What I Did Today Instead of Housework

Today I decided to catch a few photos of the elusive yet noisy squirrel in the butternut tree. He's really chewing through the shells in order to get to the nuts inside, but I have the Goober believing he's really laughing at him and his poor squirrel-hunting skills.

He seems to be saying, "Getouttahere, human! I'm trying to eat lunch in peace. I'll ridicule your dog later."

Ahh, the Yearly Book Sale...

They might as well call it Christmas in April. It's the annual book sale, and is probably the only time you'll find me running to the campus library on a weekday.

At eight o'clock in the morning, no less--with a Tall Bald Guy and a Young Man in tow. Not that they weren't excited about the possibilities...it's just that they were able to rein in their enthusiasm a little better.

I told the Young Man last night before he went to bed that he had better wake up when I call him, because we're going to get there early, by God. He laughed at me. "You've said that three times already. Just let me go to sleep. Jeez."

Imagine my surprise when I opened the door to his room early this morning (crowbar in hand to pry his head off the pillow), only to find him sitting up in bed looking at me. "I'm awake already!" TGAPM jumped about three feet in the air--sure beats caffeine for waking up in the morning. Either he wanted to go too or he was afraid to keep his mother away from a stack of random musty library castoffs. Smart guy.

I told the Tall Bald Guy a couple of days ago, right after I saw the ad on the campus website, which was right after I hung up the phone with him. Something that good just couldn't wait. He laughed at me too, but there was a sardonic tone to it, as he remembers last year's sale. Fortunately, the memory of last year's sore biceps from carrying all the random musty library castoffs of 2008 was overshadowed by the memory of lurking in the ancient history and science fiction sections.

The Tall Bald Guy not only shared our enthusiasm for random musty library castoffs, he suggested getting there soon after the sale opens in order to find a parking space in the actual parking lot of the library. The over-celebrated, tremendously hyped student-fitness-center-in-construction takes up half the original parking lot space there (as well as $200 a year of my money!), and the construction workers' vehicles take up another fourth of it--and as I remember, the undergrads who can actually pry themselves out of their beds or who are still drunk when they arrive at their 8:00 classes are a mighty lazy bunch, and the parking lot fills up rather quickly.

We get inside, and immediately my radar kicks in and tells me that the books are all in the back east corner. The Tall Bald Guy and the Young Man mumble, "There she goes," and the beeping in my internal radar gets louder as I approach my destination. Little did I know that I passed a computer at which a male student was sitting viewing a webpage that featured a woman dressed in all the accoutrements needed for...uh...bondage. Yep. Great place for a 14-year-old boy, these college libraries. The Tall Bald Guy said the Young Man didn't see it, "even when I pointed it out to him...just kidding."

In the corner just inside the door sits an enormous stack of empty cardboard beer cases. Yep, beer cases. Miller Lite, Budwiser, and Bud Light all over the place. "How nice of the frat boys to help the library out like that," says the Tall Bald Guy. How nice indeed. They certainly went the extra mile for this fine institution.

Not that I was too proud to carry one, mind you. Or, should I say, I was not too proud to tell the Young Man to go get one. He and the Tall Bald Guy each got a box in anticipation of the carnage that was to come, and followed me at a safe distance as I perused the titles on every table. At one point, seeing the guys' boxes filling up so fast, one of the library ladies asked us if everything was okay, and the Tall Bald Guy quipped, "We may just fill up all of your boxes here. I don't suppose you have anything with wheels?" A few minutes later, said library lady brought us a cart to put our boxes on. You don't joke around with the library ladies--they're serious about their book selling! We ended up filling three boxes, and the Young Man patiently followed behind me, pushing the cart wherever I went. The Tall Bald Guy said, "you know, people are looking at you being followed by that cart," to which I snapped, "I'm not the one who suggested a wheeled box, am I?" but secretly I was glad for it. This is the first book sale for the Young Man, and I didn't want him overwhelmed; as it was, the Tall Bald Guy nearly ended up curled up in the fetal position in the back of the truck after last year's sale, rocking back and forth and mumbling to himself.

We found books for everyone--even a Mitford series book that the Grandma Behind the Curtain hasn't read yet. The Far Side books for the Young Man and me, selections by Poe and Herriot, and even The Cartoon History of the Universe and The Cartoon History of the United States. Also found were an older edition of a psychopathology handbook and The Oxford Companion to United States History, snapped up and purchased for $2 apiece-their retail prices are $175.00 and $87.95, respectively.

The Tall Bald Guy came away with volumes related to the medical terminology and A&P classes he has coming up this summer, guaranteed to assist him in all that gross anatomical ickiness that makes my stomach go all squishy. He spent $16 and came away with hundreds of dollars worth of books. The Young Man and I spent $24--when we got home, I searched for the prices of these books new, and they would have cost approximately $630.

Sigh. Nothing like a good book sale. Next time (I have already pestered the Tall Bald Guy about taking me on Saturday) the two guys will take plenty of ibuprofen first. The contented sighs as I look over my merchandise almost didn't drown out the moaning and groaning about biceps and lower backs and "those dang beer boxes."

And the Reigning Champion, The Great and Powerful Mom!

I have outdone myself.

Truly.

Once again, I have proven that I am The Great and Powerful Mom.

How, you say? By taking advantage of the Young Man's medicine head.

...which I suppose is not really a victory, but it was fun!

I told him on the way home tonight that I purchased a Groundhog pizza for him to cook while I was away at school--in celebration of the day and all.

"Groundhog? Really?"
"Yep."
"People eat that?"
"Yep. Lots of people do."

Fast forward to bedtime. I ask, "So, are you going to have Kody over for some Groundhog pizza tomorrow?"
"Well, I don't know."
"Why don't you go check the freezer?"

He checks the freezer and can't find it.

I tell him to look again. He still can't find it.


"I found the sausage ones, but not the groundhog."


I actually have to point it out to him. "You know, GROUND HOG?"


Oh, to be 14 and zonked out on cold medicine...

Reflections on a Winter's Day

1. Snow ice cream is really good no matter how cold it is.

2. Additionally, there is a sense that this suburbanite has conquered the elements—at least, when it comes to ice cream cravings. As long as the vanilla, sugar, and milk hold out, I can go out and conquer the wild snowdrift!

3. The Young Man’s cold takes on a new level of worry in 10 ½ inches of snow…perhaps it’s just the possibility of bronchitis in 10 ½ inches of snow.

4. Black dogs look like they’ve been heavily salted after a frolic in the snow.

5. When the Tall Bald Guy, who hails from Pennsylvania, says that “when the snow gets deep enough the dog will figure out how to lift a leg”…he’s right.

6. Leg warmers may be a fashion don’t, but they’re a toasty don’t. When your classmate says, “That’s so Eighties!” agree and say, “Totally! And my feet are warm, too.”

Ode to an Indiana Snowman: Winter 2007

Born the morning after an Indiana snowstorm

We made you…all 2 ½ feet of you.

There was only that much snow…”but wait 5 minutes, it’ll change.”

We named you Lumpy because, well, you were. Sculptors, we’re not.

A few hours later your eyes fell out, and we named you Homer (not Simpson! says the Young Man).

Later that afternoon your nose fell off, and we named you Michael Jackson.

The next morning your arms fell off, and you again became Lumpy
Because, well…you were.

That afternoon you were jaundiced. The dog found you especially interesting.

Such is the life of an Indiana Snowman.

Unpredictable. Ever-changing. Ephemeral.

The Young Man's Christmas List: 2008

Yes, it's that time of year again, and the Young Man has a new Christmas list. I will not pretend to know what in the world some of these things are, as I have passed the age of understanding (or I'm seriously lacking in mental capacity).

So here's the list, in no particular order of importance. Please note that I am merely the messenger, and all questions regarding items on the list will be met with a shrug and an "I dunno" from The Great and Powerful Mom.

Please note also that as I am typing this list, the Young Man is adding to it. I'm not sure that it will ever be done...you know how it is. It's an ambitious list, and the Young Man is quite aware--because I have told him that repeatedly. He knows he's not going to get all of it, but wants to throw a lot of ideas out there.

1. The Wii version of Sonic Unleashed.

2. A new GameCube controller--non-wireless, please. (TGAPM note: He has recently done some surgery on his controllers, replacing good parts for bad ones. Yes, the Rest Home for Wayward and Elderly Electronics is well under way here in Indiana...actually, ours is just a satellite location; just ask the Tall Bald Guy)

3. The World Ends With You for the DS.

4. A Classic Controller for the Wii. (So he and the Codester can play more games together.)

5. Wii points.

6. Legend of Zelda: Twilight Princess for the Wii

TGAPM Note: The nut went out and bought it with the rest of his birthday money. Sheesh. I have sentenced him to forty lashes with wet garland.

7. A Gaming Mouse and Keyboard.

8. Stuff to make the computer games run faster. (TGAPM note: The Tall Bald Guy said something about memory for the computer, but my own memory fails me, so I'm just quoting the Young Man on this one.)

TGAPM also has suggestions for the Young Man, which are maybe a little more practical, but nonetheless are things he could always use:

1. Tracfone minutes

2. Rechargeable AA batteries and a charger (for the Wii controller)

3. Sweatshirts--this year he's into the zip-up kind

4. Snarky t-shirts (I think that's genetic--and I'm blaming this one on the Big Brother!)

5. Those teeny little headphone things--you know, the earpieces that go halfway into your brain...yeah, I'm old.

6. Little Caesar's Pizza gift card--one just opened up not a 1/2 mile from here, and the Young Man and the Codester are loving it!

AND..I'm really going to say it...SOCKS. Ha!

Sigh...

Seems I forgot how fun it was home schooling a little boy.

Over the last couple of weeks I (and a couple of enthusiastic neighbors) had the pleasure of helping out a friend with her 9-year-old boy. He loves science, computer games, and building things with toothpicks and marshmallows.

We stepped back a bit to get some schoolwork done but include the Little Guy at the same time, and we all had a blast. Either Little Guy has more energy than the Young Man did at nine, or I'm just getting old and out of shape...I think we all know which one is true!

There were sunny fall days at the park, afternoons spent flying toy planes and experimenting with loops and dives (and a score of rubber-ball pitches into the tree to get said toy down--TGAPM's still got it!), Spanish lessons (complete with serious competitions for the aforementioned marshmallows) and Toothpick Fish. Here's a link:

http://genetics-education-partnership.mbt.washington.edu/download/toothpickfish.pdf

Of course, we couldn't pass up the chance to do some Bikini Bottom genetic research with Spongebob and pals...

http://www.oswego308.org/schools/uploads/files/71765/Spongebob%20Genetics_1.pdf

...and I learned that structures made out of toothpicks and marshmallows can only go up six stories before the marshmallows completely give way. Next time we'll wait a few days for them to harden and add more stories.

Actually, I think Little Guy's Mom was pretty lucky to get him back at the end of the two weeks. He's a cute little stinker, and lots of fun, and I think my neighbors seriously considered not returning him home to Mom.

It was a great break from the ordinary, and we had a lot of fun, but unfortunately it's time to trade in the toys for the textbooks. The Young Man left in my house is currently flipping through one of my new favorite books:

The Teenager's Guide to the Real World
by Marshall Brain

http://www.bygpub.com/books/tg2rw/index.htm

He likes the format, and he likes knowing he's one up on his contemporaries...for example, just today he said that suits weren't really stuffy after all and that he understands why people in a suit are taken more seriously.

Why didn't they make a book like this a long time ago?

So while it was fun tripping down Memory Lane for a while, I think it's time to reenter the world of 20th century history and pre-algebra, as well as the lilting strains of "Dangit!" and "Hepl!!" that waft through the house (and yes, that's really spelled h-e-p-l, pronounced "hepuhl!").

Sigh...what fun.

"Oww Wii"

By Will Albritton / The Fresno Bee
12/14/06 17:55:17

Kevin Wray says he's never seen a gaming system as interactive as the new Nintendo Wii. And as an avid gamer, he's seen them all.

But with a gaming console that requires its players to stand up and move around comes a price: muscle soreness. Exercise physiologist and Fresno State professor Felicia Greer says the Wii is good for video gamers who may not otherwise get any exercise, as long as they prepare their bodies for the movements they're about to make.

While that video focuses on one health risk associated with the Wii, Greer (who's quickly becoming our resident health expert,) says gaming systems like the Wii could have major benefits, such as combating the ever-increasing obesity problem with today's youth.

Why didn't anybody warn us adults? Oy.

The Great and Powerful Mom (and the Grandma Behind the Curtain) surprised the Young Man with a Wii for his birthday, and the Big Brother was even in on it with accessories and a game he's been wanting. I figured, "he's into video games, he'll never guess that he's getting one from the likes of us (given our fixed incomes and the fact that we're about as electronically literate as the cat--Big Brother excepted), and I can play games with him." It has long been known that TGAPM gets "barfy" watching the Young Man play video games--I figured if I'm moving while the games are moving, I wouldn't need those motion sickness pills anymore.

I was right. I don't need motion sickness pills anymore...but I can say with authority that there's a whole new market that Nintendo hasn't tapped into:

Wii First Aid

Complete with:

Book of Stretching Exercises

Ibuprofen

Heating Pad

Special Instructions for Kids:

"When Dad Throws his Back Out Bowling"

"It's Not Rigor Mortis, it's Just the Day After Mom's Boxing Match"

"'No, Mom, Your Neck Won't Stick Like That'--How to Reassure Parents the Day After"

"'It Hurts When I Wii': How to Tell Mom and Dad to Rest Already"

So far, all the jokes about "Wii-ing all afternoon" make up for the pain--a little.

The Mystery Machine

What in the world is it?

There's a sack of grain next to it...is it a grain mill?

Victory Days 2008

Where's June Cleaver When We Need Her?

I really needed her today. I needed her to walk up to the couch, take my cell phone, and say, "Excuse me, dear. I speak Jive."

You see, today I'm officially old. Well, maybe I was long ago, but it didn't feel so final then as it does today. Today something really good happened. Really. It was just in relating it to The Young Man that I felt, once and for all, like a true fuddy-duddy.

This afternoon I took The Dog out on one of his many "I-really-don't-hafta-potty-I'm-just-gonna-make-you-think-that-so-you'll-take-me-out-and-I-can-sniff" excursions when he spotted our new neighbor. In true half hound/half chicken style he growled and barked menacingly, effectively scaring the poor woman, and then crept up to her shoes to sniff her and then yelp and back away as she reached down to pet him.

Yep, fierce.

Anyway, it turns out that she has a 13 year old grandson living with her who's....




...brace yourselves...





...homeschooled!

Finally, another Young Man for my Young Man to hang out with...and homeschooled, to boot!

Anyway, I texted The Young Man (yep, TGAPM leaps into the technological age!) and he said it was "totally epic."

Epic?

Like the Iliad?

Can something be partially epic? I dunno.

What ever happened to Bitchin'? Far Out? Groovy? Tubular?

Sigh. I thought it was bad when I could no longer set the clock on the VCR (remember those things? Yes, I still have one...)

I'm going to need a translator. Maybe the college's Communication Disorders department can assist me. After all, "Chump don't want no help, chump don't get no help! Shiiiiit."

Well, even though my native language has mutated into something I'll never again understand, I'm still doing a happy dance. I wonder what a happy dance is called now?

"Imagine You Are a Rosebush," or The Young Man is Jealous

This picture is from an exercise I did in class last night. It’s me if I were a rosebush.

Yeah, really.

After being taken through a brief relaxation exercise, we were told to imagine that “for the next few minutes, you are a rosebush. Are you in bloom? Do you live in a park, a front yard, or do you sprout from a crack in the concrete? What color are your blooms? Do you have roots?” Apparently this is used a lot with children, especially adolescent girls.

I do hope I wasn’t the only one in my class who had to bite her lip hard enough to draw blood upon hearing that I was a rosebush. I hardly think giggling about it would have endeared me to my professor.

Am I the only one, or is that the last thing you think of when you’re trying to relax?

The Young Man has decided that grad school is far more entertaining (if not considerably more weird) than eighth grade, and that for him to do Algebra and Science while I’m considering the many meanings that simple nuance adds to the phrase “Son of a Bitch” is just not fair.

I can’t say I blame him at this point…especially since I told him that after that exercise we were told to imagine we were a cookie.

I’d take him to class with me, but who knows what they’ll have him doing—baying a the moon, dancing ‘round the room and clucking like a chicken, imagining he’s a dandelion or a wad of chewed gum or a copy machine?

At least there will be 15 adults in the room with him all doing the same thing. Perhaps that’s the most scary thought of all…

Graduate School=Arts and Crafts

My Jungian Mandala for Theories Class

Who would have thought that grad school would involve so much cutting and pasting?

For my Techniques lab, Dude said, "Make a collage to give your classmates ideas for interview questions."

For Theories class, Prof said, "Bring some colored pencils to class and we'll make some mandalas during psychoanalysis week."

It got to where last week Mom said, "So, did you make something out of popsicle sticks in class today?" It was a Foundations and Logic class, so who knows? We may yet.

Last night Prof for Theories said, "Bring your colored pencils again, we're studying Gestalt theory next week!"

I just hope we don't have to know how to crochet or something...

I do know that if we have to sprout a Bob Ross 'fro and blithely mutter about "happy little trees" I'm seriously going to question where my tuition dollars are going.

Computer Woes...or, Whoa's!

Sometimes you just have to look at the experts and say, "You know what? I'm clueless. Please help me before I destroy something."

That's usually what I say to the nurses at the hospital when a patient wants to make a phone call or something. Hopeless, huh? Good thing they're patient folk.

This computer thing of mine is different. For many a year, as Big Brother explains some of the intricacies of computer hardware, no matter how hard I try to understand, my eyes glaze over and I am reminded of that Far Side cartoon where the dog is listening to his master talk and all he hears is "blah blah blah blankety blah Rover blah blah...." Eventually he catches the look on my face and sighs heavily...poor guy. He then says something like, "You know what? Why don't you just give me that and I'll do it myself" and I know he's finishing it in his head "...before you try to do it and I have to fix it...again."

He speaks from experience. Really.

The man is literally three states away, and I heard that same sigh Saturday evening. The Tall Bald Guy and I took the laptop to the campus library with us to install the whatsie (or download the whoozit, or whatever we were supposed to do to the thing) to be able to get on the wireless internet there should I need it at school. We turned the thing on, we went to the OIT website, we followed the instructions, and...you guessed it. The laptop said, "You want me to do what?"

We tried getting a secure connection, an unsecure connection, a rainbow connection, a French connection--you name it, we tried it.

We printed out the directions lest we remember something later on, and got our books and went home.

After we got home, the Tall Bald Guy continued working on it. He just won't admit defeat. I sorta like that, especially when I know I've overlooked something obvious and I don't really wanna tell him unless I know I can run faster than he can.

After a couple of hours of searching, cussing, dog-scritching (The Dog is really who he comes to see, don't you know), and Diet-Dew-fueled dragging, clicking, and searching, he finds the manual that Big Brother so thoughtfully saved in the bowels of the laptop for handy reference.

You know what? It turns out the wireless internet thing won't work at all unless you've pushed the little round silver button on the front of the thing and that cute little orange light comes on. Whoda thunk?

I do hope I was convincing enough when I said to the Tall Bald Guy, "Well, will ya look at that?" because I heard Big Brother's words come rushing back to me just then-something about making sure that button is pushed.

Did you hear that? Somewhere in Wichita, Big Brother is sighing in disgust, and Sis-in-Law and the Redheaded Munchkin are giggling.

Now I'm going to try and install an Adobe reader on The Young Man's computer so he can do his schoolwork. I am attempting this during the week instead of on the weekend when the Tall Bald Guy is here because Language Arts just has to get done and The Young Man doesn't need any more excuses not to do his work...

Look to the east! If all is peaceful, you will know I have succeeded. If I'm not, the converging storms Gustav and Hannah will surely blow away the mushroom cloud before I'm found out.

Come to think of it, the Tall Bald Guy has developed a disgusted sigh of his own lately...can we blame him?

Now Here's a Ticket I Can Get Behind!

Those crazy WTM homies are at it again!

"Second Breakfast for All!"

So What Should I Be Doing Right Now?

Hmm...I'm kidless tonight. J is at dad's, the dog is searching the house for crumbs, and the cat has poured himself over the arm of the couch. I'm at the computer touring the WTM Webring and listening to Pandora.

I'm also considering changing the dog's name to "No!" or "Doggie Down!" or the ever-popular "Dammit!"

So what should I really be doing right now?

Ordering J's curriculum now that my student loan is finally in? Done!

How about my cut-and-paste collage for my Techniques lab? Nah.

Fold the laundry that seems to have permanently taken up residence on the schoolroom couch? Nah.

How about reading the first chapter of the Techniques book and taking notes? Nah.

What about working on the 5-page paper I was assigned on the first day of Techniques class? Nah.

Go through the Scope and Sequence of J's curriculum and figure out which lessons to include and which to drop? Oy.

Then again, I could work ahead on the second chapter of that excrutiating book for my theories class...try to find definitions of the major psychotherapies and find where my own beliefs lie...print out and read the readings for next week in whatever class I was supposed to do that...

Nah, nah...and nah.

Blog surfing and Championship High-Velocity Butt-Sittin' it is!!

...oh, heck, who am I kidding?

Let's see, does a definition of existentialism really exist?

Note to Self: Do Not Attempt Unless Your Chiropractor Makes House Calls.

Today J and I went to a local nature preserve called Dobbs Park. J and I went there when he was about nine, and he and Grandma and I went to the Native American Museum and Nature Center they have there. Things are just the same as they were.

This is J feeding the birds. Who knew they would like tortilla chips?

This allowed him to get a few really up-close-and-personal pictures of his own.

These guys remain on the other side of the pond with their noses (beaks?) in the air--unless food is being served. Then they deign to come over, usually too late because the others have already eaten it all, and proceed to tell us how unfair they think the whole thing is.

They're actually rather pissy about it. You can see one of them mooning us, he's so incensed.

They also have trails to walk. The woods are completely untouched, save for a few planks here and there to cross muddy places or small streams.

J found a walking stick. It also can be used as a machete, a bat, and an "air sword" (think air guitar). We called it Excalibur.

The park looks so small, and the trails are so compact, crossing and winding around each other, that it's hard to stay on the one you started. When we saw signs like this, we said, what the heck? Let's go that way.

Decisions like that ensure you complete the three miles of trails at least twice, because you're lost...THEN you think, "You know, maybe we should go into the Nature Center and see if there's a map of these trails."

Duh.

Our Schoolroom

Well, the new school year is quickly approaching, and it's time to get things ready!

I just recently noticed that our colorful timeline is a little less colorful...rather, some of the colors are faded now. I just hate not using wall space in the schoolroom, so I went through a history book of J's that had a timeline in it (which had everything already separated into categories!). I was inspired by the Konos timeline that I was never able to put up in the apartment when J was small--but now, we've gone condo, baby, and that wall is ours to destroy...er, decorate as we please!

The afternoon sun has faded some of the blues and purples in the room, making some categories look pink, but it's still a nice colorful addition to our room--and makes you want to read it (and learn something!).

I took the events and put them in a word file with some fairly big, bold font...a different font for each category should the colors fade (what a forward-thinking person I am--or is that "disaster-minded?"). They're printed out in black ink on colored copy paper and stapled to 2-3 foot strips of bulletin board border. Then I just tacked them up to the wall!

No Comprende!

No Comprende, demonstrated here by Fiver and the Tall Bald Guy, is a time-honored weekend ritual that includes lots of growling, nipping, barking, and generally running around like a ninny...sometimes Fiver joins in, too! It's the only way to wear out a puppy around here. Its name is taken from an expression the Tall Bald Guy uses often at work, as in: "I'll teach you no comprende, dangit!!"

The Modern-Day Back to School List

1) Turn in student loan papers and make absolutely sure they're filled out correctly and completely (yes, I've learned the hard way).

2) Cook and freeze meals for those loooong days on campus.

3) Take the rest of the toys out of the schoolroom and change out the year 2 history and science posters (especially since we left them up through year 3...)

4) Wait for student loan money to come in to purchase 8th grade curriculum for the boy who's just champing at the bit to get started (sorta).

5) Shell out $450 for books for three classes--yep, only three. Try not to dwell on the fact that the book for Counseling 533 is the same book you used in Psy 384 and sold back last December.

6) Clear the dining room table of all the studies and papers written during the spring semester, lest we get confused and read the wrong thing (at this point, it wouldn't surprise me).

7) Change the bulbs in the dining room overhead light to 60 watts so I don't squint my way through another semester's worth of homework and further encourage these wonderful crow's feet that are stomping across my face.

Whatever happened to crayons, paste, new shoes, and a shiny new lunchbox?