Weekend Frat Party

OK, it's not a true frat party. There are no kegs. There are no drunk young women taking half their clothes off. At least not the last time I checked. I haven't heard a single, "Dude, watch this!" There isn't any loud and raucous music, either. Which translates into no visits from the cops.

Maybe it really doesn't seem like a frat party at all...

In reality, it has been deemed "Work on your vehicle in our garage weekend." Three vehicles, so far.

And what I do have is a house full of young men. Really, there's only two extra, but around here, that's a houseful. And what is it about the word 'houseful' that looks wrong on so many levels?

Spelling lessons later, perhaps.

What it means is someone is always thirsty, always hungry, and always in the bathroom. It makes life interesting for someone like me who has to pee every 30 seconds or so. Who would rather not have to cook on the weekends. Who NEVER keeps anything but water, iced tea, and milk as available beverages. I do have kool-aid, but they have to mix it themselves, which is clearly too much like work. I also have a lot of wine, but they are all underage and better not touch my stash of vino! They're more of a beer bunch, anyway.

It also means that after a long day of grease, banged up knuckles, and foul language, the bodies tend to fall wherever they come to a stop. Including the extra dog who is clearly comfortable with his slobbery mouth on a couch pillow thrown to the floor.



Nearly every clean blanket is now contaminated with manchild dirt and cat hair. Including the large one that must be washed at the laundromat. There are shirts, sweatshirts, dirty socks, and footwear all over. And half-filled glasses of milk. I'm surprised the cats haven't found those yet. I'm also wondering, with extra beds in the house, why the living room remains the place to crash. And why are the curtains all askew?

Don't be fooled though. Despite my observations, I'm loving every minute of it. Even if I will have to cook up a hot breakfast.

Today, I ponder...

I found myself stumbling down the steps this morning at the ungodly hour of 3:52 am. This I'm not pondering. It was at the request of my bladder, who has taken on it's own existence without me. It calls, I answer.

Anyway, as I hit the bottom of the steps and turn, I realize the porch light is on. It's a motion light and shouldn't be on. Unless there's a cat waiting patiently to come in. I looked out, expecting to see Smalls or Kaos tapping a paw, waiting for someone to let their kingliness in. Instead, I was met with the sloppy sideways grin of Taz. And I pondered why in the world my dog was outside at 3:52 am. Unattended. He did not have an answer for me, despite being asked three time on his way to his room. I was too tired to ask again, and went back to bed.

Fast-forward to roughly 5:45 am, and hubby's alarm going off. My first lucid though was, "Why in the hell is it so damn cold in here?" I had curled as tightly as possible into the available blankets. Then I realized I was breathing cat hair. At some point, I had even pulled their blanket over myself. Yuck. Now I realize the window is open. Why is the window opened. Clearly, I didn't open it. Nor did I notice at 3:52 am that it was open. Had I had a hot flash that didn't wake me up? I guess it could happen. Had I turned the bedroom into an inferno that woke hubby up? Very well possible, according to him. At any rate, I was shivering cold. And when I get cold, I have to pee. So much for sleeping.

Then, while standing on the porch waiting for the dog to pee, I was gazing out over the gardens. And the weeds. And mentally giving myself a tongue-lashing for not having them all clean and pretty yet. Then I noticed it. Catnip. Every damn where. WHY did I think it would be a good idea to plant that crap. Yes, the cats enjoy it immensely. But it's a friggin weed. And by the looks of it, it has choked out one of red hot poker plants. That shit has got to go.

But I also noticed something good when I was outside. My bugleweed is looking wonderful, and is spreading nicely. It even has some early blooms on it. Ahhh, lovely enough to forget about the catnip. For now.

Mistress of Poor Planning and Improper Footwear

Yep, that is me. Quite often, actually. It's fortunate that I can accept this about myself and move on.

I decided today would be a great day to wear the first skirt of the spring season. I love maxi shirts, summer dresses, and maxi dresses. They hide my somewhat chubby legs and work beautifully with flip flops or heels. What I failed to do was check the forecast before getting dressed. I picked one of my favorite skirts; it's a denim-colored maxi, embellished with embroidery and some beading. The only shirt I could find to match was a sleeveless summer sweater, so I added a light sweater for my arms. Good thing I did.

The forecast indicates a high temp in the mid-70's, but I have my doubts. It's still only 59. It's also very cloudy with a decent chance of thunder storms. And the wind is blowing. Just the perfect day for a skirt! Thank goodness the skirt isn't blessed with an abundance of fabric, otherwise the wind would have it up around my ears.

But I'm still rocking the look because - hello - I shaved my legs and painted my toenails! Just don't look at my legs too long; I don't want to be held responsible for snow blindness.

Of course, I'm wearing flip flops. It is springtime after all. But my feet are freezing. As we speak, the heater under my desk is blowing.

My family tells me often that I'm always wearing shoes that are completely improper for the task at hand. Like flip flops when it's cold. Flip flops when I'm in the garage using power tools. Flip flops when we are climbing around rock piles looking for landscape possibilities. Flip flops while splitting firewood. Heels when we head off on an impromptu shopping trip that will last hours. Flip flop heels to walk the dog.

In my defense, I've never injured my feet, never lost any toes, though I have had a few splinters while shoveling tons of wood chips, and I did manage to dribble polyurethane all over my left foot while working on my closet project the other day. It took me awhile to clean it off and stop my toes from sticking together. Small details really. And the wood is looking marvelous, so it was totally worth it. And hours in heels while shopping? Come on, I'm a professional woman and can rock the heels all day long! I just wear flats the next day.

So for today, I will stay indoors with my heater on. And I will look awesome while doing so!

Mothers and sons.

It is said that fathers and daughters have a special relationship, and they do. At least until said daughter dives head-long into her teen years, then all bets are off. I was a daddy's girl for many, many years. Sometimes, I still am.

But what about mothers and sons? Don't they share something special? You bet your football-loving, no clue as to wrestling, bicycle crashing, motorcycle revving ass they do!

Some days, I don't have the words to describe just how much I love my boys. Other days, my legs are tired from kicking them in the ass every time I turn around. I can't tell you how many times I've had to stitch my heart back together after it bursts in pride for some accomplishment. The well of tears I've cried as they grow and mature and take slow steps away from me is bottomless. The happiest tears of my life result from the out-of-nowhere hugs and the "Bye, Mama. Love you!" that I hear each and every day as they walk out the door or hang up the phone.

Yes, there is something special between mothers and sons.

I've been beaned with footballs. I've been run over with bicycles. I've been the unintended victim of wrestling moves gone awry. I've stepped on countless legos and matchbox cars at 3:00 am. I've learned to accept the sight of blood and not get bent about open wounds. Which is a good thing after Dean filleted his knee open two summers ago.

I've learned to understand auto mechanics and flying. I have a basic knowledge of welding and the proper way to ensure an awesome long distance spit. No, I will not demonstrate. Thank goodness I came into motherhood already knowing how to drive (and trucks, at that) so I had some sort of leg up on them.

The relationship I have with each son is as different as they are. One is known to seek me out in the garden, to visit and chat, and share what is bothering him. The other likes the same odd documentaries that I do, and doesn't overly mind going shopping with me. They both have physically picked me up and carried me past the shoe department lest we be delayed. They both eat themselves sick when I make homemade bread. Neither will eat peas, even if their very lives depended on it.

And they both know I will do anything for them, so long as it is in my power. Whether that be dropping everything to rush to their first accident, or slipping them $20 for gas because they don't get paid until the day after tomorrow.

My husband says I spoil them. That I let them walk all over me. Not so, I say. I love them. I nurture them (even when they think they're too old for it). I help them. I teach them. I bond with them. And when I've done my job, and they grow up and move out, I cry for what was, and what will be. Knowing that I've created something important beyond measure. Something that only another mother of sons can understand.

An evening alone with...

Pinterest!

Hi, my name is Deni and I'm a Pinterestaholic. Yes, I admit I have a problem. No, I'm not looking for a cure. Quite frankly, after everything in the news as of late, I'm swearing off TV and internet news pages. So that leaves me with Facebook and Pinterest.

I've been searching for ideas to turn a newly vacant bedroom into my personal closet/dressing room/craft/sewing/couponing space. NIRRRVANA!! I'm giddy; all but doing cartwheels. Yes, it really is that exciting.

I've found a few ideas here and there and my imagination and crafty mind is chewing on them. In the meantime, I noticed a few things that, based on the popularity of repins, I should be doing. And, wow, am I way behind.

Sorry for that slight delay. An evening with no noise, children, and frying pans deserves a second glass of wine.

Those two mangy looking stumps in front of my house? I should be out there drilling holes in them and dumping epsom salts in there to kill the darn things. Actually, since they are small and rather odd looking, I'm planning to work them into the landscape. I just haven't decided quite how to accomplish that yet.

And all those pesky weeds ALL OVER THE PLACE? I just need to get out there with my vinegar. Not a bad idea since I refuse to use Roundup. And if I don't get them taken care of quickly enough, Mike is out there with some sort of poison, spraying away. Always on the windiest day of the week. Without regard to whether it is weed or flower. Only if it is clearly blooming is it safe from his magic spray wand.

Let's not forget, before picking up that favorite knife and slicing and dicing, I'm supposed to check on the gender of my peppers. Gender? Really? That sounds just a bit too personal to me.

Personally, I love this idea and I did pin it. If I had a picnic table you can rest assured that I would have a wine trough in the middle of it. Of course, that also means I would spend the entire summer drunk under the locust tree laughing at the squirrels that come to visit me. Might be a good way to spend the summer, actually.

This? My husband would kill me. Seriously. And he wouldn't eat the salad goodies anyway.






And since I value my life, and my ability to escape to my gardens, I think I'll just go off and regrow my kitchen scraps, collect some of ashes from the wood stove for fertilizer, and paint my stepping stones with glow in the dark paint.

I should know myself better than this...

Is it a bad thing to have to ask your husband if that time of the month is near? Probably so.

I've had a headache off and on all week. I'm not sleeping well. The quantity is good, but the quality leaves a lot to be desired. Today, I went from exhausted, to mildly moody, to highly irritated. In between, mood tears threatened. And my boobs hurt. To the point that clothing is my enemy. But running around the office, the grocery store, and home topless is not an option. And did I mention my abdomen feels like a swimming pool still under cover for the winter? UGH!

But do I know if Aunt Flo is imminent? No, sadly I don't.

I'll be checking with Mike as soon as he gets home and cleans up. I won't be getting too close until he showers off the cow shit.

The things kids do

How in the world do you chastise your kids for doing something technically wrong, when it is fall on your ass funny?

DH and the boys were outside working tonight, trying to stay out of my hair so I could finish my final exam. I went to visit after I finished and soon found out they'd been having a few laughs at my expense. I told DH the top of his work bench would last longer if he sanded everything down and treated it with something.

This started the stories of how they KNEW mom would walk in and start with comments like "If you would've cut this here, you could do this." Or, "If you change the way this is laid out, you'd have room for that." So they haul me to the other shed to show me the old work bench (non-treated) and that it was just fine because of all the 'oil products' spilled over the years. Ok, they had a point...but anyway. This is what started the initial laughing.

So the kid starts relating a story from school and can't get through it for the laughing. It seems he came up with a brilliant idea; and yes, it really was pretty good. He supplied the change and a friend the super glue. Do you see where it's going yet?

They superglued quarters to the hallway floor and waited around to see what happened. As it turned out, EVERY teacher that passed, and quite a few students, as well, tried their damnedest to get those quarters off the floor. It was so bad that a handful of teachers, after failing on the first, moved on to the second, and failing there, went to the third.

By the time he made it through the story I nearly had tears running down my face. I had to tell him that while it was enormously funny, he needed to watch out or he'd get busted for defacing the school.

But damn, I laughed my ass off. He was doing imitations of various people trying to pick them up. His impression of the football coach was too much. The lumbering, the struggling to bend all the way to the floor, the grunting while holding the position. It gets me giggling all over again just typing it.

I guess you have to be the mother of a 15-year old for it to be funny. Then again, watching DH laugh over it was nearly as entertaining as the story itself.

I hope this kid keeps himself out of trouble with all the stuff that rolls around in his head.

Makes a smart assed mother proud!