Going Rainbow (ie Commando)

You ol' timers will probably remember the story about lil brother getting all confused about the expression for going without underwear ("going commando"). To his older brother's disgust, lil brother called it "going rainbow." Big kid wanted to send him away to another family just for being so "totally uncool." And of course lil brother took complete advantage of big kid's annoyance by "going rainbow" frequently and then bragging about it.

Well...today...I went "rainbow"...at Publix. Yup. That's right. I never thought it possible either. But there it is. I am clearly on my way to old age. Because here's another thing: my bra straps were showing too. I'm gonna blame this lack of judgement on the heat-because it is hotter than Satan's armpit in my neck of the woods, ya'll. And I can't stand to be hot. Mr B says it's a wonder that I'm a pubic school teacher when clearly I shoulda been a stripper because he is always completely amazed at how fast I can bust outta my clothes when I'm HOT (and pissy). So I'd like to tell you that I regret "going rainbow" at Publix....but frankly my dears...

BTW- the Publix check out lady called me "young lady" as she handed me my bags. Clearly "going rainbow" takes a few years off one's age. Maybe we should all try this...

Check back in next week. I hear it's gonna be in the 100's. Not really too sure what comes after "going rainbow" but something's gotta give... Laws-a-mercy!!!

Introducing: Margie~Margarita!!!

Introducing Guest Blogger: Margie-Margarita!!!

My dear friend Margie-Margarita is an absolute font of information when it comes to getting a good deal. This gal has her finger on the pulse of local happenings. So here are a few of Margie-Margarita's tips as we start back to school for all you local pals:

RainTree has massage upgrades this week only...buy 60 or 90 mins & get hot stone or deep tissue upgrade free! 867-3000

Old Navy has uniform clothing on sale plus some good clearance deals if the size works...polo shirts as low as $5 and girls jeans & shorts for under $20 plus boy cargo for $16 and under

The Scholastic website is offering an additional 10% off for Parent Book club members (just sign up on their website) and they've got tons of workbooks & reference books as well as readers

The Target Dollar Spot is FAB! I got a write on/wipe off placemat for learning cursive writing! Plus flash cards, maps, the pencils with cool reflective decorations and all kinds of stuff like that!

Hair Five-O (hwy 96 near Publix) has $9.99 back to school haircuts. Perfect for the kids!

Reminders:
Sign up elementary kids for school this week!
7th graders need that additional shot! Registration Aug 2nd & 3rd
Also - you can print supply lists from the schools' website and Wal-Mart & Target both usually have copies of the supply lists on hand.
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I just ADORE Margie-Margarita!!! Check back next month for more of her wheelin' and dealin' money savin' tips!!!

PS: I'm sure I'll be seeing ya'll at the jam-packed Wal Mart as I elbow you out the way for that last plastic blue folder with prongs but no pockets that has holes in it to fit in a 3 inch binder that must be white with a clear plastic cover.....ARGH!!!!!!!

Whining-Unabridged

OK-whining and bitterness is unattractive...but "frankly my dear..." Bottom line: I don't wanna go to schoooooooooool! Like...really. Not even fakin' it (which I suck at btw). And yes-I know how lucky I am to have 2 months off....yadda yadda...and how I should be grateful...yadda yadda. BUT I'M NOT, OK?? I just want more time off. And no-I'm not writing the grand novel or saving the world or adopting orphans. I just wanna lie around in my bathrobe watching my Tivo's. Is that too much to ask from the universe???

Bad Habit

Lil brother has gotten into a bad habit of making annoying noises: bips, bings, screeches, squeals, high pitched baby voices, you name it. And really-it was funny the first 10,000 times. But now he won't let up (wonder why???) and we're all miserable. Even the dog will rise up from his comfortable napping spot and remove himself from the room while the rest of us are holding our ears and squalling in rage at lil brother for his auditory attacks (think nails down a chalkboard...). I guess it's gonna take 100,000 threats, time-outs, groundings, butt smacks, and hollerings to make it stop.

Laws! It's no wonder parents give out so easy...I'm worn out already.

Fancy Pants!!!

Look how fancy pants breakfast has gotten over here at blither blather headquarters! You'd think I actually slaved away in the kitchen for hours...NOT!

Recipe:
thin sliced ham
grated cheddar cheese
crescent rolls
poppy seeds

Directions:
Place crescent roll dough in muffin tin. Stuff with ham and cheese. Pinch dough together and sprinkle lightly with poppy seeds. Follow temp/times directions on crescent roll package. Serve with jam or savory mustard. A hearty, easy breakfast!

BTW-serve these rolls on your favorite dishes. I served my rolls on Granny L's blue Royal Mail dishes which she collected by saving her green stamps. What a great memory!

Wordy-Dird

Oops....I said it without even thinking-while lying prone on the couch with my arm over my head in a full-on whine: "I am soooooooooo booooooored!" OH HELL!!! I usually have a come-apart when I hear my kids utter this phrase and immediately strike a spankin' pose... Well, Mr B was quick with this brutal rebuttal, "Looks like your ready for school then."

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I take it back. Swear!!!

Warning: Vul'gah!!!

Gentle readers: this story is not for you. As we say down here in the south: It's Vul'gah. So thanks for checking in. Come back soon, here? I promise to play nice soon.

Ok-all ya'll nasty readers-here we go! This is the kinda story that makes you get on your knees and Thank God! it happened to another mother and not you. Don't ya'll just love those kinda stories?!?

My friend K took her son to the 5th grade magnet school end of year celebration at the bowling alley. And every mother of every kid is there, right? 'Member-I said MAGNET school... and all these mamas are decked out in their cougar outfits standing around all milf-like complaining about their personal trainers and how exhausting it is to take their fourth cruise of the year... (that is a whole 'nuther story...) when an anxious lil mama comes up and pulls on K's elbow and frantically whispers in her ear, "Hurry! Check out the nick names that Parker has typed on the TV screen!" So my friend K ambles her way through the crowd stopping to chit chat along the way with other moms and it takes a few minutes for her to find her son Parker who is in charge of the computer and typing the names. And when she looks up to study the list of names, she recoils in horror. In bold, capital letters for the entire 5th grade class and their milf-moms to see, Parker has typed the nick name of his best friend (who we later learn was christened this by his older brother, mind you): BIG P#SSY.

Well-you know at a critical moment like this-technology will fail you. The computer froze up. And it took 15 minutes to get a worker over there to get that name off the screen. By this time, there is a hush in the bowling alley as all the milf-moms and their kids turn their gazes to the TV monitor overhead to see the evidence of my friend K's horror and shame boldly emblazoned across the TV monitor for every over-achiever in town to read and study at his/her leisure.

Let's just say-those magnet school kids got a real education that day.

Prayer: May this NEVER happen to me, Lord!

Eavesdropping

I remember the summer I discovered that my mama wasn’t just my mama. She was a woman of mystery and secret whisperings and sly glances and cold aloofness and wild energy. Every summer we returned to her beloved home state of North Carolina, and as we crossed the state line and left the cool mountains of Tennessee and sped through the interstates lined with tobacco and collard green fields planted in sandy Piedmont soil, she seemed to loosen and relax before our eyes-not quite so mean tempered or impatient as before-as she leaned on the accelerator urging those miles to disappear with feverish intensity. Once in the bosom of her girlhood home, she took to hours of wild whooping with my aunts and her childhood girlfriends. They drank TAB soda, smoked menthol Newports, applied and reapplied their frosted lipstick, went barefoot, wore plaid Madras sundresses, listened to Barry and Elvis on the transistor radio, and took long drives in the country-without the children. They pored over yearbooks and photo albums and talked about old boyfriends and distant, unknown relatives as if they might show up for supper any minute. And mostly we children stayed out of their way. If you got too close or interrupted, you were likely to get a slap that would make you think twice next time. Best to let grandma solve your problems. Until the summer I turned ten-which was my eavesdropping year-I never really noticed or cared about “lady talk.” That was the summer I first noticed that barely perceptible division between the world of women and men. Why did all those ladies throw sideways, (barely disguised) faintly disgusted glances at those oblivious dads/husbands who were standing by the grill drinking beer from brown bottles? What did those low murmurings and derisive snorts mean? What had those dads/husbands done to deserve their cold disdain? Did those men not see they were being studied under the shadow of dark glasses and faintly arched eyebrows that clearly pointed to their shortcomings? So I went on the prowl, determined to discover my mother’s secrets. I hung back on staircases; skulked around the darkened hallway in listening distance of the wall mounted phone; and slunk around her lounge chair pretending to be bored and indifferent. And for all my sneaky efforts, I only managed to hear more garbled whispers as well as suffer a series of vengeful, stinging slaps for my sneaking around. My mother, totally exasperated with my pathetic, thinly veiled detective skills, actually made me go sit with the dads-who were totally oblivious to the dark undermining dangers those women posed to them. And after suffering the boredom of their man-talk about oil prices, war, and car troubles, I felt too peevish to even warn them-so I wandered off to play with my cousins who had found a broken Easy Bake oven in the neighbor’s garbage can-leaving those pitiful sitting duck men to their future doom.

My mother felt distant to me that summer-although I could feel her watching me like a hawk-as I did her. And in spite of my persistence, I never did learn her secrets that summer. Instead I discovered that my mama was more than my mama. She was capable of covert operations and murky subterfuge and shifting alliances. And there were parts of her that her children and husband had no claim to. With the arrogance of well-loved children, we thought we owned her body, heart and soul. But this I can attest to: there was a piece of herself that she kept for herself-this mysterious, hidden garden of a woman’s heart.

Good Grief!

by Norman Rockwell

I caught the tail end of Dr Phil's show this afternoon and as the credits were rolling, Dr Phil announces in the VOICE OF DOOM: DO YOU SPANK YOUR CHILD? HAVE YOU EVER THOUGHT OF SPANKING YOUR CHILD? HAS SPANKING YOUR CHILD EVER GOTTEN OUT OF CONTROL? WELL THEN-CONTACT THE DR PHIL SHOW! WE WANT TO SPEAK TO YOU!

Seriously?!? Really?!? Clearly Dr Phil has never taken lil brother to Wal Mart and chased down 57 cans of cream of chicken soup down three aisles or ran after him in the parking lot as he swerved the buggy around the blue haired lady in her Cadillac or had to pick yourself off the floor of aisle 7 and pry the riding toy from his enraged, sweaty grip as his flailing legs kicked you in the back of the head...in front of strangers.

Here's a short, simple rule my boys know: If you embarrass me...in front of strangers...you're gonna GET IT!!!

Good grief, Dr Phil....I am done...spit!... DONE WITH YOU.

Update

Thanks for checking back in with me. Sorry I've been remiss in my blogging duties. But I've been reading Bernard Cornwell's Saxon series (historical fiction is my fav!) and have been pretty much ignoring husband, house, kids, and laundry so I can lie around and read all day in my nightgown. As a matter of fact, I only do laundry when the kids start complaining about needing boxers and socks. But only after I've sent them to their brother's room and he doesn't have any either. Looks like my days of being the laundry slut round these here parts are numbered.

Also, I signed up for a week long writer's academy. WHAT WAS I THINKING??? I could have stayed home in the bathrobe writing up my own pack of lies, using f-bombs galore and looking up nasty stuff on the Internet. Now I have to write all proper and "nice" so I don't make anyone "uncomfortable." Oh for f*#k's sake!!! BTW-I have been overusing this expression lately. Maybe because my nerves are raw since I actually have to get up at the butt crack of dawn, dress appropriately, listen to others politely, take notes, and pretend to give a... My Methodist friends probably need to put me on the prayer list.

Oh!!! Mr B bought me two retro green velour chairs from a hole in the wall antique store. I am SO excited. Mr B says they're appalling and remind him of Elvis's Graceland. But I adore them! I did take a picture of them to post so you could see them (I KNOW you will love them too!) but somebody has misplaced my camera chord so I can't upload them and I am so pissed...oh, for f*#k's sake!

Hope ya'll are enjoying the last few weeks of July. Summer sure is flying by. And the blogging is only going to get more bitter...

WWHD-Part Deux

Honey took big kid to the farmer's market to buy him some local honey. She believes a dose of local pollen will help with his allergies... Of course lil brother didn't want to be left out of this medicinal experiment. So Mr B gives him a spoonful too. And after grimacing and gagging the sticky gob down, lil brother says, "Dat tastes nasty in my neck!"

Paging Nurse Blither Blather...WWHD???

Everything I learned about nursing, I learned from Mr B's mama-Honey. For years now I have seen her in Florence Nightingale action-and am even a survivor of her nursing attempts. She's a natural. And actually genuinely cares about sick people. I, on the other hand, find them worrisome, offensive, overly needy, and irritating. Which is why I usually holler for Mr B to get out the medicine kit when a minor medical emergency arises at our house (or pretend like I don't hear you). So tonight when big kid's sneezing took on epic allergic proportions, I kicked it into high gear and asked myself: WWHD??? (what would Honey do???)...

Step 1. I burst into action by immediately running a wash cloth under scalding water that is hot enough to scorch the skin off a scorpion before plastering it against big kid's face-totally ignoring his muffled screams of agony...
Step 2. The patient survives the hot cloth, so I move onto the next phase of Honey's triage treatment plan: I offer him a banana-which according to Honey is the cure-all for all your ails such as allergies, high blood pressure, low potassium, depression, headache, bad attitude, broken limbs, or low energy. Only problem-we don't have any bananas at our house. So I improvise...on to step three...
Step 3. ...I thickly smear Vick's Vapor Rub on everything from big kid's belly button to his eyebrows-which causes big kid to yell, "YOU POISONED MY NOSE!" Which is completely ridiculous because everyone knows that VVR cures allergies, high blood pressure, low potassium, depression, headache, bad attitude, broken limbs, or low energy...
Step 4. At this point big kid has become a belligerent, unappreciative patient bordering on the downright disrespectful. So I decide to teach him a lesson (let him suffer the consequences!) for rejecting my honed nursing skills by omitting step four of Honey's triage treatment plan: microwaving a polyester blanket until it catches on fire and then beating out the flames in the sink before plastering it onto your victim...I mean-patient. Smart mouthed patients don't deserve the toasted blanket.

Good news: big kid reports he's feeling better....or at least he isn't complaining anymore. Thank goodness... this nursing business is exhausting. But thanks to Honey, I'm ready if he relapses.

Summer in the South

Yes-it's pretty dang hot outside, and I've got the air conditioner cranked down low. But I still love summer in the south...

Kids play outside-even when it's a 100 degrees.

Watching birds in the back yard is a sporting event.

Growing and weeding and watering-it's a way of life.

Home grown tomato sandwiches-manna from heaven.

Gossiping with neighbors in the yard-the original social networking site.

Sunday service followed by a church potluck-filled with the spirit!

Growing up Southern is a privilege, really. It's more than where you're born, it's an idea and state of mind that seems imparted at birth. It's more than loving fried chicken, sweet tea, football, and country music. It's being hospitable, devoted to front porches, magnolias, moon pies and coca-cola... and each other. We don't become Southern - we're born that way. anonymous~

Groovy Man...

On our way home from Honey's, we pass the tattoo parlor and in front is a skinny man with a long black scraggly beard. Lil brother spies this interesting character and exclaims, "Das a hippie! DAS A HIPPIE!! I DUS SAW A HIPPIE!!!" And he is totally stoked. I mean to see your first hippie at the tender age of 7...well, not many have those braggin' rights.

Not to be outdone, big kid chimes in. "Yeah, well I've seen a hippie BUM. And he had a sign that said 'Live by the Bong! Die by the Bong!' " And we're all pretty impressed by that. And we all just kinda silently contemplate that rad' thought for a groovy beat or two...

Of course after all that money I spent to send big kid to our nation's capitol, nothing can top the hippie bum experience...figures. And of course lil brother now wants to see a hippie bum too... He can't wait til it's his turn to go on the 6th grade trip.