Monthly Archives: March 2012

I dragged my Varmint and Critter kicking and screaming (not literally, but darn-tootin’ nearly), to the business fair for the small town adjacent to our little hamlet of Dickerson.  It was called Destination Poolesville, and it was held in the gymnasium of the Poolesville Baptist Church.

The same place we have our Basketball practices.

The same place we have our Softball practices.

The same place we have our summer camps.

That church is a multi-tasker, I tell you!

I promised Varmint and Critter food.  I knew there would be soup and barbecue and funnel cakes and Hershey Ice Cream.   It mollified.  But only a little.

But it was enough to buy me time to browse a bit, and look at all the creative ideas talented people have come up with to make a living.

Hand spun woolen items:

Hello Claudia from Weave On Studios!

Handmade soaps with way cool scents like ‘Instant Karma’.

These were created by The Woolly Queen, Suzanne.  She was SO very interesting and beautiful.  I fell in love with her the moment I heard her ‘across-the-pond’ accent.  And check this out:

These aren’t cupcakes, though they look delicious!  They are actually more of her soaps!  So CREATIVE!

Yes, I purchased.  And yes, we will be very clean for the next couple of weeks.  After that, I’m not making any promises.

We received kid-friendly party favors from the new martial arts gig in town, Kick’s Karate:

Nancy shared everything from her fabric frisbees to her color changing drink tumblers.  The munchkins at her table were cute as all get out, too!

And of course, there were yummies:

Barbecue, and Ice Cream, and Spicy Dogs, Oh My!

Hello Harney Family from my beloved HarBro Twisted Cone! I sure do love you guys!

And Girl Scout Cookies!  It wouldn’t be America without those!

Isn’t she sweet?  I screwed up this next picture because I’m spastic…but I think it came out so cool I’m posting it anyways!

Would you just look at that smile?  Who WOULDN’T support this little lady’s troop?

And UH HELLO…Funnel Cakes are a MUST if you want to call any get-together a ‘Destination’.

But this…THIS… was the shocker of the day.

There is a group called the Historic Medley District (www.historicmedley.com) that had a display of artifacts found in the vicinity.  We are living in the spot of Civil War skirmishes, you see, as well as pioneer farms.  I like to look at these things, but I figured my kids would have no interest whatsoever.

WRONG.

Critter was glued to the display.

Enthralled, he insisted he borrow my camera to take pictures of his own.  He was snapping and snapping shot after shot.  It felt like a Jim Morrison photo shoot:

So the kid who absolutely-under-no-uncertain-circumstances-did-most-emphatically-NOT want to go to Destination Poolesville, not only went, but found a new subject on which to fixate.  He was amazed that we were looking at tangible items from the past.  (Mind you, we live within an hour of the Smithsonian, and he has been exposed to literally hundreds of historical places.)

Apparently the thing that made a difference to him today was that this is where we live.  These civil war mementos and artifacts are from our town’s soil.  It’s like it brought it, er, home to him.

He perked right up and began asking a million questions.  Mr. “I don’t wanna go!” became Mr. “Mom! Mom! Mom! Look at this!”

I hadn’t had my coffee yet.

I hadn’t even had my funnel cake yet.

I must really love that kid.

I hate it when someone asks what I do.

If I say, “I stay at home and raise my kids.” I feel so unimpressive.  I know how hard I work, and often it’s a thankless task, but it never feels like I can adequately convey the magnitude and diversity of that in “I stay at home and raise my kids.”

If I say, “I’m the COO of a family run company,” I know I’m spinning the truth around a bit much and I feel like a liar.  Or a lobbyist.

If I say, “I’m independently wealthy,” they laugh.  And rightfully so.

If I say, “I’m a nude model,” they become awkwardly silent, and I laugh.

I’m not going to justify my choices in life.   I often fall back on the saying:

“Never explain. 

Your friends don’t need it, and your enemies won’t believe you anyways.” 

I have no idea where I read that, but I don’t want to be blamed for plagiarism, so hear me now:  I did not write that!  Whew, I feel better.

But isn’t it an awesome thought?

So the next time someone asks me what I am, I’m going to simply say, “I’m brilliant.”   And if they say, “No, I mean what do you DO?”  I’m going to say, “Brilliant things.”  And then when they say, “No, I mean how do you make your living?”  I’m going to say, “Brilliantly.”   I figure they’ll drop it after a while.

It’s brilliant.

I had a couple of hours to myself today, and decided to use it to wash the good ol’ Chevy Equinox.  You see, it’s supposed to be red, but lately it’s looked brownish-greyish-blackish red. It doesn’t bother me until I keep finding car dirt on my clothes.  That’s when I know it’s time to wash it.

I started with the inside, and while vacuuming, I found:

Broken bits of blue glass in Critter’s door pocket.  (He collects the darndest things.)

Broken toy bits in Critter’s Seat Pocket

Broken Pen pieces.

Broken DVD case pieces.

Bits of: Pretzels, cookies, goldfish crackers, Poptarts, McDonald’s French Fries, biscuits, and a couple of raisins.  Or at least, I think they were raisins.

Drinking Straw Wrappers.

Gloves.

A yellow Crayon.

2 Mind-Bender games.

Several pennies.

Copius dirty kleenex.

Here’s the funny part of all of this.  I vacuumed the car two weeks ago.  All of this was accumulated in only two weeks.

Apparently, we are total pigs.

Then I started on the outside of the car.  That part I had not washed in a long time.  Maybe months, even.  While I was scrubbing, I began to notice little dings that had not been there before.  Maybe they were from inept shopping cart steering, maybe they were from stray gravel thrown from the road.  I don’t know.  But with each new ding, I began to get more and more upset.

Like, is it REALLY that hard to miss someone’s car with a shopping cart?  Do you REALLY have to open your car door so wide that you have to scratch my door?  DOES ANYONE CARE ABOUT OTHER PEOPLE’S PROPERTY??!!! (yelled with Charlie Brown voice)

And after I wound myself up nice and tight, I took a deep breath and remembered all the times I’ve accidentally dinged someone else’s door because the wind caught mine as I was opening it.  And I remembered the times my kids had been unable to control the shopping carts when they were trying to “help” like a big boy and girl.

I rubbed one of the nicks in the door.  It went all the way down through the paint to the base of the metal.  It must have been quite an impact.

I remembered barking at my kids when they did that to someone’s car.  I remembered how they felt so badly about it, they cried. I remembered they haven’t made the same mistake ever since. They learned.

And I started unwinding.

***sigh***

It’s just a car.  It’s just a thing.   It can be fixed.

I guess when when my family and I are perfect, I can be peeved at other people’s accidents.  Until then, I’m just going to leave my car unwashed.

Ignorance is bliss.

My daughter so wanted to get chosen for a solo in her school music concert that I ached for her as she waited to hear whether or not she got it.

And she got it!

And then I dutifully commenced the Mother-MUST-worry thing.

Varmint was cool as a cucumber about it, but I just knew this had to mean a great deal to her.  So I encouraged and petted and cajoled and tried my best to Mary-Poppins the hell out of her whether she needed it or not.  (It’s a verb I made up on my own. Do you like it?)  For weeks.  Very maternally draining weeks.

I listened to her practice, felt she did a very good job, and knew in my own heart that she would be fine.

My son also was in the concert (hence the “all-school” part of the concert title).  The third graders had their own song to learn.  Bobby McFarrin’s “Don’t Worry, Be Happy”.  Great song.  I love it.

And Critter knew the words (it’s not like the lyrics are complicated) by heart so early on in the process, he didn’t practice.  Not that he would have practiced in front of me anyways.  He a guy.  Guys don’t ask for directions, and they don’t practice choir songs.  It’s written somewhere.

The day of the concert came.  All cameras were charged and ready to go.

Varmint’s solo was not until near the end of the concert.

Critter’s class’s song was mid way through…and I loved it.  I love the song.  Critter sang his heart out.  And then, holy cow…is that my boy going to the microphone?  He had a solo?  WHAT????  It was the part towards the end of the song where McFarrin spoke instead of sang “Don’t worry, be happy.  If you are worried, pick up the phone and call me.  I’ll make you happy.” And my critter NAILED IT.  HOLY GUACAMOLE!!!  And it was so funny!  That’s my funny guy!

So, here for weeks I’d been sweating my Varmint’s solo, and we’d been talking about it ad nauseam, and lo and behold, my Critter had one too, and he didn’t even tell his own mother???!!!

After the concert, I asked him why he didn’t tell me.   His answer?

“Mom, you didn’t need to know.”

I fear this is just the beginning of hearing that particular phrase from my youngest offspring.

My kids had an All-School music concert this week.

I arrived in time to see everything, but not in time to actually get a decent seat.

Rather than sit in the back where even my trusty camera zoom would do me no good, I decided to sit on the floor of the gymnasium and watch from a good camera angle.  After all, it is my Varmint’s last year at this school, and it’s a poignant thing for me to see.  AND both she AND my critter had solos (though I didn’t know Critter had one until the moment it happened…but that is for another story).  I had to have a good camera angle.  I had to get ‘the shot’.

So I plunked myself down on the floor on the side of a center aisle, ignoring any raised eyebrows which may have come my direction.  When you are as big and loud and clutzy as I am, you learn to ignore raised eyebrows.  It’s a talent that comes in handy.

One thing you ought to know about me.  I creak.  I have crunchy knees.  I snap, crackle, and pop.  I’ve got joint issues that make arthritis sufferers pity me.  I’m a walking orthopedic surgeon’s annuity.

Oh, and I’m dramatic.

So when I went down on the floor, I sat indian-style for a couple of minutes until that got excruciating.  Then I sat on my knees for a couple of minutes before my feet went numb.  Then I sat on my rear with my feet straight out until my back couldn’t take it anymore.  Then I cycled back to the indian style again.  Each time I did this, I made different bone/joint sounds, accented by occasional grunts because, well, I’m old and fat.  It’s what we do.

There was a sweet man behind me…the father of one of my daughter’s classmates…he got up and moved to stand at the back of the gym and told me as he did so to take his seat.   I was like, “No No! I’m fine!  Stay!”  and he insisted.  Chivalry is not dead my friends!  It was in between songs and the kids were moving around on the risers, so it was a good time to move.  He was so very kind to offer me his spot.

I felt bad, for an entire nano-second.  And then I moved to get up to take the seat.

To do this, I had to roll over onto my side, and then up onto my hands and knees, then kind of give myself a push up, then use that empty chair for balance and leverage.  No problem.  I’ve done it hundreds of other times.

But this time, as I rolled over onto my side, it pushed a fart out.

An audible fart.

An audible fart that surprised me as much as it did the people around me who heard it.

Remember that part about me ignoring raised eyebrows?

Yeah….It’s a good talent to have.