The Mini Van Soap Box

I totally stole this idea from Undomestic Diva...but she kind of invited people to steal it...So, I don't think I'm breaking any major blogging rule by doing this.

If you've got some time (and I mean quite a bit of time), go check out YearbookYourself.com. Simply upload a picture of yourself and see what you look like through the ages.

This may be the only way I'll ever post a picture of myself.

Cinderella opens in theaters, and Silly Putter is introduced.
(i would have seriously sucked as a 1950's wife)

The Hula Hoop and Rice-A-Roni

Marilyn Monroe found dead & Johnny Carson hosts The Tonight Show
(what in the hell is that on top of my head)

The Supremes go to #1
(and clearly I think I AM one)
Watergate & The first issue of People Magazine (oh, and I was born)
(Marsha, Marsha, Marsha)

Blues Brothers on Saturday Night Live & Diff'rent Strokes premiere
(by the way - I'm seriously considering changing my hairstyle)

US Olympic Hockey Team beats Soviet Union & HP first personal computer
(the female equivalent to a bowl cut?)

Nelson Mandela inaugurated & Pilot episode of "ER"
(sad thing - this is actually not too far off the truth for me. Aqua Net anyone?)

Nintendo 64 goes on sale in US & Quake computer game is released
(I kind of like me as a blond)

Share your pictures/links here if you do them!

My mother and I had a very basic understanding during my teenage years.

Don't have the school call me.
Don't have the cops call me.

While although I had some pretty close calls, I can say that neither of those things ever happened.

I can not, however, say the same for my childhood years.

I'm not sure how old I was, or even what time of the year it was. I do know who my accomplice was though. It was Greg. And to this day I still blame him. Most things were his idea, if you must know.

I'm sure it was closing in on the end of summer vacation, and the many things that we entertained ourselves with were becoming boring and mundane. With nothing to do except watch The Great Space Coaster, go to the pool or sneak a drink out of his mom's wine jug - somehow the idea of destruction of private property seemed like a grand idea.

With huge rocks in hand, we settled on the corner sidewalk IN PLAIN SIGHT, and played tic tac toe on the door of our neighbors RV. With rocks. We scratched our tic tac toe board and doodles into the paint of his RV.

Oh, I forgot to mention who our neighbor was.

He was a cop.

We were fuckin' Einsteins, Greg and I.

I'm not entirely sure how the story ends. That could be because so many years have passed - or it could be that we were beaten within an inch of our lives. It's all a bit fuzzy. But I'm fairly certain that Greg and I were adamant about how it was the others fault. I don't really think our folks cared much at that point.

After spending a week with sunshine, ocean and family - I've made a decision.

I don't wanna a job, live in the suburbs, take children to school, do laundry and pay bills.

I wanna live at the beach and start drinking beer at 11:00 in the morning while trying to even out my tan. I want to read under an umbrella while my daughter sleeps not but 20 feet from the ocean.

Needless to say, we had a very nice vacation. We had some bumps along the way, but after everything is said and done - I'm totally doing that again.

Few little interesting tidbits of the vacation....? Hmmm....Let me think....OH! I know, you'll like this one.

My daughter asked me to turn OFF the ocean. I'm totally not kidding.

She had started the week sick and grumpy and all together not fun to be with. On day two I suggested she lay down for a while with her towel and try to sleep. Surprisingly she curled up in the shade and closed her eyes. (Seriously...The fact that she would do ANYTHING I suggest is a miracle) However, not but a couple minutes later she opened her eyes quite dramatically and pointed her little four year old finger at me and instructed me - quite loudly - to TURN OFF THE OCEAN! IT KEEPS WAKING ME UP!

About mid-week the folks offered to watch the sweet, well behaved, little darling for a couple of hours and give my husband and I some time to shop in town. We drove into town - and instead of perusing the goodies of the local shops - we ended up spending two hours in the local pub drinking beer and playing arcade games. We are total dorks.

I lost most victoriously at Texas Hold Em, but won at Dominoes. I ate two helpings of the most sinful Eggs Benedict, and then sucked on Tums for the rest of the morning...getting older sucks. I actually wore sunscreen every day...one more sign of me aging. And pretty much drank my weight in beer....but I suppose that's no different than any other day.

Upon arriving home, my daughter walked in through the garage door, looked around our house and then threw a fit because "I DON'T WANT TO LIVE HERE ANYMORE".

It's good to be home.

In the beginning I wasn't going to get guest writers while I was out of town. But then the "Great Interview Experiment" dropped in my lap - so I had one thing to pre-post. Then in a moment of genius I asked my Dad to write for me (ya'll met him, remember?). And since I got TWO posts, why not go for THREE! I am thrilled to have Ms. Picket visiting us over here. She is truly one of those people that if she called me tomorrow and said she was visiting my state, I would totally let her crash on my couch and drink my beer. And ya'll know I don't share my beer with just anyone.
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A few weeks ago, Minivan asked a question: would you erase any bit of your life if you could?

I was utterly all-positive thinking in the moment and said no and that every bad move brought me here and – cue music – and blah blah blah. Turns out I must have been having a weirdly good day, because I couldn’t stop thinking about that question and realized, um yeah Minivan dude: truth is, there’s like a thousand moments I would like to erase.

I’m not saying I would want to end up in different place, but FUCK YEAH and OMG and IS THERE A WAY?? Because ugghhhhhhhh: there are too many to count.

This is just one:

In a moment of extreme youthful disregard for my safety folly, I said yes when the Boy suggested we split for the night to his parents’ weekend house. We’d only known each other a few drunken hours but, still, we’d spent most of it in deep, DEEP serious intellectual thought so I figured we were basically in love.

I have no idea now what we were talking about, but that’s mostly because I probably had little idea then. I’m pretty sure I bullshit my way through most of the conversation the minute that I realized that this dude was in college for a reason – to learn something that would matter to the world – and that my usual repartee of music and songs and bands and concerts would probably not impress him.

He was all kinds of cute so I did my best bullshit, and when he asked me to move away and marry him spend the weekend with him, I said I win! let’s go. And we did. It was two hours away (who knew?) into a whole other state, somewhere in some Massachusetts wooded town where no one would have found me if he’d killed me, but the good news is he didn’t. The other good news is I kept my pants on the ENTIRE night (if you must know) (and which is probably some sort of miracle) and the whole escapade was pretty tame, come to think of it.

He made me a spinach omelet in the morning and even though I hate spinach, I ate it. We drove home and he let me play all my favorite songs and I sang every word to every one, my feet on the dashboard, my hair flying out the window, singing at the top of my lungs in my best Neil Young and Jane Siberry and World Party and Joni Mitchell and Joan Armatrading and the Beastie Boys.

I do not regret one minute of that weird weekend.

What I regret, and wish to erase, is the weekend later. The weekend after the Wednesday that I visited him in his apartment and should have realized that our love affair was pretty much neither. When I should have gotten the clue, but didn’t. When I should have read the signs, but wouldn’t.

The weekend later (after that Wednesday), we met at a house party of our mutual friends. I am pretty sure I actually dressed up for the event, and by “dressed up” I mean I chose the perfect jeans with the perfect holes and the best t-shirt that wouldn’t make my boobs look slutty huge but still hot.

We rendezvoused on the stairs. I knew this was the moment he would tell me that our weekend was the best thing that ever happened to him and that it didn’t matter that I really didn’t “get” Sartre or nihilism, I was the one for he’d been waiting for.

I looked up at him with my best come hither eyes and the sexy face that I’d been working on for about two months, and he said, “Do you need to puke?”

*****
So yeah. Erase. Delete. Forget. I wish I could skip all of that ickiness and jump to the part when I was laughing my ass off and not thinking about my face or my boobs, because that’s when the really good offers came. And when my sexy face was, well, just my face.

I hesitated in asking this person to guest write for me while I was out. I felt bad at first, thinking that this isn't exactly what he "does". I felt like I would be taking advantage of our relationship, so he would feel obliged to say "yes". However, even though I felt bad about all those things...I still asked him. I'm 95 percent sure he said yes to writing in my absence because of his undying love for me....But there is a 5 percent chance that he did it because I could write vicious lies about him on my blog...and tell everyone that he's a democrat. So, I'm sure he's probably just saving his own ass. So, with out further delay....My Father.
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As the Editor-In-Chief of Funn-E-Stuff.com (also known as the Big Kahuna), I have been asked by Kerrie to be a guest writer on her blog while she is away, soaking up the sun and sand at some tropical paradise. While as a fellow blogger I might just say, “bite me” … as her Father I am obliged to help as best I can.

What seems appropriate would be to tell you all some story from her early years, prior to husband and spawn … something prior to her coming of age and responsibility … but I decided to go back much farther in time. In fact, she may not have yet been born when this story took place.

In a land far away and a time beyond remembrance, Kerrie’s mother did something very wonderful (who remembers) for her next-door neighbor.Because the neighbor’s dogs had just delivered an enormous litter of puppies, Kerrie’s mother was given “the pick of the litter.”

Sensible people might have said something like, “Oh, I couldn’t possibly take one of your prized puppies,” but no … not Kerrie’s Mom. Without hesitation she pointed at the best of the lot and said, “I want him.”

Thus we (yes, as Kerrie’s father, I am included in ‘we’) became the proud owners of a German Shorthaired Pointer. We were already the servants of a Siamese Cat that was in charge of our side of the duplex, and now we added a dog. Being the man of the family I was only too proud to see a male dog … Man ! Dog ! Yes! …

While we lived in a usually warm climate it was particularly cold when Buckwheat came to live with us and he needed to be inside the house.Since we had a daughter under 4, we still had a portable “play pen” that seemed to be the perfect place for Buckwheat to hang during the days until he learned to have his bodily functions outdoors.

One day I walked into the room with the puppy to find the cat walking the edge of the play pen (as only a cat could do on a rail not more than a ¼” wide). I watched the cat circle, tormenting the poor puppy below watching. Then she gently dropped to the floor of the pen and proceeded to bat the ears of this puppy, bite and scratch him. Believing that all animals understand us when we speak to them in human terms, I leaned over the side of the pen and spoke to the cat, “You need to understand that this dog is now a puppy. In a few months he will be 10 times larger than you and 20 times stronger.

I actually believe that the cat looked at me and gave me the “cat bird.”

Now we advance in time … maybe six months. The local Vet has said that ours will probably be the largest German Shorthaired Pointer he has ever seen. This dog has consumed a two quart bowl of leftovers in no less than 3.2 seconds (an Olympic record?). He has eaten the rubber coverings over the outside telephone connections. He is a great pet, a superior looking dog and a pure eating machine.

Now we come to the day that the cat, her royal highness, is laying on the back patio … as royal cats do … in the royal curl (you cat people understand what I’m saying) with her head up and her eyes closed, so that we can all worship and admire … when the dog walks in.

Buckwheat is now a full grown dog … and as dumb as it is possible for a dog to be … totally lovable … certainly a man’s dog. I stood there in the doorway, watching and somehow knowing what would happen. The thoughts of my warning to the cat came back to me …

The dog calmly walked over to the cat and took her head into his large mouth.

“OMG … He’ll eat anything … he’s going to eat the cat!” I yelled.

Buckwheat raised up and then shook his head from side to side … almost leasurily while the cat hung limply. Then he set the cat down quite gingerly, opened his mouth and released her … and I swear … looked up at me and laughed.

After the dog walked away, the cat sat calmly and somewhat regally for about 15 minutes … wiping dog slobber off of her face. She refused to look at me and admit that I had warned her that … some day … this would happen.

I signed up at Citizen of the Month a while ago to take part in the Great Interview Experiment and was thrilled to get the chance to interview Carmen, Mom to the Screaming Masses. I learned quickly that I may be decent at blogging, but any dreams I might have had of becoming the next Anderson Cooper have been shattered. However, Carmen humored me and answered my questions, even though I forgot about one of her children. Here is our interview.

#1 - Why did you start blogging?

I was home alone for long stretches of the day with my four children, pregnant with my fifth and wanting badly to stop feeling as if I was going crazy. I had stopped attending La Leche League and the local attachment parenting group - I no longer felt as if I belonged. No one had as many kids as I did, and I felt as if I had grown beyond what those groups offered. I sought interaction with others and thought I could get it on my blog.

Um, I actually have six. Seven if you count The Hubster. #1 baby item - it would have to be my baby sling. I used slings with all of my kids, carrying them until they were over 2. No one ever saw my babies faces until they were at least four months old, so great was my love for the sling. I have given away just about all of my baby stuff, but I kept my leopard print sling and my blue stripe Mei Tai. I LOVE slings. I've been known to accost people in stores and at church who are using them incorrectly, and giving impromptu lessons. I even sold them for a brief time.

I met my husband at church - I was selling Christmas wreaths for the youth group - I was 19 - and he was selling raffle tickets for the choir - he was 35. He joined the youth group at dinner after Mass, and we went to a movie that night. That was November 19, we got engaged November 30, and married December 16. A bit brief. How did I get him to iron? It's all about the (Catholic) guilt, baybee.

I am persistent. That's about the best I can come up with right now.

I'm stubborn and always convinced I'm right. Always. Even when I'm wrong.

One book is so easy - it'd be one of The Diana Gabaldon books, probably #4 - Drums of Autumn is my favorite. One thing to eat would either be a pizza of some kind or a pasta dish - yeah, I'm a carbohydrate/cheese/tomato addict. One drink - Diet Mt Dew or plain water. Or maybe the iced coffee that I make by the gallon. ;)

See above - I LOVE to eat carbohydrates - in the form of white bread and butter, cupcakes, cookies, pasta, cheese, and Mexican food. And booze. I love a good mixed drink or three.

That parenting is hard. That it is hard for everyone, no matter how easy they make it look. That it's ok to lose your shit once in a while, to be human and say "I'm sorry - I made a mistake and screwed up."

I sincerely hope I'll still be here and still have stuff to say - and that people will still want to read me!

Huh. I won Most Talented in my high school beauty pageant. I can't sleep unless the room is totally dark, very quiet, cold - and not touched by anyone. (makes me a lousy wife, I know!). I am a romance novel junkie - although I skip the smutty parts - and don't read junk like Harlequin, but read many, many books in the course of a month.

I have a somewhat addictive personality. That personality trait - coupled with my love of a routine - often makes my life...predictable. If I find something I like, I stick with it. For a long time.

Perfect example. I tried a Stouffer's Chicken and Spinach Flat bread pizza a couple of months ago. I now buy them by the truck load. Even my husband has noticed, and if he goes to the grocery store, he'll come home with EVERY chicken & spinach pizza they have.

"They only had five of them....Sorry"

Well, this lovely quirk of mine has reared it's ugly head again. However, this time I'm blaming my mother.

Typically, TV watching is not something my mother and I have in common. I watch a LOT of it, and she watches occasionally. I have, however, made some huge advances in my plot of turning her to the dark side. It only took me about 7 years to get her to watch Survivor, and after watching some Sunday football at our house, they finally caved and got a DVR.

There seems to be a new development in our tv watching relationship though. She found a show she likes, a lot, and I didn't lead her to it. She did it all on her own. I'm so proud of her. She likes this show so much that she even bought them on DVD.

The problem though is that I don't watch this show - I never really had an interest. But what is it about this show that she likes so much? I must find out.

So, I sat down and watched the pilot episode of The Closer.

Of course, now, I have watch every episode in Season 1 and 2 in the span of a week and a half and my southern accent is coming out all the time. I HEAR Krya in my head. I'm smiling at the cashier of the grocery store ... "Thank You. Thank You Very Much". I'm getting strange looks from my daughter and my husband is telling me I shouldn't watch so many of them back to back.

So, that's where you'll find me after 8:00 tonight. Curled up on my couch with a Chicken & spinach Pizza, watching the first episode of Season 3, pausing every five minutes to see what's going on in The Olympics.

This is exactly what happened when I fell in love with Buffy.

At least this time I won't start thinking that I'm a super hero and start carrying a wooden stick in my purse, on the off chance I might run into a creature of the night.

When it comes to sleeping, my husband and I are boxing champions - each going to their respective corners and not coming out until the bell is rung. We aren't "in the middle" cuddly sleepers, lovingly wrapped in each others arms. Our bed has an imaginary line down the middle and we both keep to our sides - unless, of course, something interesting is happening in the middle. I have no problem with this, and I don't think that he does either. We both like our space and find it difficult to sleep if we have to navigate our way through an additional pair of limbs and listen to an extra heart beat.

Like most of America, he and I watched a great deal of The Olympics yesterday - swimming, gymnastics and beach volleyball. All very exciting - and we were happy to see Michael Phelps win his first gold before we turned in for the night. I'm thinking though, that the amount of tumbling and swimming that I saw yesterday, might have had an impact on my dreams

I woke up at around 3:00, rolled up like a mummy in our sheets, my body pillow wrapped around my chest like some life preserver and so far on his side that he was clutching the side of the bed to keep from falling off.

In my dreams, I'm a hell of an athlete.

I read an interesting article in the waiting room of the dentist the other day. It was an article about 'famous' people (Julia Roberts, Jennifer Aniston, Sheryl Crow, etc), and how they've "gone green". Julia Roberts, for example, hired a "Green Guru" to come into her home and tell her everything she should change....and then she changed it. Sheryl Crow is a huge activist and speaks all over the world about pollution and saving the earth. Jennifer Aniston takes two to three minute showers - she also brushes her teeth within those two minutes. She does this becuase the amount of water we use in TWO minutes in the shower is the same amount of water that someone in Africa would have for a WHOLE day - that includes drinking, cooking and bathing.

These are all great things, sure. However, I certainly can't afford a "Green Guru" (what the hell is that anyway??), and personally I can't move fast enough to shower in two minutes. It takes me two minutes just to open the door and step in. So that got me thinking...

How "green" am I?

I recycle all of our beer bottles and soda cans....and let me tell you that with the amount we drink....we recycle A LOT.

I request paper bags at the grocery store. Probably not as good as bringing my own bags, but the paper bags are then re-used in our house for empty beer bottle storage...and then recycled. So - double points for that right?

I've been using the same water bottle for months now - I just keeping refilling it. I try not to buy too many things that come in plastic bottles.

There are some things I just can't seem to do though.

I can't stand those light bulbs! You know the ones that cost a lot, but they'll last for like 200 years? The light that comes off of them is horrible - there is nothing about that light bulb that "simulates real sunshine".

I can't not drive. I mean I'm sure I COULD not drive, but I would have to get up at 3:00 in the morning to get her to school and get me to work on time. I suppose I could get a bike and ride my way through town...but I don't think my co-workers would be happy with my fragrance.

I know there is a lot more I could be doing. It would probably be pretty easy to make some changes in our routines.

But taking two minute showers just does not seem like an option for me.

So, what do YOU do? Have any of you tried those "green" household cleaners? How do they work?

I don't know why, but I've been thinking a lot lately about a dog that I used to have. A barking whiny pure bred lap dog. He was a King Charles Cavalier Spaniel. Don't ask me why it was important for me to spend $1800 on a pure bred dog instead of getting one for $100 at the pound...I was young and stupid, and apparently had money to spend. Regardless of his flaws, we loved him and spoiled him.

His major flaw? He would eat anything. And by anything - I mean everything. Grass, his own poop, my underwear and small rodents. And by rodents - I mean still living.

Which brings me to my story.

It was a fine and bright Mother's Day. I was younger (pre-husband & baby) than I am now, and had spent the evening before out gallivanting, drinking and general merriment. However, me being the good daughter (a.k.a butt kisser) I am, the last thing I was going to do was call in drunk to my mother. She had asked for manual labor on this particular day, and the plan was to go over there and help her mulch her flower beds.

So the dog and I headed over, me with a marching band tooting 76 trombones in my head, and the dog happily slobbering on the car window. We walk through the gate, say our hellos to the parentals and I let the dog off his leash.

That was my first mistake.

No, that's wrong. My first mistake was having 47 beers the night before.

The dog shoots like a rocket for something that I can't see in the back of the yard. I notice his nose going to town inside some leaves and decide to go check it out and make sure he's not digging up flowers and such.

That was my third mistake.

The dog had swallowed a dead mouse, whole, and by the time I had reached him he was throwing it back up.

Now picture if you will, a dog retching an entire mouse in the leaves. His master on her knees, retching the home brew from the night before right next to him, and the masters mother gagging on the back steps.

Needless to say I totally shit on my Mother's Mothers Day. I spent the rest of the afternoon in the fetal position on her chaise lounge nursing a ginger ale.

Honestly, NO IDEA why I shared this story. My posts of late seem to be taking a turn into weird - what with throwing up dogs and vagina's - but hey, it's my blog, I'll do with it what I will.

Anyway, part of me misses that dog. My weak stomach does not.