Sucking in your stomach will not make the lawn tractor fit in smaller spaces.
Worry for me.
Scat
Sunday, July 29, 2012
Thursday, July 26, 2012
Tilt
I knew this would happen eventually.
Brain overload increases exponentially to maximum at which point aural sensation is not interpreted well at all--certainly not in sync with visual input. Brain overload (BO, it's not what you think) accelerates with decreasing energy (E).
If you chop down trees for two days straight such that your 40-yr-old body can no longer even lay or sit comfortably enough to sleep, then juggle that with your normal workload and multiple efforts to tailor resumes for a recruiter who is also juggling several opportunities for you in a short time frame and then leave your house at a really unmerciful hour to retrieve your youngest son, then....this is what happens later that morning:
Squib: "Hey Mom!! (he shouts...always...the shouting)"
Me: "What (leaping five feet in the air and rotating to face him)!??
Squib: "Dr. Scott the paleontologist says that hadro-wheeeecarnieeeeeeeesaureeeeealloeeeeeeeeeeenviroeeeeeepleoeeeeeteraeeeeeeeediurneeeeeeeeepothehyeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee and nocturnal creatures that we see at night are bats, possums, creeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee whhhhhhhhheeeeetureseeeeemigratoreeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeicthioeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeerrrrrrrrreeeeeeeeeeee hoooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooonk and then they do this eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee so we should go out and eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeerrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrthrough their rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrforeshortened forearmsrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr.""
Right?"
Right what? If it's not a Tyrannosaur or Brachiosaur or Diplodocus or one of the dinosaurs we had back in the 70's I'm really out of my league here. I'm learning, but he's learning faster. Can we alphabetize elements instead? What did he say? I Just. Don't. Know.
Maintain eye contact. (didn't work)
Tilt head from side to side for better reception. (did not work)
Stare directly at the mouth and pray you can lipread. (nada)
Switching to plan D...
Me: "I. Don't. Know. (but this is my thoughtful, studious version)."
He ponders this thoughtfully and squints at me. (ah oh)
Squib: "I don't know either!
Phew. He smiles and skips off merrily. Two, minutes pass.
Squib: "Mom! Eeeeewwwsauruseeewingedeeeeeestegoeeeeeeeeeepteranoeeeeeeeee.........."
Gasp!
It's gonna be a long day...
Scat
Brain overload increases exponentially to maximum at which point aural sensation is not interpreted well at all--certainly not in sync with visual input. Brain overload (BO, it's not what you think) accelerates with decreasing energy (E).
If you chop down trees for two days straight such that your 40-yr-old body can no longer even lay or sit comfortably enough to sleep, then juggle that with your normal workload and multiple efforts to tailor resumes for a recruiter who is also juggling several opportunities for you in a short time frame and then leave your house at a really unmerciful hour to retrieve your youngest son, then....this is what happens later that morning:
Squib: "Hey Mom!! (he shouts...always...the shouting)"
Me: "What (leaping five feet in the air and rotating to face him)!??
Squib: "Dr. Scott the paleontologist says that hadro-wheeeecarnieeeeeeeesaureeeeealloeeeeeeeeeeenviroeeeeeepleoeeeeeteraeeeeeeeediurneeeeeeeeepothehyeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee and nocturnal creatures that we see at night are bats, possums, creeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee whhhhhhhhheeeeetureseeeeemigratoreeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeicthioeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeerrrrrrrrreeeeeeeeeeee hoooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooonk and then they do this eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee so we should go out and eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeerrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrthrough their rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrforeshortened forearmsrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr.""
Right?"
Right what? If it's not a Tyrannosaur or Brachiosaur or Diplodocus or one of the dinosaurs we had back in the 70's I'm really out of my league here. I'm learning, but he's learning faster. Can we alphabetize elements instead? What did he say? I Just. Don't. Know.
Maintain eye contact. (didn't work)
Tilt head from side to side for better reception. (did not work)
Stare directly at the mouth and pray you can lipread. (nada)
Switching to plan D...
Me: "I. Don't. Know. (but this is my thoughtful, studious version)."
He ponders this thoughtfully and squints at me. (ah oh)
Squib: "I don't know either!
Phew. He smiles and skips off merrily. Two, minutes pass.
Squib: "Mom! Eeeeewwwsauruseeewingedeeeeeestegoeeeeeeeeeepteranoeeeeeeeee.........."
Gasp!
It's gonna be a long day...
Scat
Wednesday, July 25, 2012
Lies!!
I'm 40 and I'm still learning. I have a general philosophy that if another human can do something, then I can too. I don't extend this to brain surgery (learning process and cost are generally self-limiting ;) but other repairs I tend to stare down and take in hand. But I'm here to tell you...
At least in my toilet, there is no such thing as a flapper ball. It's JUST A FLAPPER. Damnit.
Scat
At least in my toilet, there is no such thing as a flapper ball. It's JUST A FLAPPER. Damnit.
Scat
Tuesday, July 24, 2012
The Voyage of the Blue Banana
Someone around here wanted to learn to fish.
I'm not that much into fishing unless I can also read or lay back and chill on the water a bit. And get wet. I'm also not really a motorboat kinda person. They're loud, bumpy, and lately I've noticed that all the newer ones on the lake are also blaring loud music. I'd have to go to a rock concert to enjoy any more nature. So I've avoided the lake in past seasons like the plague.
Don't get me wrong. Seriously loud, deafening music has it's place. Just not on my lake. Fishing. Duh.
About two months ago, Squib burst into the office yelling, "I want to go on a trip in a canoe down a river." Every syllable was enunciated so clearly and deliberately that I looked right out the office door and sure enough, there was Buddy grinning like a carved pumpkin. Right. Squib wants to canoe.
So when Squib turned seven, someone (who doesn't even live here) gave him a fishing pole and a full tackle box (thank you so much). And that was that. He brought it back from a vacation with his dad and Buddy and I looked at each other and chortled with joy. Callooh, callay. And all that junk.
Having sold our motorboat (thank God and all his henchpeople) all we have left are a couple of canoes (from the dark ages) that are stored elsewhere (no comment) and an inflatable kayak.
Right about now you should be thinking: Child. Inflatable. Fishing.
Or possibly: Hook. Puncture.
I was raised in an Old Town Tripper model canoe. And I do mean raised. I think we packed all four of us in an interesting fiberglass job from Coleman once. And I was loaned out at the age of 12 to take the bow seat on a horrifying trip for a week with another family's 16 year old boy. Russel. Parents, just...just don't do that to your pre-adolescent girl. Sheesh. Anyway. The Voyage a la Russel was a Grumman aluminum can odyssey. Ew. Just ew. And the Trippers were 18" deep, so portage, portage, portage, and row, row, row. Especially the Ouachita river in Oklahoma. Never. Go. There.
So needless to say, when I got in the inflatable I turned it on a dime in a complete circle in about one stroke. Go, mom! It was originally purchased to keep in the Caymans for snorkeling, so fishing on a lake was probably not what it had in mind. Snooty thing. But on the second day we came to an agreement.
We went in the evening, so fewer large boats were out and we were, of course, hugging the shoreline. I suspect the same is true of earlier in the day, though more fishermen are out then so screaming, excited 7-yr-olds are probably frowned on, but oh well. Lake Livingston is a big lake, so there is a ton of paddling around the lake if we want to work out arms off.
I have more complaints about the nature of the boat (Buddy and I both needed to be in the stern--one to corral Squib and the other to corral the boat, lol) because of it's lightness on the water even with three people in it. We'll get the hang of that eventually. Maybe if I just name the thing 'Drifter' it will be kinder to me.
Buddy wants to canoe the Trinity River to the overpass at I-59. If he wants to take the Drifter we're going to have to come to grips with each other or there may be words.
Yes, that is my hat. Shush.
Scat.
I'm not that much into fishing unless I can also read or lay back and chill on the water a bit. And get wet. I'm also not really a motorboat kinda person. They're loud, bumpy, and lately I've noticed that all the newer ones on the lake are also blaring loud music. I'd have to go to a rock concert to enjoy any more nature. So I've avoided the lake in past seasons like the plague.
Don't get me wrong. Seriously loud, deafening music has it's place. Just not on my lake. Fishing. Duh.
About two months ago, Squib burst into the office yelling, "I want to go on a trip in a canoe down a river." Every syllable was enunciated so clearly and deliberately that I looked right out the office door and sure enough, there was Buddy grinning like a carved pumpkin. Right. Squib wants to canoe.
So when Squib turned seven, someone (who doesn't even live here) gave him a fishing pole and a full tackle box (thank you so much). And that was that. He brought it back from a vacation with his dad and Buddy and I looked at each other and chortled with joy. Callooh, callay. And all that junk.
Having sold our motorboat (thank God and all his henchpeople) all we have left are a couple of canoes (from the dark ages) that are stored elsewhere (no comment) and an inflatable kayak.
Right about now you should be thinking: Child. Inflatable. Fishing.
Or possibly: Hook. Puncture.
I was raised in an Old Town Tripper model canoe. And I do mean raised. I think we packed all four of us in an interesting fiberglass job from Coleman once. And I was loaned out at the age of 12 to take the bow seat on a horrifying trip for a week with another family's 16 year old boy. Russel. Parents, just...just don't do that to your pre-adolescent girl. Sheesh. Anyway. The Voyage a la Russel was a Grumman aluminum can odyssey. Ew. Just ew. And the Trippers were 18" deep, so portage, portage, portage, and row, row, row. Especially the Ouachita river in Oklahoma. Never. Go. There.
So needless to say, when I got in the inflatable I turned it on a dime in a complete circle in about one stroke. Go, mom! It was originally purchased to keep in the Caymans for snorkeling, so fishing on a lake was probably not what it had in mind. Snooty thing. But on the second day we came to an agreement.
 |
| Small boat, closer to the water! Far better when it's hot out and you want to use it to stay cool. Plus the boat already has holes in the bottom which is pretty good for boggling your kid for at least five minutes. |
 |
| Second day on the water. This is probably the only time Squib's mouth was shut...so...no fish ;) |
 |
| This is just pretty and I risked my phone to take pictures, so there you go. |
I have more complaints about the nature of the boat (Buddy and I both needed to be in the stern--one to corral Squib and the other to corral the boat, lol) because of it's lightness on the water even with three people in it. We'll get the hang of that eventually. Maybe if I just name the thing 'Drifter' it will be kinder to me.
Buddy wants to canoe the Trinity River to the overpass at I-59. If he wants to take the Drifter we're going to have to come to grips with each other or there may be words.
Yes, that is my hat. Shush.
Scat.
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