete.  Because the "indicent" occurred at work, he was sent to see a specific Worker's Comp doctor, who promptly prescribed him large doses of Ibuprofen and sent him on his way, no x-rays or tests conducted.

Over the next several months, The Irishman was plagued by a headache on the right side of his head that was constant and extremely painful.  He returned several times to the Worker's Comp doctor and finally last month, the doctor ordered an MRI.  This was followed by a myelogram, and finally a pain block was ordered.

This past Monday, after a prior failed attempt to receive said pain block (the Worker's Comp office is notorious for rescheduling appointments and not advising the patient) I took The Irishman to the hospital for the procedure.  The Sous Chef was with us, purely for time constraint purposes, and less than thrilled about the early hour at which he'd been made to drag his butt out of bed.  The Irishman went to check in, he sat down, they took his information, and handed him a red laminated card that read "10A."

"What the hell is this?" I said as he sat back down to wait. 

"This is how they identify me now.  They said it's for privacy reasons."

"Seriously?"  Seriously.

As we settled in to wait, I thought about what this meant, and what the ramifications of it would be.  We weren't at the hospital for any type of mental disorder, sex change, or drug addiction.  We were in the Pain Management section of the hospital, not the witness protection program.  Was it really an invasion of privacy for the nurse to shout out our last name when it was our turn to go back?  Does anybody really pay attention to the names, other than to shake their head in impatience when the name is not their own?  Images of tattooed barcodes and inserted microchips started flying through my head.  No names, no identities, just a number.  That's what we've been reduced to.

"10A!"

We headed back through the large Push Button to Open doors in all the 10A-ness swagger we could muster and followed the nurse to the procedure room.  The doctor arrived in a timely fashion (how often does that happen?) and introduced himself to us (using his real name, I assume doctor's are not allowed aliases), and I stood to shake his hand.

"Hello, I'm Mrs. 10A."

Turns out the doctor (when did the doctors start practicing so young?) was not a fan of this new identification method either, calling it unprofessional and impersonal, and urged me to write a letter to the powers that be admonishing this new practice.

The (young) doctor was actually fabulous, and finally had a diagnosis for The Irishman:  Occipital Neuropathy.  He explained the procedure he was about to perform, and wrote his initials on the back of The Irishman's head with a felt tip marker.  Huh?  This was new too.  This nurse came in to prepare the injection and The Sous Chef and I decided it was time to make our exit (graduation practice).

As I walked out of the room and glanced at the wall beside the door, I noticed a piece of paper hanging there with "10A" on it.

I double checked my purse and smiled in relief.  Tucked between schedules and sunglasses and keys was a red laminated card.  I left the building with our new identification.  I wanted no mistake made upon my return about who I was or who I was there to claim. 

After dropping The Sous Chef at school, I quickly returned to the hospital and walked directly to the Push Button to Open doors, at which point I was asked who I was.

At which point I flashed my red card and said, "I'm Mrs. 10A, I'm here to pick up my husband, Mr. 10A."

While You Were Sleeping

It's been a long time, I know.  Things here have been CR-AZY!  Let me try to catch you up, and then I'll really try hard to get back to normal posting status. 

A couple weeks ago, before the Arctic weather took hold of my sleep little town, on a lovely Saturday afternoon, the boys and I were waiting patiently for The Boo to be dropped off after a sleepover.  I was sitting in the front room, and caught a glimpse of red out of the corner of my eye.  I looked out the window and what did I see?  But a pudgy, short Santa, walking towards me (not really towards me, but I liked the rhyme).  I thought it was a fig-newton of my imagination, but when I looked twice, he was still there.  He was just wandering around in the middle of the street, occasionally waving at cars that passed by, with what looked like a mother in tow.  He meandered over to the Bed and Breakfast, sat on the stone wall, and flopped backwards.  He lay there on his back, kicking his little legs in the air.  It was at this point that I decided I couldn't resist this drama.  "Sous Chef!  Sous Chef!" I called.  I handed The Sous Chef the camera, pointed at Santa and said, "Go!  Be your sneaky self!"  He ran out the door, and disappeared before my eyes.  I watched out the window as the Santa's mom coerced him into several poses and took pictures, while the Sous Chef was nowhere in sight.  As Santa was waddling back to his sleigh (which turned out to be a red minivan), I saw The Sous Chef walking casual-as-could-be down the sidewalk, no sign of the camera.  Santa mounted his sleigh and promptly ripped off all his holiday garb, and off they flew.  Later that day, after single-handedly executing a family of vermin I might add, the kids and I were running errands and ended up at the pharmacy.  While waiting in line, I looked to my left, and wonder upon wonders, there was Santa, disguised as a little boy, stuffing his face full of candy while his mother printed out pictures.

 

Fast-forward to Thanksgiving.  We stayed home this year, and my Dad, step-mother, sister, and The Big D came to visit.  Here's The Big D with "Fire Tiger," although I really tried to urge him to change his name to Gustav. 

 

The Irishman was asleep before 1:30.  That monitor sure is a cozy headrest!

 

I brined the turkey this year, something I've not done before.  It's a little unwieldy, a little messy, but brining is the way to go for me from here on out.  The turkey was fabulous, and really, I don't like turkey.  The Irishman and The Sous Chef made an incredible gravy, we made the traditional cranberry sauce, which no one likes but eats because of tradition, and had chocolate butter pie and pumpkin caramel cheesecake.  It was so good to spend time with our family, and the time for them to go came way too soon.  Later that night, The Irishman and Bubba, because they are crazy, left to begin Christmas shopping.  The stores here opened at 12:00 a.m.  They got home in time to wake me up for work, and then crashed.  The Irishman went to work around 10:30, and Bubba didn't get up until noon, although that's been known to happen even when he's not pulled an all-nighter.

 

In other news, The Irishman and I actually had a date.  We banned the kids from making any plans on this particular Friday, which had special significance.  That Friday was the opening of Twilight.  I had pre-ordered the tickets to make sure they weren't swooped up by the teenage masses and told The Irishman the rest of the night was up to him.  We ate dinner at The Hereford House (not the one that burned down, clearly) at what would be considered Happy Hour for most.  I didn't want to be late and was worried there would be lines.  We arrived 45 minutes prior to the movie, and the line was ridiculous.  I couldn't imagine that so many people would be able to fit in on theater.  The movie was fair, following the general theme of the book, and really, who wouldn't fall for a vampire that looked like Robert Pattinson?  Just be sure to wrap yourself in a few extra blankets and you'll never know that his body is the temperature of most sub-zero refrigerators.  I was very proud of myself for making it through the movie without giving the evil eye to the young girl behind us that squealed every time a cute boy showed up on screen.  Yes, I'm growing up.

 

Nana arrived the day after Thanksgiving, and on Saturday we braved the snow and nastiness to head out to Bob Jones Shoes, because a visit from Nana would not be complete without making that trip.  We walked away saddened and empty-handed, which is unexplainable.  We even had a great parking spot, which is always a sign that we will hit shoe-gold!  We motored on to Target Boutique, in search of a fan to ease The Sous Chef's sleep in the sauna that is his room.  Yet again, our search was fruitless.  Apparently no one needs fans in the winter.  Silly me.  We decided to cut our losses and go home.  We did walk down the street later to The Christmas store, where Nana bought us each an ornament of our choosing.  Please to notice the shoes on my little elf below.  The shoes clinched the deal.

 

The weeknights have been filled with studying and basketball practices and snuggling up when the furnace can't figure out what it wants to do (although for some reason, my kids insist on wearing summer attire at home, no matter if it's 20 below outside).  There's our new few-ton (that's the way we say it here) that is broken.  Nebraska Furniture Mart will be replacing it on Wednesday.

 

And here's The Boo, in what looks like the most uncomfortable position ever, finishing up her homework.  Let's just pretend those socks look as white as the pure driven snow, k?  I'll feel better that way.

 

Tuesday night at 10:00 p.m., Bubba informed me that he was supposed to attend the football award ceremony thing at school on Wednesday.  The Irishman took my car to be fixed Wednesday morning (the seat warmer was ba-roke!), so he picked me up from work.  I dropped him back off at work, arrived home late with kids, and waited for Bubba.  He got home and we left precisely two minutes later to make it to The Boo's basketball practice.  We left basketball practice early, and drove forty minutes to Bubba's school, with not a minute to spare.  The organizers of the ceremony foolishly gave the freshmen their numbers first (all 117 of them).  See the man to the far left of the picture?  When Bubba got to the stage, he said "Nice shoes" to him.  He was supposed to be wearing his school shoes.  I wanted to tell him "Listen, Buster!  It's been so crazy in our world that we're lucky to be here with our underwear on in the inside of our clothes!"  Although his enormous feet really do nothing to help him out, do they?  After the freshmen received their numbers, Bubba headed up the stairs and out the door.  This after "Buster" had practically begged everyone to stay for the whole thing.  I felt so guilty, but I squeezed past the other people in my row, and off we ran.  It was late!  These kids had homework and we hadn't eaten yet.  We buzzed through McD's and gobbled our food down in the car, while I drove in silent bliss with a warm bum.

 

Last night was Christmas on the River here in our little town.  We attend every year, and it's so convenient because we just walk down the street to the entertainment.  It was so cold last night that we decided not to spend the whole three hours outside, but make our way downtown 15 minutes before the fireworks started.  The Christmas on the River fireworks show is the most spectacular display that I've ever seen.  It's choreographed to music and is traditionally fifteen to twenty minutes worth of non-stop fireworks.  Forty-five minutes before the festival ended, we heard the first shot go off.  Crap!!!!!  I'm not sure we've ever moved so fast.  We threw on coats, pulled up hoods, and flew out the door, looking like criminals running down the street.  We made it with plenty of time left of course, we can cover the measly 5 blocks pretty quickly. 

 

After the show was over, we were thankful we hadn't gone down any sooner.  The cold, even for the ten minutes we were there, was enough to make us all cranky. 

 

We ran back home, almost as quickly as we ran downtown, to be greeted by our newly decorated house.  Thank you Irishman!  It's lovely!

 

This morning, soccer at 7:30.  A.M. that is.  It was gross.

 

But we made it, and The Boo played hard, and her team won. 

 

Two basketball games to go today, and then we get to relax. 

On a quick side-note, I didn't see Short on Shoes here, so that's a nice little happy moment for me.  Hopefully, normal blog activity should be returning to normal around here.  Unless I have more of the "Listen, Buster" days.  All bets are off if I come across another one of those. 

Reprieve!!!!!

Yes, this is what I was facing today.  A driver's permit for my 15 year-old.  However, I've had a reprieve.  The Irishman and Bubba had a small mix-up, and there are no permit tests on Saturday. 

I had taken a week to talk myself down, to let the idea marinate, to ease into the situation and self medicate.  A week full of anxiety-riddled panic attacks and poor attempts at meditation and deep cleansing breaths.

Last Friday, the Irishman and Bubba hatched a plan and thought it would be no big deal for me to run Bubba over to the testing site and watch my baby's youth ebb away, question by motor vehicular question.  They should have known better, after the Herculean effort it took for me to uncurl from the fetal position I had been in when he graduated 8th grade.

Needless to say, I made no attempt to hasten the procurement of said permit.  I told them I needed at least a week, and last night I steeled myself for the inevitable.

Bubba and I both got up early this morning, ate a quick breakfast, and made our way to the motor vehicle office.  I truly felt so bad when the office was closed, I thought I needed to offer a consolation prize to Bubba, and I let him practice in the park lot.  He even parallel parked between the testing cones in three perfect maneuvers.

I taught him how to evade the po-po and how to floor it when you're about to be jacked.  It was awesome.  Not.  You'll have to excuse me while I go finish vomiting now.

In the afternoon, Bubba, The Sous Chef, The Boo and I went over to the track and "tossed the pigskin" around for awhile. 

 

And now something just for you Mom.

While shopping this afternoon at Target Boutique, I picked up some berry colored lip gloss.  It's supposed to be the new color of the season. 

While preparing the Last Supper (which will be discussed in a future post), I thought I'd try it out. 

Turns out it wasn't a lip gloss, it was a lip stain on one end and clear gloss on the other end.  The Sous Chef asked when I'd become Emo.  The lip stain is like colored crazy glue.  I am now short two layers of lip skin and an even greater source of entertainment for my children. 

This is why I don't wear lipstick.  Frightening, isn't it?

   

It's Friday, I'm In Love

Yes!  We've made it to the end of the week.  And not a second too soon.  I wasn't sure we were going to make it.  It's been a busy, busy week.

On Saturday, the Sous Chef donated his time to serve dinner at school to patrons who paid $25 a plate for lasagna.  Serve from the left, clear from the right.  Or is it clear from the left, serve from the right?  I don't know.  Anyway, he ended up having a great time, as all of his friends were there doing the same thing, although I believe he was the only child there whose parents didn't force him to be there. 

Apparently he also served up a healthy dose of entertainment on stage, I'm sure to the delight of the dining crowd.

Monday was our day for carpool, which takes a healthy bite out of the afternoon/evening, and leaves little to no time for making dinner.  That amounts to crap food for dinner.

Tuesday, dentist appointments for The Sous Chef and The Boo.  This turned out to be a two and a half hour affair.  Then a quick change of clothes and off to soccer, lasting til dark.  The result - more crap food.

Wednesday, the Irishman brought The Sous Chef and The Boo to my office, and we raced off to Bubba's school for his first official football game. 

Bubba's #10.  Does he not look like a stud?  He played almost the whole game.  I couldn't tell you what positions he played (the ones on the far end for both offense and defense) but I know he did a darn good job.

Unfortunately, the team suffered what I'm afraid you'd call an old-fashioned butt whooping, and while the day may have been victorious for Bubba, his team did not post a W.

Thursday brought another evening of soccer practice.  Luckily, the Irishman was home and made dinner for us all.  No drive-thru for us, woohoo!

That brings us to Friday, when the week is supposed to be winding down.  Not for the Irishman.  Friday's are his day off.  Problem is, the rest of the world doesn't seem to recognize that rule.  Today was a late start day for Bubba.  However, the bus driver decided that he should stick to the normal pick-up time, arriving at school with an almost empty bus, an hour early, sans Bubba.  The Irishman ended up taking Bubba and another boy who had missed the bus to school.  Say goodbye to an hour and a half of the morning.

Today was our day for carpool (Friday's and every fourth Monday).  Today was also the day that Bubba went back to his former school to extol the virtues and greatness of his present school.  I would be picking up all three of our kids from school, and the Irishman would be picking up two kids who were not ours from high school, and making the hour and a half round trip, with two stops.  To add to the fun, one of those kids had detention after school, so the Irishman and the other kid had to wait an hour for the detainee. 

After finally arriving home with our usual Friday feast of Chipotle, the Irishman left again to take Bubba to a dance and attend movie with The Sous Chef.  Sainthood, my friends.  That's what the Irishman is in line for. 

The Boo and I were left home alone to enjoy a girl's night.  We walked downtown to or favorite ice cream shop and had chocolate malts with chocolate ice cream (it's a special request, and the ONLY way to enjoy a chocolate malt).

Here's The Boo kicking up her heels, excited about our little jaunt.

The sun was beginning to set as we walked down to the park and along the river.

      

The temperature began to cool off and a light fog was beginning to form at the western-most edge of the river.

As we walked past through the park, there was a gathering of people in and around the gazebo.

The Boo - What's going on over there?

Me - Just a wedding rehearsal.

The Boo - What do you do at a wedding rehearsal? 

Me - You practice for the next day, the real thing, so no one flubs their lines.  Remember when I went to your Godmother's wedding rehearsal in NY?

The Boo - Oh, yeah.  But they're not really married at a wedding rehearsal, right?  Not until the next day, right?

Me - Right. 

The Boo - After the wedding rehearsal in NY, we were waiting for you in the hotel, right?

Me - Right.

The Boo - I liked that hotel, but not as much as I like the Waldorf Astoria.  That's really the only hotel I want to stay in now.

It seems as if my daughter is ruined for all other hotels after spending two luxurious nights at the famed Waldorf.  She and I spent a weekend in NY close to three years ago, and due to the generosity of someone who shall remain nameless (ahem, sistah!), enjoyed a girl's weekend like no other.  When the topic of hotels comes up, they're all measured against the Waldorf's high standards.  Needless to say, they all have serious shortcomings, if you ask The Boo.  At least the girl has taste.

But I digress.   

After making our way through the rest of the park, we walked home and are now content to spend or evening with Johnny Depp and Deep Roy, singing about Augustus Gloop and Veruca Salt and practicing or Oompa Loompa dances.

Tonight, I need to rest up.  Tomorrow is going to be a trying day that will require a clear head, extreme courage, and a closed mouth.  I'll fill you in tomorrow.

Do You Hear What I Hear?

The occasional siren.

The jingle-jangle of Avery's 10 dog tags when he readjusts his position on the window seat.

The occasional muffled voices of people walking on the sidewalk outside.

The crickets chirping away on a cool summer night.

The intermittent hum of the refrigerator.

The high-pitched whine of Fiona's constant flatulence.

And that's all. 

You may be asking, "What?  No t.v.?  No video games?  No Hannah Montana or Jonas Brothers?  No yelling or screaming?  What's going on there???"

Bubba is at a Rockhurst football game.

The Sous Chef is at a Pius football game.

The Boo is at a class party.

And The Irishman went to the Pius game to have some father/son time with the Sous Chef.  It's just me and the dogs.  I'm not quite sure what to do with myself.

Earlier, The Irishman came home after dropping The Boo off and caught me watching The Game Plan with Dwayne "The Rock" Johnson.

He walked into the room, looked at the t.v., and snapped his head back to me with a look of incredulity on his face.

"What?  What are you looking at?  See what I've been reduced to?  Watching some corny movie with "The Rock" in it.  I'm confused and don't know what to do!"

He shook his head at me and walked toward the door.  He turned around and said, "Honey, it's ok.  I caught the end of it this afternoon.  It sucked me in too."

I can see The Sous Chef clearly in my mind, facing us, with his hand in an L shape up to his head. 

Yep.....Losers. 

What We Did This Weekend

Finally.  We have the "first day of school" picture of Bubba:

Is he not the most handsome young man?  I can hardly believe he's my child.

We were supposed to have a weekend of soccer, but Saturday's game was rained out, which left us free to roam.  The Air Show was in town, and I had been thinking about taking the kids, but the soccer games overlapped.  Saturday turned out to be perfect for the Air Show.

We just moved offices, and our new office is not far from where the Air Show was taking place.  In fact, planes were flying unnervingly close in practice on Friday.  Our balcony turned out to be a perfect place to beat the crowds and have an incredible vantage point that not many others were privy to. 

The Thunderbirds began their exhibition late in the afternoon:

Sunday, the fields were dry, and the soccer game was on!  The Boo played a great game (as soon as the caffeine kicked).  She looks so fierce in her new uniform this season and can run like the wind!

 

After the soccer game, we rushed back to the office to catch The Thunderbirds' final performance so the Irishman could take part in the fun.  More of this:

And what of the Sous Chef this weekend?  He was carefully studying everything in the new office, plotting and scheming for the years to come when he overtakes Donald Trump. 

Favorite Line of the Day

"Your metaphor is diggin' into my cankles!"

from a Lexmark commercial.  Maybe I'm just overly tired, but this line had me laughing out loud.