Genes tell all…

facetiae

Remark of the Boy’s, overheard while he was studying for a Latin 3 test:

“Damn you, Plubius!”

Which I now officially add to my personal list of facetiae.

Two others from the list:

“You can torture him, you just can’t enjoy it.”

• (overheard on talk radio, after the Prez’ AG rewrote the Geneva Convention).
• to truly appreciate, you have to imagine the Bible Bubba’s dialect: “You cain torchure hee-im, you just cain’t ee-injoy it”.

“How long does Priscilla have to wait?”

• (from ‘The Dancin’ Outlaw’).

A Little Perspective

I turned on the telly tonight, just in time to catch one of my favorite scenes EVER — Phoebe Cates in ‘Gremlins’:

It was Christmas Eve. I was ten years old. Me and Mom were decorating the tree…waiting for Dad to come home from work. A couple hours went by. Dad wasn’t home. So Mom called the office. No answer.

Christmas Day came and went, and still nothing. So the police began a search. Four or five days went by. Neither one of us could eat or sleep. Everything was falling apart.

It was snowing outside. The house was freezing, so I went to try to light up the fire. That’s when I noticed the smell. The firemen came and broke through the chimney top. And me and Mom were expecting them to pull out a dead cat or a bird.

And instead they pulled out my father. He was dressed in a Santa Claus suit. He’d been climbing down the chimney…his arms loaded with presents. He was gonna surprise us. He slipped and broke his neck. He died instantly.

And that’s how I found out there was no Santa Claus.

Okay, now that girl gets to whine that someone peed in her Post Toasties, yes?

Stress Fractures

Have you ever been completely amazed (and amused) at how your brain copes with stress? There have been issues lately with the FamDam’ly, then today something else came up. So the stress level around here is getting up into the deep orange.

So early this afternoon I’m snorkin’ around the house doing my thing, when the BFF calls and I realize that I’m standing bare-breasted in my studio, talking on the phone. (I’d give you a visual, because honestly it was funnier than shit, and after all they’re just parts. But the BBE wouldn’t like me showing my parts. So that’s that). Earlier I thought I smelled something snarky, and went in search of the odor. Which led to various activities INCLUDING my 36th laundry load of the day — this one containing my shirt, tank top, cami, and bra, heedless of the fact that I’d only been wearing them for maybe two hours. In my defense, I was upstairs the whole time, and you’d have to climb a tree to see into my studio. But whatever, it was strange.

Then the SaucyMomma calls. By this time I’m (thankfully) clothed again. MommaSauce is currently growing SaucyBabeFour, and she’s hit the stage of the 4 am Mind Freaks. (For those of you born without uteri, sorry. There’s no succinct way to explain the 4 am Mind Freaks in layman’s terms– let’s just say ‘Rib Cancer’ and ‘Baby On The Grill’ and leave it at that). SaucyMomma’s latest Mind Freak is ‘Eulogies’. So she’s thinking up eulogies every morning at four, still in bed, wishing for more sleep.

I told her to keep a notebook and write them down — this could actually be a useful Mind Freak. In truth, it could be a stress reducer, circumventing all kinds of bare-breasted occurrences in the future, because few things are more stressful than a family that can’t agree on the eulogy.

Case in point: the FamDam’ly, all gathered twelve years ago after my dad’s death. People and kids are all over the house. The bishop is with my mom in the living room, having just held a Eucharist for us, amidst the chaos of the phone ringing, kids playing, doors slamming. The dear man kindly (and innocently) asks what we desire in the way of a service for my dad, and all hell breaks loose. My mother mentions the church’s trumpeter, and his beautiful rendition of Amazing Grace. My brother starts yelling, saying nobody is going to play “fuckin’ Amazing Grace” at his dad’s funeral. My sister says, “maybe on the Recessional”, and then my brother starts yelling that there isn’t going to be “any damned crucifer leading us out”, that we are all going to file out the side. I check to make sure that my mom, sister, and the poor bishop are all far enough away to escape the lightening bolt that is sure to strike my brother at any moment. Then I go into the kitchen, land of the (now) quiet and big-eyed children, smile, and pass around some of the 100 platters of food that have been dropped off during the day. Then I start making notes in the back of my Prayer Book, planning my funeral. Later I talk to my mom, make notes about her funeral, and have her sign. Because YEAH, a piece of paper stating her wishes is going to keep my brother from going postal. And Denial is a river in Egypt.

Whatever, here’s my good news: I got to talk (and laugh) about everything with two of my best friends today, and it helped. A lot. Not only that, I’m fully clothed. And I have two doggies on the couch with me. This is good.

no idears…

…so I’m going to post this rather awesome shot of the Littlest scoring a goal last year in lacrosse…