Monthly Archives: September 2015

Oh, he’s good.  He’s really good, My Captain is.

He found the box of chocolate-pecan-peanutbutter bars I’d hidden for his trip to Georgia, and he put them out at the place the USAR team gathered before they left for the airport.

Sure, some got eaten, but the remainder of the box of goodies got left at the USAR warehouse, and did NOT go on the plane with the rest of the team to the training.  I was summarily outfoxed.

What a butthead.

Of course, if their plane crashes, and they are starving somewhere deep in the Appalachian Mountains, he’ll have no one to blame but himself.  I’ll certainly feel smug as I hear the harrowing details of how he had to eat an arm or leg off of one of the rookies.

You realize, of course, that this means war.

In other news, the power went out just as My Captain was leaving for his trip at 3am this morning.  Here’s a bastardization of  how the conversation went down:

M.C.: I’ll go start up the generator real quick before I leave.

Me:  No, don’t bother, Love.  I’m sure the power company will take care of it.  The USAR training can’t wait for you.   Just go!

M.C.: You and the kids won’t have lights as they get ready for school.

Me:  Critter looks like he dressed in the dark every day as it is, and Varmint gets her stuff together every night before.  We’ll be fine.   Just go!

M.C.: You’ll have no power to work the well-pump.  You’ll have no water.

Me: We’ll drink Gatorade.  Go!

M.C.: You won’t be able to flush a toilet.

Me: Critter loves to pee in the woods.  Don’t worry about us!  Just go!  Love you!

And off My Captain went.

Later this morning, as we got our acts together in the dark, I realized I couldn’t make coffee.

I. Couldn’t. Make. Coffee.

Daggumit!  I should have agreed to let him start up the generator.

Once again, he was right.  He is always stinkin’ right. It’s enough to drive a woman nuts…or, in my case, MORE nuts.

Later on, he called to check on us as they were boarding the plane.   Know what I said?

“Why didn’t you start up the generator before you left?! You’re so selfish!”

Did I mention that this means war?

Otherwise entitled:  “I Understand, But….”

FEMA’s Maryland Task Force One, Urban Search and Rescue team is training this week in Georgia.  My Captain helped get the convoy of supply trucks on the road at the crack of dawn today, and tomorrow, he and the rest of the 80-personnel team follow at an even earlier crack of dawn.  He’s leaving the house at 3:00am!

They’ll go by air.  Of course, that means packing efficiently, tightly, and lightly. He and his team are professionals, highly trained in their tools and trade.  They don’t waste time with extra fluff or baggage.

“I understand, but, you’ll need to have some munchies along for the travel,” I assured.

He assured me they would be fine.  The rescue team did not need ‘munchies’.

“I understand, but, you know how unexpected delays can happen and you can barely make your flight, so your men and women won’t have had a chance to hit the airport food court.  And sometimes flights don’t serve food,” I argued.

He argued that they would be fine.  The rescue team would manage a few hours without food if need be.

“I understand, but, you know how cranky you get when you’re hungry,” I persisted.

He persisted that his team is used to him being cranky.  It comes with the territory of herding cats.

“I understand, but, what if the plane crashes in the Appalachian mountains somewhere and you have no food, or water, and end up having to eat your dead.  Wouldn’t it be best to be prepared with a goody bag of cookies or something?” I worried.

He raised an eyebrow at me and stated that under no circumstances would his manhood be called into question because he was carrying a goody bag.  Apparently Task Force Leaders are not allowed to carry doily-wrapped cookie tins.  He kissed me goodnight, checked his alarm one more time, and closed the subject as he rolled over.

My friends, do I seem like the kind of woman who quits easily?  Can you even imagine me daunted?  Nay, Nay!!

I crept downstairs, got out my mixer and spatulas, and made very manly sounding, high-protein, chocolate-peanutbutter-pecan energy pellets,

…cut them into very no-nonsense cubes…

…encased them in a manly-man metallic tin resembling an ammo box…

and smiled.

Oh I’ll find a way to get them on the plane.  You just wait.

Wish me luck!!

I have a candy corn fetish.  But before you roll your eyes, lemme esplain!!!

Look, I know I shouldn’t eat so much candy corn.

I know it’s really bad for me, what with the sugar and the coloring chemicals.

I get that it’s only pushing me ever so closer to getting Type II Diabetes, which would be no joke, if it really happened.

And I’m keenly aware that the seams in my pants are already giving it all they’ve got.

But it’s such a happy kind of food….

it’s so colorful and exciting!

Which is why I decided to make the 9ft carved wooden moose in our front yard a new costume for Halloween this year in the likeness of the delicious treat!

He loved it, obviously.

And even though from the street it looks more like some kind of foreign flag,…

you and I know it’s really a monument to my beloved Candy Corn fetish.

And since the polyester satin I found in the sewing aisle at Walmart had the stuff for $1.50 a yard,  I was able to buy enough fabric to make his costume long enough…

to cover his hooves, you know, to add more, er, realism.

I mean what true candy corn would sport moose hooves?

None is the answer.  Corn simply does not have hooves.

Fun Fact: You can make martinis with them very easily…soak the candy corn in vodka till it nearly dissolves.  Shake, add ice, sugar the rim, and make friends galore!

You’re welcome.

Our town, like most little ‘Mayberry-esque” towns, has an annual town day.

In our case, it’s called “Poolesville Day” as the town’s name is, er, “Poolesville.”

Are you with me?

Try to keep up.

Every year attendance is impressive, to say the least.

And at the beginning of each Poolesville Day is a parade, which is full of campy, wonderful, innocent, old-fashioned fun.   Cheerleaders, athletes, politicians, drama clubs, charity organizations, horse clubs, fire trucks, bands, you name it.  It’s all there.

And every year at least one of my punks is in the parade for some reason or another.  This year, they were both in it!  And Critter had the distinction of being part of the middle school band that played The Star Spangled Banner at the raising of the Flag, and placing of the ceremonial wreath.

It was a beautiful sight!

Varmint was with the cheerleaders….but for the first time, instead of being one of the cheerleaders as she has been in years past, she actually was a coach …at the tender age of 14!   And she is co-coaching (or, as I like to say, ‘herding cats’) these little tiny girls with Katie, the daughter of a friend of mine.

And you know something?  I think she actually has had more fun coaching than she ever did cheering.  She’s a natural-born teacher/leader/bossy-head, that girl!  Keep an eye on her…she’ll probably be President someday.  God, I love that kid.

Critter was also in the parade with the local drama club – The Phantom Players – and was throwing candy to the parade-watchers.  I pray that he threw it all underhanded for the duration of the parade.  I have to pray this, because when the parade reached my position at the booth of the local newspaper I write for – The Monocacy Monocle – he NAILED me with a Tootsie Roll. I’m talking an over-handed, baseball style, wind-up pitch…while giggling hysterically.

Who knew Tootsie Rolls could gather so much velocity?  It stung like heck…

…but it was tasty!

WHAT?  It was a Tootsie Roll, for crying out loud.  Who doesn’t unwrap and devour a parade Tootsie Roll the minute it hits you? No one, that’s who.

Now, I love my children with all of my heart, and I know these days of their youth are speeding by…never to be re-lived.  I keenly value…OH do I value!…these moments.  I horde these memories for when I’m an empty nester.  Even knowing this, however,  did I get a picture of myself with Critter with the band at the opening ceremony, or for his roll in the parade with the Drama club?  Nope.

Did I get a picture of myself with Varmint with her 1st grade cheerleading squad? Nope.

Did I get a picture of myself with Critter as his band played at the band-shell later on in the day? (A middle school rendition of “We Will Rock You” that will remain forever engrained in my brain.)  Nope.

Did I get a picture with the local frozen yogurt shop’s mascot?

Oh HELL yes.

Did you expect anything different?

Don’t judge.