Please pass the ointment. And that flashlight......

We all have a butt crack. This is the blunt truth. Now, if you are reading on (knowing that my mother has, at this point, clicked the "off" button of her internet and switched to MA-JONG. We, in our house, did NOT speak of such things...) and am wondering why i would bring up the obvious, it is this: although we all have one, most people ACT like we don't. Some people don't want any reference to it, and although it serves a very important purpose, some think of it as separate and bad, sick or wrong parts of our bodies. Again, why would i point out the obvious? Because, life is like the butt crack. I received a sweet gift. I got to hot tub with Dina today, and during that short time we reflected on how, like some parts of our bodies that we may not be happy with, some parts of our past or present may seem distasteful, even if they serve a perfectly functional purpose. And we certainly don't want to TALK about something distasteful, for chicken sake. Even though it may be obvious to everyone else except us, we don't want to call attention to it. Story 1. I spent my growing up years fascinated by the knowledge that Thanksgiving Day would come around every year, and at that point a certain relative would come over. This relative was quite brilliant, loved to chat, and was also (to a 5 year old girl) ENORMOUS. The folds and curves of him were fascinating, but the Butt Crack that he toted over to the only chair that would hold him.... well, that was nothing short of miraculous. It went on and on. My brother and i secretly measured it once. It was exactly 3 blocks and a doll tall. (We were that good.) Now here is the thing. Although i knew it was an enormous butt crack to me, it was just part of our relative. It was ONE PART of this relative. With the same importance tied to it as the game he had so brilliantly taught me. The topics he bantered with me about. The laughs he laughed. It just was. But i did notice that he only made sure the chair was pointed in 1 direction, so his butt crack pointed to the wall at all times. Nor would he leave his post. He had some shame associated with his butt crack, or the fact that it was larger by far than his pants and shirt. Now did it stop us from playing or associating with him? Nope. But it did stop him from hanging out in the kitchen with the rest of the adults, and hey, i got to learn Othello because of it. Story 2. A man walks into a bar.... Ok, it wasn't a bar, it was a house. He asks his wife to look at his delicate area because he has some kind of .... fungus on it, and can't get rid of it. Now this is a man who is straight-laced, very successful socially, and cannot stand the fact that there is a flaw on his otherwise carefully cultivated and manicured image. Nevertheless, his body has made it obvious that there is SOMETHING that needs attending to. His wife, icked out as she is at the idea of the fungus, obliges her husband as he bends over, spreading wide, and shines a bright light in the dark recesses of his crack. The point? She wasn't icked, necessarily (NECESSARILY) at the bending and cracking, but at the fungus, which had gotten way past the point it needed to, because of his embarrassment of having anything wrong in the first place, let alone the location of the flaw. Needless to say, he did his own application of the ointment, and generously so. (Interestingly, he did not thank his wife for her dedication in partnership, but warned her of ever sharing this story to anyone. And, she doesn't do threats well, luckily for us :) Story 3. Me: After Dina and I get out of the hot tub, making sure i've secured the hot tub lid in place by balancing it on my back as i teeter over the side, climb down the ladder (did i mention they are still building the deck? um, i'm just that dedicated and excited to get in the bubbling mist of pleasure...) and walk through a bit of mud and grass up another deck and back in the house. It's been a good soak and we have solved all the mysteries of the universe. No, this isn't Dina's house. She was up for the adventure though, and let me tell you what. when i called her 3 days later with some news, she was rethinking the brilliance of my wild side. What news??? OHHHH That i had little itchy, red pimply looking dots all over my torso and BUTT! What i thought was hives brought on by a bout of stress at the thought of going back to a life less than ideal, turned out to be FOLICULITIS...... or hot tub rash, caused by not enough chemicals in the tub, mostly by 1st time owners who are newbies at it. hehehe And yes, yes Dina did get her fair share of them, too. :) On her birthday, no less. It's the gift that keeps on giving... We just got to own these little dots. with ointment, cream, and patience, letting our bodies tell us what it needed (chocolate, a good book, some sleep, and benadryl) it came to completion on it's own. And that is how life is also, i'm finding. Life is like a butt crack, or foliculitis, or any other odd fungal oddity. we don't always like what we find, or what we find that we have. but once we own up to it, and figure out what we can learn from it, we can move on, through, around, and forward. With or without the Othello. I choose just to lean in. I don't always choose the spiritual, mental, emotional, or physical fungus that comes into m;y life, but i can choose to suffer in silence, or get the best ointment out there, whether it is Othello, benadryl, chocolate, or even ....blogging about butt cracks.... it is what it is.

Ode To Bob....

Computers and cookies, dishes and dinner, That is just really what makes Bob a winner. The romance, the kissing, The phase 2, the wishing. Better than vampires, better than Pride. Strap on, my friend, you are in for a ride. This isn't about me. I know! What a shock, But for friends whose phase 3 is afar, you both rock. On the phone, by the way, I was nosing around, And my dear friend Georgina, her jaw hit the ground. So to you, Georgina, and mostly to Bob, Be careful of schmidtting, and corn on the cob. Although, insists Bob, it won't slow me down, You will need some floss on this side of town.

So about loose ends....

Nobody likes loose ends. Or any ends at all, really. It's why we have sequels, and prequels, as well as class reunions and Private Investigators, and haircuts. We can't have ends just.....hanging out there, can we? Well, not and be satisfied, at any rate. Take me, for instance. I'm on a current journey about tidying up loose ends. Taking a trip down memory lane to dig deep into old memories and jolt some meaning, some ...AHAA! That's why that happened..... so i can tuck it back into the recesses of my memory. And take comfort in the fact that there are no holes in that particular part of my life. Hmmmm.... I don't know of many people that like holes either. Potholes, black holes, even old comfy quilts that have worn holes in them. They all need to be patched up, fixed up and explained. Again with the tidiness.... Why is this? I think it is because we don't want to do maintenance. We are, as a human race, selectively lazy. Yup, i said it out loud. We will work and work and work very hard...... so we can relax. Let things build up, like laundry, dishes, unresolved pasts.....etc... and then have a desire in one weekend to tidy things up so we can put off the upkeep for a little bit longer. Usually it involves a pep talk (ok you can do this. you want a clean....insert untidy part....., so buck up happy camper!), a bribe (as soon as this is DONE, we can......insert motivation, usually including chocolate or spending money), and a trip to the chinese food restaurant for hot and sour soup. Bad-a-boom, Bad-a-bing. There is a start, and an end. Tidy, right? The question i am now wondering is, at what point is the cost of the tidyness worth the trip it takes to get to that point? How many bad memories need to be relived in order to find out what happened in one particular spot in time? Or, how many people does it take to track down the answer to the burning question you have always wanted to know? At what time does the burning curiosity just not get to be satiated, at the expense of time, money, and/or heartache? I'm going to say it depends on the burning curiosity. I, for one, was willing to track down a music teacher, hound his son, badger half of my hometown, and travel back and forth from state to state, in between snow storms, just to find the answer to these questions, "Where the heck did he go when he retired? How is it that he just disappeared? Is he dead? Does he still look like Indiana Jones?" You know, the regular burning questions that we all have. And i have no idea if it is worth it to anyone but me, and the faithful tuba player that sent his solo to me. Thanks, sir. It has been worth it to me so far, i guess, but i wonder if i will really get to the real question, "Do i matter to this person still?" That's the whole point of going down memory lane, right? The class reunions, the private investigators and the healing of self or others. It's about, "Do i matter?" I'm thinking that i'll find my answers when i'm ready to accept that question. I'm 35, for the love of chicken. It's about time. They say that when people write a story, it often gives more insight into the author than it does into the plot. You caught me. This is, in fact, about me. Again. I'm finding this in-SATIABLE desire to wrap things up. This is the first time, however, that i've wondered if i wrap the things up i need/want to, then what????? Well, hubby would probably say i'd move onto wrapping his things up. or the kids things. Basically get nosy and butt in more. Or, i'd just wander around the house, tweaking things juuuussttt a bit, here and there. just to give myself the satisfaction of still fixing something a bit. Maybe, as i talk to people, heal, clean up, and move forward, maybe it won't be about the tidying up anymore. Maybe it will just be a new beginning, which is much more desirable than an ending. What if the journey ends up being not a clean up of loose ends, but a start of a new journey in a different space, a whole, clean space? Welll-elll-elll! Then it might just be a jumping off point to see if i am about maintenance. I, in point of fact, do matter. To me. And that is what is needed for the filling in of holes, the mending of loose ends, and the moving forward.

The Bank Of The Universe is on line 1. Please hold.....

The thing with the Bank of the Universe (or as many call it, "one man's trash is another man's treasure") is that it doesn't have overdraft. No need for overdraft protection. There aren't even any fees attached. Just the realization that there is enough. BOOMM! Now, that's a pretty bold statement, i know. But lets just take a look at a few situations in my life. 1. I had acquired, through sad circumstance, a houseful of furniture, clothes, and various nick knacks. Much emotion was attached to it, and i had a hard time letting some of it go, but there was ONE thing that i had no problem giving away. (i ended up giving it all away, i believe, except some candles and a spatula....great spatula.) The thing i could just let go of, no problem, and even laughed about, was an enormous fur coat. It was a size 1, and lets be clear. i'm ....not. It was big, furry, and there is no way to hide the fact that, although luxuriously soft, IT'S A FUR COAT. I just happened to let it be known that i had an extra fur coat (really, i did use the term "extra fur coat") at a Sunday 3 hr long activity, and it just so happened that the person that talked about it with me was a size 1, couldn't seem to find a fur coat her size, and had always wanted a coat JUST LIKE IT. Really. There were tears and hugs. odd, that. Could be coincidence, but lets look further... 2. I was in a room once where we were asked to put on a piece of paper some things that we really needed, but were all out of ideas as to how to acquire. Then also, list all the things we had just lying around. things that were just "extra". no matter how small, how large, how expensive or cheap. alive or dead. didn't matter. just the extra. So after i thought for a minute, i put down the 2 tennis rackets, and the jewelry box in the closet. 7 sets of sheets that we were given for our wedding ( never opened), and the various fat/thin/short/tall clothes that are never quite worn. the shoes that look great but don't match anything. the lazy boy recliner in the garage. the non-running car that just needs some work, out at hubby's dad's place, and the 2 lawn mowers that, again, just need some work. you know, the normal. Again, the phenomenon: After going through the room and seeing the lists of needs and wants, all things extra, from pretty much everyone in the room, were called for, and all things needed were accounted for. down to someone's need for a college tuition, 3 cars, 5 cats, a parrot (alive, not dead), and 12 jobs. And my lazy-boy recliner. there were, of course, extra things that weren't needed, but it was amazing the amount of ABUNDANCE is in the world of us. 3. National Annual put-your-crap-out-on-the-curb-and-the-city-will-make-it--disappear day. Now, about 4 days or a week before this predetermined day, miraculous things happen. Stuff just appears out of nowhere. There isn't a time when i see anyone bring anything to the curb. it just appears. In fact, it looks something like this:

I drive down the street and notice a swing set just sitting on the curb. I turn the corner and see a 4 poster bed, complete with coverlet. Now, this is right next to 3 bundles of sticks and an upside down toilet. 2 houses down, the entire downstairs den has been remodeled because all the sheetrock and lumber is there on the curb, along with the computer desk, the computer, the lights, and a board game of "LIFE". At the next corner, I discover the curb decorated with no less than 3 dryers, a washing machine and 5 mattresses. The light comes on and i say, "ohhh! it's THAT time of year!" This is my cue to rifle through my back yard/garage/closets for the stuff that didn't sell at the garage sale, didn't sell on the "craigs list", or ended up in the rain for a week and a half before putting it under a tarp in the far corner of the yard. This year i was ecstatic to bring out 28 boxes we stashed in the garage, the trampoline frame with 11 missing springs (making the whole thing unworthy of the spot in the backyard), an old furnace, as well as getting rid of 3 computer screens, 2 large desks, and a partridge in a pear tree. Nothing out of the normal for the family spring cleaning, but here's the phenomenon. We had 4 days to go and in that time, my kids and i counted 23 trucks meandering by (none of them marked "City", and most of them with at least 2 kids and an in-law in the back. Oh yeah, and an impossibly high load of scrap metal already perched precariously around bike frames/major appliances, and toys), rifling through and gathering the things i had so carelessly thrown away. Anything made of metal or with cords on it made someone very happy. They knew just what to take, and what to leave. It was something they had planned for, counted on, and had a system of. RINGLEADER AND DRIVER OF 1987 FORD TRUCK, WHITE, WITH A TRAILER TOTED BEHIND IT: "Mother, you take the miscellaneous cords and any bike rims or frames. Sissy, hold baby Joe's hand while you dig through the rubble. We don't want to leave him behind like last time. Uncle Ed, wrap that bungee cord tight! it's got to hold up for 7 more trips. I'll take the scrap metal, major appliances and bed frames.". No kidding, within 5 minutes, anything deemed of worth was gently picked up, acquired, and the rest was placed nicely back. Not one out of 23 left my "junk pile" messy. What does this say to me? I have underutilized my junk, 1st off. Maybe it's made someone else's life a bit easier. don't know. I'll never know who they are. they smiled and thanked me, but that was it. I had extra, they needed what i had, and boom. a transaction was complete. no fees needed. That was the outflow. Now, during this same time of year, but a few years back, my boys (10,8, and 4 at the time) knew of something that i wanted. BADLY. A lovesac. Not a beanbag. A LOVESAC. They are enormous pieces of furniture, indestructible, and great for indoor flips/jumps/throwing pets/sisters/assorted missionaries coming for dinner, into. And quite spendy, at the time. Out of my price range if i wanted to have food, home, and other extras. So when the time came for all the treasures to come out of peoples homes, and very VERY unbeknownst to me, my 3 proud boys come up the street ROLLING AN ENORMOUS LOVESAC.... looking beanbag down the street. Bless their hearts. Neighbors were coming out of their doorways, dogs were barking, and some guy in a bathrobe was clapping like it's a parade. OHHH my boys were proud that they found what my hearts desire was. How did i dare tell them that the flotsom and jetsom from the street was all over it, or they had left a trail of little beanie things streaming from the zipper that didn't work, for the last 3 blocks, or even that it smelled like pickles,gasoline, and wet muskrat? I didn't. i was excited, and when they went to school, it got picked up with the rest of the stuff at the curb. don't ask, don't tell. (They wondered where it was for a minute or 2, but then got interested in grasshoppers, so i dodged a bullet.) At Christmas time, however, we did receive an actual LOVESAC, so all was well. We now have a rule that once something is on the curb, ANYONE'S curb, it stays there. no bringing things home. We can let someone else enjoy the muskrat scents. ew. So it brings me back to The Bank Of The Universe. It's waiting, on line 1. Would you like to take that call, or screen? I am learning i do a bit of both. I do not need a parrot, any more flotsom, or another bedframe. I will, however, be on the lookout for a trip to the beach, a job that doesn't involve flooded basements and OSHA visits, and also a girls night out. So if you are the Bank of the Universe calling, please leave your number at the beep: BEEP!

When high class takes a big crash...it looks like this.

One of the biggest pulls i have in facebook is that up to now i have not been bombarded with lewd or crass ads. I'm finding that part of that is because of the choices i have made as to whom i bring into my circle of friends, as well as who is able to see my facebook page. I could blithely send farm town requests, or whatever, as well as receive things and think, "um, do i REALLY want to be this froofee?" Sometimes yes, sometimes no, but no harm, no foul. Every once in a while i would go really wild and take a "which tic tac flavor are u" survey. I'm mint, by the way. Wint-O-green. The way i would find these novelty things is by seeing what others had put in their history, as we all well know. For the record, my stripper name is Lacy GlitzDixon, my superhero of choice is The Flash, and my color is RED. Lucky, eh? And i feel preety high falutin. Until this morning.My kids, 12 and 7, got a kick out of surfing the facebook with me for a few minutes when we ran across a little thing we could do. ..... sent a blah blah blah from yada yada yada gifts. We looked at the gift and laughed out loud. I thought, "we should go there and send a gift also. So as we clicked on the application, we picked out a lovely gift to send to 20 friends. The most well thought out friends that are probably reading this now. The gift of choice? of course it was a face to face toilet :) Who wouldn't want a face to face toilet as a gift? Think of the possibilities.... So as we finish our list and click send, the funniest thing happens. And when i say funny, i mean WHAT???? HOW DID THAT HAPPEN?????? Because a very large amount of lewd, crass and inappropriate material pops up right around the "thank you for sending this gift to your friends" note. The look on my kids face was priceless. It was that of confusion as i slammed the lid of the laptop down. "Hey! I was still looking at that!", and the look on my face was "I have just exposed my youngest kids to the porn industry!!!" So sure, you have now gotten the quirky toilet joke gift, but you have now also gotten the link that says, "please note, Sharon is a giver of the nasty. Please enjoy her new found sense of humor". For the record, I did not thoroughly look through the site before sending it. That would be my bad, and would make me the person that you hear about in the statistics that is the NEWBIE. Relatively so, i guess. If you see something that says sharon has sent a face to face toilet to..... 20 people, including my family, friends, and co-workers, please use your filter and your good sense. Or go right ahead and revel in the knowledge that I have brought the nasty into your life. My bad. My apologies. My goodness....

No NO! NOOO! The Sound Of Music WAS my life!!!!!!

If you have seen the musical, "Sound of Music", you will have some distinct impressions. Uplifting? Possibly. Schmarmy? Oh yeah. Catchy tunes? Dang it! Yes. Now substitute the main character in the movie for my mom, Mary S., and you can say the same things. Well, actually, there were a few distinct differences. For starters, to my knowledge, my mom was not a nun that got kicked out of a convent to find her way into independence in Austria. However, she did have 7 children, 1 stubborn man, and a large amount of home to tame. How did she do it? The same way Julie Andrews character did. By talking, or singing about her favorite things. Noooo?... really. I used to think that Frau Maria stole my mom's song about raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens. I didn't know why bright copper kettles and warm woolen mittens would be so great for my mom, but seeing as how she was up every day at 5, in the kitchen, singing happily, i just assumed she was a little off her nut. Did i mention there were 7 of us????

The general philosophy was the whole kill-us-with-kindness-thing. mmmm maybe not KILL us, per se, but kindness was the only acceptable way of torture. If i was fighting with my brother, did we get to finish it? ohhhh no! WE had to hug! and tell each other SORRY, and we LOVED each other. ( I'm pretty sure there wasn't an MGM movie song that went along with that scenario, but i would have enjoyed seeing it. 2 kids in lederhosen, hugging it up while singing and trying to stab each other in the back.... or something like that. It bears looking into.) You know, that's some seriously creepy stuff to do to kids....

It used to make me very angry that she would NOT change with the fads, the times, the decades, or the crowd. Her home, her standards, her rules, her very space was non-negotiable. GRRRRR! No matter how i argued, yelled, or bombarded her with reasonable requests, she stood firm.For instance, ME: "Mom, I'm just friends with him. We are just going for a walk, then we will hang out at the park." MARY S.:"I understand, i still want to meet him, and have him come here to hang out. in public rooms. with doors open. around other people. But THANK YOU for talking to me first, and would you like a cookie?" See? Completely non-negotiable. hmmmmmm Another one. ME: "Why do i need to be out late? Wee-eelll, because me and Gemmie and Lee-Ann are...blah blah blah, excuse excuse excuse....see through see through see through....sweat beading on my brow... wiping it away...blah blah blah.....very sincere expression....triumphant look as i explain why it makes sense" and MARY S.: "Thank you, Sharon, for explaining such a well thought out plan, however, you will need to be home by curfew, as explained before. Would you like to make doughnuts with me?" SEEE???? No way to sway her, move her at all!!!! And complaining to my friends would do nothing at all, because they would say things like, "um, yeah, your mom is so nice! she always has doughnuts for us. She never yells, what's wrong with you?" I never could figure out what was wrong with me that my friends saw her as so nice, and yet there was something....some way that i knew she was tricking me into doing what i didn't want to do, and yet being so polite! How could i be mad at her politeness???? A stroke of genius, that play.

She sang all the time, too. When waking us up, she would sing smarmy songs. When cooking, getting us ready, breaking up arguments, getting us ready for bed, breaking up arguments, at dinner, going to break up arguments on the way to church/school/or other dreaded tasks.... always singing. I think it was her defense mechanism. We would be hypnotized. "What is she singing?" we would wonder. "Why am i singing it in my head?" "Dang it! Now i'll be singing it all day long!" And we would stop our reasonable argument about why the shirt i had on was first come first serve, no matter who's it belonged to. I could tell this was also Julie Andrew's strategy in the movie. Those kids looked up at her with the strange, puzzled look on their face that i thought at first was adoration but now i see was hypnotized paralysis.

Well, when watching the movie "The Sound Of Music", I never really considered the role the dad played. Honestly. Check him out. He provides the fortress. He is the harrumphing, no nonsense man that will take no horse-play. He is the CAPTAIN, for heavens sake. Just like my dad. Again, with a few exceptions. Um, Christopher Plummer had more hair, for instance. My dad has more of a Jean Luke Picard look going on. Even back in the day, just add a horseshoe of red hair, and you would have my dad. Another difference is that my dad would want to be stern. OH how he would want to be stern. And we would so not take him seriously. There is a dinner scene in the movie that captures this difference so well.

Christopher Plummer demands that his children are there at the table, on time, dressed well, and ready to eat. No nonsense. As did my dad. The difference was that we didn't have 22 takes to get it right, so someone always needed to go to the bathroom right before the prayer, the phone rang right after he started asking how our day was, and 4 kids would dive over the table to get it, or inevitably, SOMEONE KNOCKED OVER A GLASS OF LIQUID. Now, we knew my dad would yell, would have that one vein on the temple of his shiny forehead that would pump harder and harder, and my mom would put a restraining hand on his his hand, saying, "Now honey..." We knew it, and knew that we had gone over the line. It happened at night, at dinnertime and yet it was like we would forget every day until this magic moment. But then, someone would snort. I'm going to say it was Don. He was able to time the unthinkable just right. Sometimes a pea, a bean, or some liquid would shoot out the nose at the same time as the snort and make it even more effective. ( I usually blamed him for things whether he did it or not anyway.) This would get all of us going, and .....the spell was broken. No more mean, stern father figure. Dad would mumble something about "HOOLIGANS", and eat silently for a bit while mom smoothed things back into order. Man i love that guy.

The last thing i will say about my life being like the movie was the pranks, and the kids entertaining each other. Now i do not remember at all rowing a boat in a lake together, or escaping from one country to another with military chasing us, but i do remember performing songs around the piano and at church together. Wow, that was .... something. Mom and dad all proud of the kids getting along for 5 minutes so people would think we looked and smelled nice. We could keep a pitch, my oldest brother could play piano,close enough to pinch us if we didn't sing, and the rest of us didn't know that turning down a sacrament meeting performance was an option. But the playing music and singing stuck and we still love to sing together now. For the record, I do still pinch my brothers in a song at every chance i get. We would also play together. When we weren't fighting, we were play fighting. Logan's run, to be precise. Rubber band guns, forts, and yelling we all ok at my moms house, but we couldn't say "Shut up". So we learned really quickly that we could prank each other, we just had to do it POLITELY :) If there was no evidence, and we looked innocent, we obviously were. Again, something that was picked up from the movie. When Maria is walking up the stairs and feels a frog in her pocket from the little angels smiling up at her, i recognize the same look on those kids faces as the ones on my older sisters faces when they lock the boys in the rooms and run downstairs, knowing that when the boys go out the window, down the roof and in through the front door, they can just blame us younger kids. No harm no foul.... We all break into a big song, the lights go down, and the neighbors clap as they call my parents, again, to let them know they are a leetle bit worried that things may be out of hand while the grown ups are away at the Stake Center....

When I crept downstairs, it was already IN the soup....

When i think of birds i think of either inside birds or outside birds. Inside birds would be thanksgiving turkeys, chicken tenders, etc... things i eat. things already dead, to be clear. AND birds that have already been processed, to be precise. Then, there are the outside birds. The nice Look-honey-the-geese-are-flying-south type that fly overhead, or the ones that dodge the grill of HOSS the suburban by 3 inches on the freeway. Whether in a zoo, at a park, at the beach, or in my trees of my front yard they all come to this for me: They do not belong in my house because they are OUTSIDE birds. A. They have not been decontaminated, de-pooped, or de-scented. B. They most likely have cooties. C. They have wings and feathers that make that flp flp flp noise that is ....creepy. D. ...... I have more, you get the picture. Basically, they are rodents to me, or food. Depending on the packaging. Now, why am i obsessing about this? Whe-eee-eeeelll i'll just let you know i have a cat who is a freak and LOVES to bring the outdoors inside. Birds, to be precise. This afternoon was the most recent, and was the least traumatic, but you should know this 1 thing about me. IT STILL FREAKS ME OUT!!!! Now, i'm not talking about ew, icky. I'm not even talking about whack it with a stick to get it out of the house freaked out. I'm saying that i can deal with my 4 kids diapers and barf, growing up. It's not pleasant, but i deal. I dealt with the birth, didn't i???? I deal with a lot of unpleasant things. But the bird in the living room thing. it looks something like this: 1. flp flp flp.... bang bang, and sometimes a ka-blam. 2. i open the door of my bedroom, creep downstairs with a ....bag, shoe, star wars light saber, or hair dryer hooked to an extension cord, in an effort to fluff it to death. whatever is handy and makes sense at the time. 3. i see feathers, the bird flapping, or will see the cat with that really proud look on its face that says, "oh you gotta see this one! it's flappin around like it's going to make it outta here!" 4. i scream uncontrollably, dropping whatever i had in my hands, and run upstairs to wake micah up. why yes, it usually is in the middle of the night. All i can think of to say is, "blah blah! get it get it.....bird bird bird....i did the barf of all the kids, you get the bird......ew ew ew ew ew!!!!!!" again, making total complete sense at the time. 5. I then jump on my bed, under the covers, and push micah off the bed. He works his magic, the bird is gone, and life goes on. Was I always like this? Nope. The first time i couldn’t figure out what that noise was. We have a doggie door that the cat uses. And thankfully so, because i refuse to be any pet's servant. So hearing the flap open and shut is a normal part of life. This particular night, though, i went downstairs to see if my top ramen had finished boiling. Side note: I only like Picante Beef flavor, which i feel is a very grown up flavor. Not kid like at ALL.... Anyway, I walk down my stairs and notice that there are feathers around the floor. Odd, that. So i get a broom to sweep them up. Sweep. Sweep. Then i notice they are in the living room too......hmmmm follow the trail, wondering what's going on? nothing in there. nothing in the kitchen. I look downstairs where there are feathers in the computer room. At this time i hear noises coming from the kitchen and notice that the cat is on the half wall! This is a huge breach of etiquette at my house and i get ready to swipe her down when i see her go to the top of the fridge! Again, how dare she!!!! grrrr. DANG cat.... And that's when i notice her looking down at the stove. At my top ramen. Now a part of me wonders, "Why is she stalking my Top Ramen? She doesn't even like Top Ramen, does she?......" And it takes me a good 2 seconds to walk up the stairs and realize that boiling along with my top ramen is her flapping prey. Yeah, i did get to smell it, see it, and yark a little in my mouth. The rest was a blur of the squealing/screaming and running for the husband. We have an understanding. I will now happily feed the dog/cat, deal with teenage drama, do errands/appointments for kids. His clear role is to rescue me from rodents who drop out of the sky into my Top Ramen. I think it's fair.

Alright..... Lets go here. Lets just get this out in the open

Alright..... Lets go here. Lets just get this out in the open.

Dishwasher machines. They are supposed to make my life easier, right? It's why i have one. It's why we all have one, otherwise, we would stick with the whole Rinse-your-dishes-down-at-the-creek fad that was so popular a while back. Why then did i spend the last hour doing the jigsaw puzzle that was the dishwasher dance??????

First, the rule of rinse and stack. Its a good idea, just for sanitary reasons. No critters need to eat leftovers. No smells from days gone by need to waft into my living room in the middle of my piano practice at 10:30 pm. It's a good thing, but does it happen near enough? NO! And why is that? Because, of course, it's redundant! We all know the dishes are going to need to be washed. The reality is that no one wants to put the clean ones away, so the clean ones get used, and the dirty ones stay on the sink until a grown up harumphs enough to bring a minion about to right the situation, or actually does it themselves.

Now, if there happens to be any kind of crisis, lazy bout, or bit of spring time weather, those dishes will multiply and replenish the sink. Quickly. Thus the dilemma this morning.

1. Open the dishwasher door and see 7 clean dishes left. Put them away.

2. Start to fit the pans into the dishwasher bottom rack, seeing that I don't want to hand wash them. After all, that is what DISHWASHERS are for, right?

3. fill the top rack with glasses, those big utensils that never fit anywhere else, and assorted measuring cups that the boys have used for cereal bowls, launching pads, and torture devices of the pets and/or sister.

4. turn the spinn-ee thing-ee under the top rack to make sure the water will distribute correctly, only to find out that it is stopping at the large pan that i have shoved in on the bottom rack.

5. pull out bottom rack, scratch my head for a sec, and move things around. "This should do it", i say at least 7 times before i actually get it right, wasting roughly 26.8 minutes.

6. slowly straighten my back only to find that it has become stiff. As stiff as if i had stood at a sink, washing dishes for, oh say, 30 minutes.

7. notice that i have started the dishwasher without soap in it.

8. stop the dishwasher, put in the soap and notice that once again, the water is not disbursing because that dang pan has become dislodged when i shut the door!

9. Repeat step 5 for another 12 minutes, including unloading the entire bottom rack and reloading because now, it's PERSONAL.

10. slamming the door, starting the dishwasher, and looking for a stiff drink.

It's a good thing i don't drink. I do not, for the record, think that dishwashers are saving anyone time. the wash cycle is 80 minutes, do you realize that? Sure, it will sanitize my whisk, and get the grunge off my one thing-ee that i use to scoop ice cream and cookie dough, but really i'm ready to take my stuff to the creek. well, at least have my minions do it for me.