Wednesday, May 26, 2010

Is that what you use to 'drunk dial'?

Josie: Momma, when you were a kid, what kind of a phone did you have?

Me: What do you mean?

Josie: Did you have one of those rummery phones?

Me: A rummery phone?

Josie: Yeah, you know… one of the ones that you have to spin the dial?



Me: A ROTARY phone?

Josie (rolling eyes): Noooo… I’m *pretty* sure that it’s called a rummery phone.

Me: Oh yeah? Rummery?

Josie: Yeah.

She was so convincing, that for one split second, I questioned myself.

Maybe I *did* use to call boys, radio stations, and poor hapless people that my friends and I had plucked from the phone book to be the victims of our ridiculous prank calls... all while using a 'rummery' phone?

Is it possible that the reason I can still remember the phone number of the boy I crushed on in junior high is because I dialed it so many times, only to hang up the minute that someone (usually his poor mother) answered?

And when I got my own phone in my room? I no longer had to sit in the hallway, twisting the phone cord around my fingers, while I peered around the corner to make sure no one was eavesdropping. Well, that phone was white, sat on my desk, and was the instrument of countless hours of conversation with my best friend, Michelle. And most of those conversations went a little something like this, "Did you see him in the hall? Did he see you? Did you talk to him? What did he say? He SMILED at you?!" Scintillating conversations, I know.

A junior high girl and her love/ hate relationship with the phone.

The phone rings... (excitement!) (No such thing as 'Caller I.D.', so it's a crapshoot as to who it's for.)

Dad answers the phone... (consternation!)

Dad dares to have a conversation with whomever is on the other end... (complete and utter embarassment!)

Dad tells your older brother that the phone is for him... (disastrous disappointment!)

You realize when your brother gets on the phone that it's one of his hot friends...(exhiliration!)

My 'rummery' phone. Ah, the memories. ;)

Monday, May 24, 2010

I don't think these kids trust me one bit...

Case in point:

Sometimes I park my van in the driveway, and not in the garage, when I know I’ll be turning around and going back out shortly. Or if I’m just feeling lazy.

Because here it is, friends… my van is big. And my side of the garage is small. And I have been known to whack a side mirror or two in my day. What can I say? I lack depth perception. (And I am not deeply perceptive, either.)

I can still remember when we lived in Colorado, and my neighbor, Andy, wandered over to investigate the source of ‘that loud crack’ he’d heard, only to find me frantically trying to reattach the right hand side mirror of my Mazda. It least it came off cleanly.

And don’t even get me started on the number of times I’ve smacked the garage refrigerator with my front bumper. Oh, and someday, remind me to tell you about the time I was house-sitting, and I put a huge hole in their garage with my car.

I have a litany of parking mishaps. But, as usual, I digress. The van… parked outside…

As the day progresses, and I realize that I am not, in fact, going to make it to H.E.B. to pick up something for dinner (you know, because I haven’t had a chance to do my ‘big’ grocery trip, and “Yum… don’t grilled cheese sandwiches sound good for dinner... again?”)

So, I’ll move the van inside the garage. But before I do, I’ll yell to the kids upstairs, “Guys, I’m moving the car in!” Every single time… I’m talking, EVERY. SINGLE. TIME... a little head will peer out from the door to watch me move it.

Almost like they’re making sure I’m not about to make a break for it. Running for the Canadian border (hey, I’ve been to Mexico…) with nothing more than the clothes on my back, my car keys, and the 43 cents I keep in the ashtray. Of course I could probably feed myself for a week on the French fries they’ve spilled under the seat.

“I’m just moving the van inside,” I’ll tell them through the window. They just nod and watch. Occasionally they’ll wave.

They don’t trust me.

Either that, or they’re just waiting for the side mirror-snapping, refrigerator-tapping, cursing extravaganza. ;)

Thursday, May 20, 2010

Freakin' me out...

Last night, I went to put the kids’ packed lunches in the garage refrigerator. Usually, I have to scoot things out of the way to fit all 3 lunchboxes in amongst the soda, beer, yogurt, and an assortment of other things that probably need to be thrown out, but when it comes right down to it… who has the time to clean out one fridge, much less two?

Last night, I noticed that there was considerably less beer. As in… none.

“Wow,” I thought to myself, (because I like to do that), “did Phil go on a bender last night after we went to bed?”

Turns out… we’re not sure where the beer disappeared to. So, I’m freaked. For two reasons:

Reason #1: Someone… teenagers? Mass murderers? Errant gardeners? Thirsty trash men? (I’m leaning toward gardeners. That is some hot, sweaty work.) … came into the garage during the day, when the garage door was open, and helped themselves to the beer. Scary.

Reason #2: I am now forced to watch “Mongolian Death Worms” on the SyFy network without the benefit of at least one alcoholic beverage on board. Even scarier.

Needless to say, I will be much more diligent in making sure the garage door is closed at all times. That’s the end of the ‘beer runs’, you little thieves.

But one thing that *did* brighten the day, just a bit… I noticed that the yogurt was moved around, too, and it looked like a few cartons may have been missing. I can only hope they ate most of the cartons that they took before realizing that the expiration date was approximately October of ’09.

Enjoy the start of the spoiled yogurt 'runs’, you little thieves. ;)

Wednesday, May 19, 2010

I am warning you...I will turn this thing around!

With summer approaching, the pools are sparkling blue and chock full of chlorine. The kids are almost out of school, the birds are singing, the grass is dying (hello Texas heat!) and the mind goes to thoughts of...

Swimsuit shopping?? *sob!

Shopping for suits? Torture.

Ordering one on-line? Tricky.

Trying them on in a teeny fitting room with those flickering flourescent lights? Dante's third circle of hell... which (not coincidentally, methinks) happens to be 'Gluttony'.

Maybe you are someone who just LOOOOVES shopping for swimsuits... in which case, let me be the first to say, "What would you like for your 7th birthday?"

But for all you fashionistas out there that are wondering about the newest styles in swimwear? The most cutting edge, avant-garde fashions?

Well, here's a hint...

This is NOT it. ;)

Tuesday, May 18, 2010

Don't blame me...

Things I was doing last week that prevented me from blogging…

1. Curing the common cold. I know you missed me, and it was very difficult to not have my rapier wit to rely on each day, but I think you will thank me later.

2. Making people smile. Because that’s just what I do, dammit.

3. Getting blown off at the Music and Art Education Day at my kids’ school. My really cool ‘bottle cap art’ session? The class that was supposed to come and be completely wowed by my creativity and that ‘wit’ to which I was referring? Well, they were a no-show. Some sort of scheduling mix-up. All those Bud Light Limes I had to drink to get enough bottle caps… it was hard work. But I took one for the team, and then those little 5th grade ingrates couldn’t even show up?!!
Aw, well. I’m already on the schedule to be blown off again next year. What can I say? I’m a sucker. ;)

4. Laundry. Boring, I know, but a fact of life. Even those of us that live on Planet Linson have to do laundry...

5. And the number one reason I couldn’t blog? Two words:



Oh yes, we’ve sold our summah souls, sistahs. We are Marlins!! Huzzah! ! We are proud of our green hair!! We have decided to rent a pop-up camper to live in for the summer and park it in the pool parking lot!! After all, we’ll be there, anyway!!

(I know that’s a lot of exclamation points, but that level of excitement seems to be *expected* on swim team. We have CHEERS, people. And matching t-shirts.)

Three kids on the team… three different practice times… three and a half hours a day at the pool… three Diet Cokes a day for me (yes, I’m off the wagon. Shut it.)… wet towels… wet suits… damn swim caps (who came up with these instruments of torture?!!)… the air cloudy with residual sunscreen spray…

And I admit it… I’m excited about the whole damn thing. :)

Tuesday, May 11, 2010

I'd forgotten that my cell phone still had a ring tone...

My husband is such a joker. He makes me laugh all the time. It’s one of the reasons why I married him. I love his sense of humor. Like this morning? He said the absolute funniest thing while he was checking out new cell phone plans for us.

He said: “Honey, do you think 200 texts a month is enough for you? That’s about 3 a day.”

Isn’t he freaking hilarious?!! I just can’t stop giggling about that one. (*snicker)

Even a year or so ago, I would have said, “Two hundred? A month? Gee, that seems like plenty. Probably way more than I actually need.”

Oh, little did I know. That was before I truly appreciated the convenience of texting when it comes to making plans. Or changing the car-pool schedule. Or just texting my hubby to say that he has a cute butt. (Oh no, I did NOT!)

So today, when he made that little joke, I just laughed and laughed. Considering that I can easily send and receive half a dozen texts before 5:30 a.m., all concerning whether or not I am up for walking, or if it is too cold or wet or rainy to walk, or that I’m staying in bed, and not bothering to go walk because I have cramps. Sorry… too much information (or for texting purposes: TMI)

Back in the olden days (like…early 2009), I never really *got* the need to text. I wasn’t good at it (I’m still not very fast), I invariably sent the message to the wrong person (which usually required a follow-up explanation), or deleted a long message halfway through composing it, (requiring that I start all over... ugh. Who needs that?!)

So if I had a question, I’d just pick up the phone and call. I always found it ridiculous that ‘unlimited texts’ were such a selling point that they are hawked ad nauseum on cell phone commercials (which usually feature overly precocious teenagers and tiny little ticking orange circles dug out of the trash can. You know the one…)

Now, though? Well, now that I've finally gotten the hang of it, I think that texting is just GR8! GR8, I tell u! If I need u to p/u J from twrlng, I can just send a message. Or if I have a QQ, there’s no need to spend 20 minutes on the phone to get an answer. Just send me a text and LMK.

Plus, it’s a great way to let Phil know to stop at the liquor store to get me a bottle of wine on the way home, without feeling all judged and everything. ;)

Granted, I don’t know all the lingo…not even close. I can’t ever picture myself texting as fast as some these teenagers I’ve seen (don’t their thumbs cramp up?!!). And thousands of texts in a month? (Imagine my 'sing-song voice' here...) Somebody needs a new hobby.

((Sidenote*: And, of course, texting and driving is just about the stupidest move ever. Did you hear that, people?!! DON’T TEXT AND DRIVE!!! You might as well just drive your car into the nearest sinkhole, and take yourself out of the gene pool because at some point, you’re bound to take somebody else out. It’s just common sense. Even Oprah agrees with me.))

But, in a PARKING LOT or in a store or in the comfort of your own home? It’s the best way to let someone know that you’re stuck behind some lady at the fabric cutting counter at Hobby Lobby (buying John Deere fabric, no less? Huh?), and you need them to get your kid from preschool. (Not that I’m speaking from experience on that one, or anything. Riiiight.)

And finally... as much as I've discovered that texting has made my life easier in some ways, I reserve the right to revert to my original ‘texting is evil’ stance when it comes time for Josie to get her first cell phone.

In 2017. ;)

Monday, May 10, 2010

Outside the box... the shoe box, that is.

It’s spring. It’s almost summer.

And I bought a pair of gold sandals.

They’re cute. They’re not brown. They’re not black. They’re not my standard, ‘go-to’ colors.

And they were a good deal… soooo, I bought them.

When I got them home, and pulled them out of the bag, Libby gasped.

Her: Mommy! I LOVE your new shoes!

Me: Thanks, sweetie.

Her (studying the shoes): They’re sparkly. Like a queen!

Me: Well, they’re not really *sparkly*…

Her (delighted): So that means you’re not boring after all!

Wow. Um… thanks… ?

Thursday, May 6, 2010

A good way to make me choke on my dinner...

Last night’s conversation at the table:

Me: If you could go on vacation anywhere, where would you go?

Phil: But it has to be someplace you’ve never been!

Josie: Oooh, I think I’d like to go to Hollywood, California!

Libby: Ummm… ummm… (She’s five. She thinks Chuck E. Cheese is a vacation hotspot.)

Davis: New Zealand!

Libby: Ummmm…. Disneyworld?

Phil: We’ve been there. Maybe Disneyland?

Davis: Washington, D.C.!

Me: Good one...

Davis: South America!

Me: That would be cool, too!

Libby: Disneyland?

Me: I’ve been to Disneyland, but if we went to California, I’d love to go to Lego Land. I’ve never been there. Remember the cool Lego creations we saw in Downtown Disney? Well, they have tons more in Lego Land.

Davis: Is that where you were? When you slept with that guy?


Me: What are you TALKING about?!

Davis: Remember? You slept with that guy. I saw the picture. In your scrapbook?

Oh. Yeah. *That* guy.

The newlyweds with a Lego creation, the ‘Napping Tourist’… October 1998… Downtown Disney

Wednesday, May 5, 2010

I can practically hear the echoes...




Where are you people?

Tuesday, May 4, 2010

Just another day on Planet Linson

Getting ready for the day, and I was bee-boppin’ (why, yes, I *do* still bee-bop, thank you very much!) around the bathroom in my bra and panties. Yes, I said 'bra and panties'. Sorry if that’s too much information, but it’s critical knowledge. Just try not to envision it. Trust me.

Anywaaaay… Libs is hanging out in the bathroom with me, playing with her little LeapPad, watching me fix my hair and put on a little make-up.

Libby: Mommy, you’re puffy!

Oh, snap.

Did she just say I was puffy? PUFFY?

I mean, I *know* that I can stand to lose a few pounds, much like many other moms who’ve squeezed out a few kidlets… but puffy? …Oh, and if you happen to be one of those moms who have more than one child, and you’re not still hanging on to 10 (or more!) pounds from your last baby, I’m just going to pretend that you exist on Diet Coke and unfiltered cigarettes.

Better yet, I’m just going to pretend like you don’t exist. No offense, mmmkay?

So, right then and there, I resolved to increase the length of my morning walks.
Followed by crunches…
and weights!
No more chocolate!
No more alcohol!
All fatty foods will be replaced with salads and raw veggies!
I will swim laps!
I will bike instead of driving!


But first things first…

Me: Libby, it’s not nice to call someone ‘puffy’, okay?

Libby: But your hair *is* puffy… (pointing to the giant Velcro rollers on my head… a girl's GOT to have volume, right?)

Me: Um…my hair?

Libby (giggling): Yeah… your hair is super puffy!

Oh, okaaaay... I mean I *will* still do all that other stuff. Really.

Right after Libby and I reconcile our little misunderstanding... over sundaes from Sonic. ;)

Sunday, May 2, 2010

With extra cheeeeeze?!

It is Sunday night, and I am tired. Dog tired. Bone tired. Crazy tired.

What could make me so tired?!!

Three words:

Cub. Scout. Campout.
(More about that later.)

But tonight we asked the kids what they wanted for dinner... something easy (because you know... I think I mentioned that I'm tired ;), and nothing that included hot dogs or beans. Because, um... obviously.

Since we didn't have our usual 'take and bake' pizza on Friday because of the campout, that was an option on the table. (Gotta love Papa Murphy's pizza... they make it, and you bring it home and bake it. What's not to love?!)

Josie's vote for dinner? Chuy's (of course)

Davis's vote? Steak and Shake (ooh, good one, Davis!)

And Libby's vote? Pizza, of course. But not just any kind of pizza... her specific request was not for Papa Murphy's pizza, but instead?

Paparazzi pizza.

Damn pizza with your damn telescopic photo lens. ;)