Tail end of the weekend

I have numerous reasons to be happy this weekend:

1. I had my coffee this morning. Yay for me and for everyone within a ten mile radius around me.
1a. Hubby just stopped by to pick up his baked ziti for an office party, and surprised me with a pumpkin pie spice latte from Starbucks.

2. There's an invigorating chill in the air this morning, signaling the arrival of Fall (we rarely get cold here) and of the holiday season. In just two glorious months, my house will be flooded with family and friends, all who will be here to celebrate Christmas.

3. I thank God every morning my sweet toddler wakes up without an ear infection. He's had a history of ear infections in the past, and it breaks my heart to see him in so much pain; not to mention I worry myself sick about potential hearing loss.

4. We went to the Fall festival at Seth's school last night. Ever the escape artist, I dodged getting thrown in the pretend jail. Hmm. . . If they ever need a female to play the role of "The Fugitive", I'm their gal.

There was a "hair salon" booth there, and giving Seth an argument a used car dealer would be proud of, I convinced him neon-colored hairspray would not show up well in my dark hair. Thank goodness he didn't see the dark neon blue spray. Ever try to wash that stuff out of your hair? Almost impossible. Last time I did that, I sprayed my hair green, it took several washing to get that dye out. I'm really surprised a cow didn't try to graze on my head.

5. Tomorrow I'll be so busy I won't have time to think. Early in the morning, we'll be participating in a fun run for Drug Free week; later in the morning, I'll be in a parade; in the afternoon, I'll be at a Pet Festival. At all three places, my Malamute/Husky, Blue, will be with me. This will be interesting to say the least, because he's never been in the truck. Cross your fingers for me.

6. I'm happy to be alive, period. As they say, "Yesterday was the past, tomorrow is the future, today is the present." Every second of every day is precious; enjoy it and live it responsibly as if it were your last one.

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For my coffee drinking friends:

Coffee-Mate creamer has released new flavors for the holiday season. They are: Peppermint Mocha, Pumpkin Pie Spice, Eggnog, and Gingerbread. I've tried all but the Eggnog.

Peppermint Mocha-- Refreshing, pepperminty

Pumpkin Pie Spice-- The spices are a bit overpowering at first, but the flavor grows on you and is comforting

Gingerbread-- A toned-done version of the PPS; a little too sweet.

The website has interesting articles, recipes, and most important, coupons! The special go for around $1.58 at Wal-Mart here, and with the $1 coupon, that makes the total price just $.58!

Have a wonderful weekend

Eye exams can be dangerous for my mental health

My boys. . .my heart

Here's a picture of the culprits. . .er. . .I mean my boys. The little one looks like me, the big one looks like his Dad.

Most people can go to the eye doctor without incident, not me. Maybe it’s the soft fluorescent lighting, or the soul-soothing music; whatever it is, the moment I step into the office and catch a whiff of the vanilla-scented air, my mind becomes a bowl of Jell-O.

“Oh, that’s an interesting last name, a new front desk attendant chirped as I signed in. “Are you Roman?”

I was only listening with half my mind, the other half was intent on watching Robert, and making sure he didn’t indulge himself by breaking a pair of designer glasses on a rack. “Huh? Oh no, I’m not roaming. I’ve lived here for almost fifteen years,” I replied absently as I grabbed Robert’s inquisitive hands.

There was silence after my statement, then the receptionist burst into giggles. “That’s a good one,” she chuckled.

“Umm. . .thanks. Did I say something funny?” I asked, giving her a blank look.

“You, you weren’t trying to be funny?” she stuttered, turning as red as a tomato.

“No. You asked me if I was roaming, and I told you I’d been living here for fifteen years.”

The receptionist burst into laughter. “No sweetie; I saw your last name and asked if you were Roman.”

It was my turn to blush. “Oh,” I laughed uncomfortably. “Well, the last name is Italian, but its origin is more Sicilian.” Why’d she ask me that anyway? No one has ever been that specific.

During the rest of our conversation, the reception revealed she had just returned from her honeymoon trip to Rome; she thought I looked Roman.

After the receptionist regaled me with her honeymoon adventures, I sunk into one of the comfy chairs and Robert played happily with an office toy. In a few minutes, a handsome young eye tech game to the door and called my name. “Is it okay if we take the toy into the exam room?” I asked, glancing anxiously at my son playing on the floor. “Cause if we don’t, there’s going to be a flood of tears.”

“I don’t see why not,” the tech replied.

I MEANT to say, “Come on baby,” to Robert; instead, I looked at the tech and said “Thanks baby.” The young man gave me a strange look as he ushered me into the room.
Before I leave here, they’re going to think I’m a blathering idiot.

In a short time, Dr. “H” breezed into the room. “It wonderful to see you again,” he said, patting my on the shoulder.

Yeah, you wouldn’t say that if you knew what I thought the last time I was here. Thankfully, the exam was completed without incident. I hope that by the time I return next year, they’ll have forgotten everything that happened this visit. Hopefully. . .but I doubt it.

Take Two Hemorrhoids and Call me in the Morning

Sunday, the Fall Cleaning bug bit me, and in a moment of weakness, I decided to clean Seth's room.

"Need any help, babe?" John asked, never taking his eyes off the football game on television.

If I say yes, he'll just keep peeping around the corner into the living room at the game; he won't be focused on what we're doing, I thought. "No that's fine. I got it covered." Armed with an arsenal of cleaning supplies, I journeyed into Seth's bedroom and prepared to attack my first enemy, the bed. There are stories of brave peanut butter sandwiches and school papers journeying into the void underneath the bed, never seen again.

I dropped to my knees, and as cautious as a cat, lifted the royal-blue colored dust ruffle and stared at the hodge podge of cars, blocks, and other toys strewn recklessly about. Looks like a toy factory exploded under here.
The only way to really get rid of all the junk under here is to move the bed. Yeah right; famous last words of a fool. As I lifted the heavy oak frame, an excruciating pain, almost as bad as labor pains, shot through my lower back, taking my breath away.

As gently as I could, given the circumstances, I lowered the bed and hobbled to the couch in the living room. "Are you in pain?" John asked innocently.

"No, I just walk this way naturally, of course I'm in pain!" I spent the rest of the day propped up by pillows on the couch while my sweet hubby took care of me.

That was two days ago, and this morning I was still so sore I could hardly move. "Hey Mom," Seth asked, looking in the fridge, "could you find the butter in the fridge for me?"

Grumbling, I sat my coffee cup down on the kitchen counter and knelt, my knees popping like a bowl of Rice Krispies, in front of the fridge. "Oh crap, my back hurts," I moaned.

"Why don't you get a doctor to give you a couple of hemorrhoids to take so you'll feel better?" Seth asked.

Surely he didn't say what I think he said. "What? "Repeat that again."

"Hemorrhoids; you know, what the body builders use." Seth repeated impatiently.

"No baby, that's steroids, not hemorrhoids!" I sat on the floor and laughed till tears poured out of my eyes and my sides ached. As Seth helped me up, I noticed my back was feeling better. I guess the old saying is right, "laughter is the best medicine."

All Because of a Balloon

I thought Tuesday was going to be a normal day; instead, it was filled with surprises. At the supermarket, one of the assistant managers gave Robert a helium-filled balloon weighed down by a sucker on the end of a string.

Happily, my four year-old clutched the string to his balloon as I put him and the non-perishable groceries in the car. As I shut the door, I never noticed the balloon wasn't inside the car; not until we were zooming down the interstate, and the sunshine yellow colored orb passed me with a thwat before sailing toward the heavens.

"I'm sorry baby," I apologized, glancing in the rearview mirror at Robert's shocked expression. He didn't say a word as we pulled into the parking lot of Fantastic Sam's. I helped him out of the car seat, and as we walked toward the hair salon, I wondered why he was bringing the grimy string, now absent a balloon. I soon found out.


I was signing the waiting list when Robert, his body rigid with indignation, pointed his finger at me at yelled, "Take my mommy to jail. She's a killer."

I felt as if the room was spinning out of control, and I grabbed the counter for support. Time seemed to freeze as everyone stared at me with a deer-in-the-headlight look. "Why do you say that honey?" my hairdresser, Vonnie asked, eyeing me warily.

"Do you see this?" Robert demanded, holding up the grimy string. "There used to a balloon on here, but Mommy killed it."

Everyone in the room heaved a collective sigh as they realized what Robert meant; everyone relaxed, but me. "Relax sweetheart, we all know what he meant," Vonnie chuckled as she washed my hair. Yeah, it's easy for you to relax, you're not me, I thought as my over-active imagination spun out of control.

The door is open. What is someone was passing by and only heard the "Take my mommy to jail. She's a killer." part and called the police. What if there was a murder, and now I'm a suspect? I imagined the FBI hiding in the parking lot of Wal-Mart and yelling "Swarm! Swarm!" knocking me to the ground as I walked out of the store with my purchases, cuffing me, shoving me in the car and driving away as Robert, still sitting in the basket, waved a tearful good-bye. How will John introduce me after I finished my prison term? Would he say "my wife the convict," instead of "my wife the writer"?

"You know," Vonnie said as she dried my hair and led my to a chair, "all of us here have kids. No one took him seriously."

"You sure?"

"Positive." she smiled.

I sighed and relaxed, as Vonnie, a Picasso with scissors, finished my hair. After I paid, I led a still brooding Robert out into the parking lot. "Hey mister," he called to a man walking past. "My mommy is a--"

Faster than a hummingbird can fly, I jerked open the truck door, belted Robert into his seat, and drove away, hopefully avoiding being on America's Most Wanted for a little while longer.

Fall is a'comin, and the devil might be after me

Today, as the wind shifted, it carried with it the promise of the arrival of Autumn. As I stood there and allowed the wind to caress me with its invisible fingers, my mind drifted to a Fall long ago.

When I was in kindergarten, I went to the Fall festival with my parents and two grandmothers. The entire school was ablaze with decorations crafted by the chubby hands of my schoolmates, and contributions from Mother Nature--in the form of autumn leaves--hung from the ceiling; even my family was swept away by the party-like atmosphere. Hot mulled cidar simmered in giant caldron-like pots, dealt out in paper cups by teachers dressed as witches, and candy apples were passed around like currancy; some costumed patrons sported bits of the candied treat in their hair and on their clothes, but for that one night, no one cared.

Each classroom held a different activity, and I eagerly ran from one room to another, clutching the few precious quarters Daddy gave me in my grimy little hands. My own classroom had a rummage sale, and rows of donated goods-ranging from slightly used clothes to fishing poles--lined the tiny desks and tables.

I fell in love with an Indian maiden, who was clad in leather as soft as chicken down, and beads more colorful than the rainbow. "Can I have this?" I asked Mama, holding the precious doll to my cheek.

"No," she sighed, "you don't play with dolls very often, and after you're bored with it, you'll just pull the head off like you do all the others."

I mustered a single tear, and willed it to stay poised in the corner of my eye, sparkling like a diamond. My granny--my father's mother--gently took the doll from me and turned it over in her work-hardened hands. "Do you really want this?"

I swallowed the marble-sized lump in my throat and nodded, wiping my eyes with my hand. A warm smile lighted her tanned, full moon-shaped face. "Then my love, you shall have it."

"Oh thank you Granny!" I flashed Mama a victorious smile, while she, in return, gave me one of her patented wait-till-I-get-you-home looks. I ignored her, and with the spirit of a wild foal, raced off to the next room with the doll, my new best friend; I didn't know how quickly the friendship would end. Even back then I had the attention span of a gnat, and I laid my precious doll down, not remembering it again until it till it was too late.

Daddy and I went from room-to-room, looking, but it was all in vain; someone else had walked off with my dolly. Heart broken, I wept real tears. "I knew this would happen," Mama hissed. "She's too irresponsible."

I know now why Mama was so upset; the doll cost two dollars, a lot back then to some. My grandfather supplimented his ranch with a crop of farm-raised tomatoes. Each bushel of tomatoes took almost an hour to pick, and sold for around $2. I had thrown both my granny's time and money away when I lost the doll.

Back to the story. . .

Granny knealt down and embraced me in a bear hug. "She couldn't help it, she's still a baby ," Granny told her. She took a white hankie, embroidered with roses, out of her pocket , and with a touch as light as an angel's kiss, wiped away my tears. "Now, what can we do to make you feel better?"

All night, I heard kids talking about the spook house. "I wanna go to the spoof house," I lisped excitedly.

Daddy shook his head vigorously "I don't think it's a good idea."

"Why not?" Granny demanded.

"Debbie has never been, and you know she's a little high-strung--"

"Pish posh," Granny interrupted. "I'll take her." She grabbed me by the hand, and we headed outdoors in fog as thick as pea soup to the rambling Colonial style house, doubling as the spook house. The evening air chilled our bones and painted our noses a bright red as we stood in the back of the line, awaiting entrance into the house.

Finally, as timidly as mice, we all crept across the red brick porch, and went inside, the heavy wooden door creaking in protest as we entered. We jumped as the door slammed shut. A chap dressed all in red, with eyebrows as fuzzy as caterpillers, grinned at us; a pair of goat-like horns adorned his head, and he held tightly to a pitchfork. I remember feeling extremely uneasy as he tried to shake my hand.

'Who's that?" I asked Granny.

"It's the devil," she said, laying a protective hand on my shoulder.

"THE DEVIL? LIKE IN THE BIBLE?" I screeched.

"Yes baby. He'll leave you alone. Let's go on."

In the next room was a man, dressed in a tux, his face as white as plaster, laying in what I thought was a black funny shaped bed with a lid. Standing on my tip-toes, I leaned over into the "bed" and screeched, "Hey mister, better wake up! The devil is gonna get you!"

Never losing character, the man sat up, and smiled, displaying a mouthful of sharp teeth. "Vank you," he hissed.

"My name is Debbie and I think you need to see the dentist."

"Vank you again," he chuckled, shaking my hand. "I am Count Dracula."

"Nice to meet ya," I called as Granny dragged me away. Near the end of the spook house was a long tunnel, contructed of industrial strength, extra large, packing boxes taped together. Dropping to our hands and knees, Granny and I began crawling through; we were halfway done when a male voice called, "Run, the devil is after you!" Everything from that point on is a blur, but I remember my tiny heart racing like a jet plane as I scrambled like a crab over the backs of everyone in front of us. I emerged as the leader at the end of the box, and my feet had wings as a I raced back to the school, leaving my granny behind. I didn't stop running until I found my parents and my other grandmother.

'The devil has Granny!" I said, sobbing hysterically as I threw myself into Daddy's arms. A few minutes later, Granny walked in laughing, and wiping tears from her eyes. "She heard the devil was after us and off she went," Granny gasped. "The guy playing the devil had to help me to my feet."

That occurred more years ago than I care to remember, and haunted houses still give me the shakes; I rarely go in, you see, the devil might be there again, waiting for me.

Seth's intervening

Update: Just got back from the store and hubby has surprised me with a two-day vacation to the coast. See ya'll when I get back.

In my family, even something as ordinary as a trip to the eye doctor can be an adventure. Thursday was Jonanthan and my annual eye exam; needless to say, we needed it. That morning, I watched in disgust as my last contact lens flipped of my finger, fell to the floor, and headed for parts for unknown. More than likely, they're having a rendevous with all the socks that are MIA

Seth appeared in the doorway a few minutes later, holding a mangled ball of metal and plastic in his hand.

"What's that?" I demanded.

"My glasses."

"Uh huh. And why aren't they on your face?'

"They fell off as I was riding my bike and I ran over them." Seth replied, acting as if this was a normal occurance "By the way, why are you on the floor on yout hands and knees?"

Always as irritable as a wet setting hen when I lose a contact, I glared at Seth. "I'm paying homage to the dust bunny king under the counter." I snapped sarcastically. " What do you think? I lost a contact lens."

Seth frowned, and squinting like Mr. Magoo, dropped to his knees and began searching too. "Maybe if you leaned further over the sink--"

I was not in the mood to be lectured in Contact Care 101 by my teenager, and it sometimes irritated me when he "mother-hened" me. "Don't act like my father," I returned coolly, glancing at my watch. Oh great, an hour until the eye appointment, and we're all only half-dressed. With efficiency my ex-military officer father would have been proud of, I made sure everyone was dressed, then herded them off to the truck. .
I hate to be late, and was happy to learn we got to the eye doctor's with thirty minutes to spare.

The wait was painful; Robert zoomed around like the Energizer Bunny, and Seth moaned constantly he was "growing old with boredom." Finlly, before my sanity was totally lost, we were called into the exam room. I gort in the chair first, and the doctor, an older Bon Jovi look-alike, entered the room. He began to put my eyeballs through the paces by reading the charts. Satisfied with the results, he scooted nearer until we were knee to knee a he examined each eye. "Don't look down," he instructed. I was shocked when I felt a hand rubbing my knee.

This guy is coming on to me! I had heard of some incidents on the news in which this occurred, and doubted the validity of the accusations. But this was real, it was happening to me! He's not even shy about it. He's rubbing my knee in front of my boys. Just as I was about to give the doc a blow they would feel in the next country, Seth yelled out, "Robert, stop rubbing Mommie's knee." The baby was rubbing my leg! For once, Seth's intervening paid off.

Parking

I don't know why I thought of this, but when I did, I got the giggles and had to share.

This has got to be the most boring ride home I've ever been on, I thought, sulking against the cool window of the church van as we zipped down highway. For what seemed like the hundredth time, I pressed my nose against the window and squinted my eyes, trying to see some resemblance of scenery in the inky darkness. Not even a loose cow on the side of the road. That would cause some excitement. I heart pounded as I saw the scene unfold in my head.

"Look out! Cow!" someone in the van would scream. The yelling would upset the driver, who would loose control of the bus, we'd hit a light pole and--

Never mind, we don't need that much excitement, I shuddered.

"Psst. Hey Deb, are you asleep?"

I turned in my seat and stared at my friend Carmen. She and I were sophomores at the same high school, went to the same church, and now was returning home with the rest of the church youth group from the skating runk in a nearby town.

"Are you kidding?" I quipped. "I'm too bored to sleep."

"Yeah, me too. Tell me," she asked, scooting closer, "have you and Danny ever parked?"

Danny was my new boyfriend who conviently lived in the town we had just skated in. I indulged myself briefly as I closed my eyes and thought of his sapphire-colored eyes, dark hair, and chisled features.

"Are you kidding!" I yelped, "I'm not going to talk about parking in a church van. You gotta be cr--"

"I thought I told you kids to keep your voices down," the youth director barked from the front seat.

I made a face at youth director, but lowered my voice. "As I was saying, you gotta be crazy. It's none of your business anyway," I hissed.

"Don't get all rowdy," Carmen cooed. "I was just thinking with someone as hot as Danny, you'd--"

"Church functions are not the place to discuss this," I said firmly. I envisioned God hurtling a lightning bolt from the heavens and smiting me where I sat.

"What's the big deal about parking?" a voice behind me yawned. Carmen's sister, Gabriella, poked her head over the back of our seat. Gabby was two years younger than Carmen and I, but we both had mischievous souls and I loved her my own kid sister.

"Oh Gabby, what do you know about parking? You're just a child," Carmen said, waving her hand dismissively.

"I know a lot. I park all the time."

"Oh you do, do you dear sister? Then pray tell us with who."

"Dad."

"No you don't. How dare you spread lies like that!"

I stared in disbelief at the sisters. There was definately a dark side to their dad that no one knew about.

"Uh huh. We park all the time, everytime we're together. We go to Target and park, Wal-Mart and park, the chicken place and park, to church and park."

"Even at church?" I gasped.

"Yep. I park all the time with my mom too, even parked with Carmen before."

It hit Carmen and I at the same time about what Gabby meant. Despite the warnings of the youth director, Carmen and I both burst into gales of laughter.

"Oh, Gabby," Carmen gasped, "do you know what "parking" means?"

"Yeah. It's whenever you're driving, you stop the car and put it in park."

"No. The kind of "parking" we're talking about is when you make out with a guy."

"I definately don't do that," Gabby said indignantly. "I going back to sleep."

Carmen and I giggled the rest of the way home.

Oh the joys of youth. How I miss it sometimes.