Five Minutes

I'm just a little tiny bit anal about going to the movies. I like to be there at least 15-20 minutes early and even earlier if it's a really popular movie. I like to sit about 1/3 of the way back, preferably with one of the railings in front of me so I can put my feet up. I like to sit close to the aisle, but not actually on the aisle, in case I need to go to the bathroom. I would NEVER come in after the previews. I would never say "The movie has already started but that's OK. Let's just go on in anyway." Never. That's horrifying.

We went to see "Spiderman 3" on Sunday. And incidentally? If you haven't seen this movie yet, you should see it. Ignore the bad reviews. It's very good. This perspective may owe something to the fact that we have been so immersed in "Smallville" lately that we are totally open to the whole comic-book genre. The idea that good vs. evil and good will always triumph; that if you truly love someone, you will do anything to protect them; and, finally, that there are many different extremely unlikely scientific processes which, when an individual is exposed to them, will cause various improbable but fascinating mutations. You will have to completely suspend your disbelief that a scientific organization would actually be conducting a physics experiement in an open pit that a person could literally fall into and that their equipment would not be able to tell that a man and not a bird has gotten trapped in there. Forget all that. Just enjoy the powerful message about the importance love and friendship plays in our lives.

So, the movie was on at 3:30. I wanted to leave at 3:00 to get there at 3:10 and parked and in our seats by 3:15 at the latest. Yes, I calculate all this out. Yes, I am obsessive. But Tom has known this for 30 years now. So, when he was not upstairs and in the shower at 2:55, I was getting perturbed. I told him he should ALREADY be in the shower, we have to LEAVE soon!!!

And he casually said "Don't worry, I can be ready in FIVE MINUTES."

Five minutes. Right. Nobody can get ready in five minutes. Nobody. It is humanly impossible to take a shower and get dressed in five minutes. So I said "That will be 3:01. There is no way you can be ready by 3:01. You are going to make me LATE FOR THE MOVIE. So, I sat down and waited. I tapped my foot. I checked my watch. I fumed.

And he came out, clean and dressed with his watch on and his keys jingling in his pocket.

It was 3:01.

We made it in plenty of time.

I May Need An Intervention

You know how when you bid on stuff on Ebay, sometimes you get a little carried away and you think, oh, well, it's OK because I won't win everything I bid on so you just bid on everything you like even though it's just way too many things because you get just a smidge carried away and then you win everything you bid on?

No? Damn. It's just me? That is EXACTLY how I ended up with two sets of brass lamps a couple of years ago when I actually needed one set.

Anyway, I was perusing Ebay for shoes. I don't buy a lot of shoes on Ebay because I normally like to try shoes on but I have found a couple of cute pairs that worked for me. I was looking for yellow slides because, as you know if you read my blog regularly, that is the only color I really need. I couldn't find any. But I found a really cute pair of kind of gold Ann Klein slides with kind of little beads and colors on them...well, look.

Now wouldn't you buy those? Well, I did. I won the auction. They are in the mail as I write.

But in the meantime, I had also found these

really cute blue kind of suede slides with a little strap

around the toe...well, look.

You know you would have bid on them too.

Well...I won the auction on them too. And in the meantime, I have bid on two other pairs. I haven't heard yet, but I will probably win them too the way things are going. But they are really cute. And totally unlike anything I have. Honestly. One is brown with a pink bow...oh, well, look. Now could you pass these up?

Now, that should probably be enough shoes. Enough for someone in their right mind, that is.

Because I saw an ad in the paper for Payless shoes over the weekend and they had these really cute thong type sandals on sale. And, honestly, I do need some of those. HONESTLY. For the pool. And to go with my casual capris. I don't have any CASUAL shoes at all. Really casual. So I went to Payless. And I bought a pair. OK. OK, I bought two pairs. All right!! Shut up. I bought five pairs. Six. I meant to say six. But you know you would have bought these too.

And that's absolutely all the shoes I have bought lately.

Well, except for that one pair.

But they were really cheap at the

flea market. And they were so cute.

And I have NOTHING like them.

See? They are spaaaarkly. I had to have them.

So. In the past two weeks, I have bought 11 pairs of shoes. That's not so bad, right? They were on sale and the thong type sandals were really cheap at Payless and the flea market shoes were a steal. So, that's OK. Right?

Only I just realized something. Something very upsetting. Something very important. Crucial, in fact.

I still need a yellow pair.

Cars Will Fly

And we will all have jet packs and everyone will wear those shiny silver jumpsuit things that are skintight. What, everyone in the future is skinny? Apparently.

In the meantime I just found out that that Netflix has movies you can actually watch on the computer. I know, I know, this has been in the realm of possibilities for quite a while, I just didn't realize that my Netflix membership included this ability. If you go to the Netflix site and click on "Watch Now" you can TOTALLY watch movies. On your computer. Dude. No waiting. No adding them to your Queue (and I SO had to look up how to spell that) or, as my son-in-law called it, to our endless delight, your Kwee.

In reality, most of the movies are kinda old and kinda...lame. But I'm hoping that they will eventually offer all their movies this way. Maybe it's a copyright issue at this point.

I know this will work for us because last night? When we realized that we did not have the last episode of "Lost" on our DVR because (Tom erased it by accident) the DVR made a mistake, after crying and moaning in agony that we might possibly miss a TV show and life as we know it would come to a screeching halt, Tom found it on the network website, hooked up our laptop to the TV and we WATCHED THE SHOW ON OUR COMPUTER HOOKED TO THE TV. We are such technology wizards.

OK, Tom is a wizard and I'm a wizard-in-training.

But I did tell him after several minutes of fiddling with the audio that maybe the sound just needed to be turned up and, after sighing loudly, he turned up the sound and it worked.

So I'm getting out my jet pack. Or maybe I'll just get in my flying car. 'Cause, apparently? The future is now.

Ducks In A Row

He is happiest, be he king or peasant, who finds peace in his home. - Johann von Goethe

We have ducks in our backyard. You might think from that sentence that we live in a rural area but you would be wrong - we live in the suburbs. The ducks are not swimming happily about in a pond surrounded by cattails with a hidden nest for their little ducklings - oh, no. They have made their peaceful home in the swimming pool next door.

They have actually been coming back to the swimming pool for several years now. When the weather turns warm and sunny, one morning we begin hearing some quacking and realize the ducks have returned. They don't spend the entire day at the pool, so they must have another place they go, but they are there most mornings. Often, they waddle out on the diving board and sun themselves. It's an interesting sight. Ducks on a Diving Board. Sounds like the name of a sandwich at some nouveau restaurant. I have never seen baby ducks so either they don't have any or their nest is located someplace else. Someplace safer.

They seem oblivious to the fact that this is a cement pond and that, when they first return, it is normally covered with a plastic cover. They contentedly swim around in the pools and puddles that have formed on the cover. When the owners remove the cover, the ducks happily plunk in the clear pool water.

The previous owners didn't seem to mind the ducks. They never ran them off or, as far as we could tell, did anything to discourage them from visiting. We are not very friendly neighbors (although we are not unfriendly, just rather aloof) so we never knew how they felt about the ducks.

Some new people have recently bought the house with the pool. The ducks are out there now. I hope the new people don't mind them.

The ducks are part of the neighborhood. They are different and a little special. We kind of...like them.

Clown College

I was perfectly groomed yesterday. But you knew that, didn't you? However, I did have some issues.

I had on my great looking, cocoa brown capri pants. Only, I forgot that I bought them last year when I was having sort of a fat summer. So, they are too big. They were hanging on my hips and I had to keep jerking them up.

I had on a matching shrimp and cocoa brown silky top. Only, I wore it the other day and it must have stretched a little because the v-neck was showing a good portion of my boobs. So, I kept straightening it so it would cover them.

I had on really cute cocoa brown slides and shrimp colored hoop earrings. I looked pretty good.

Then, after I spent the day broiling with no air conditioning yesterday, I decided to treat myself to a massage. This was wonderful. Only my feet were sort of slippery from the lotion, even after I wiped them off. So, they were slip sliding around in my sandals. And I kept lurching to the side as my feet slid sideways.

So, picture it. With one hand, I am jerking up my pants so they don't fall down. With the other, I am adjusting my top so my boobs don't pop out. Then, as I try to walk, I am lurching to the side occasionally as my feet slide around my shoes.

This is quite a lovely, sophisticated image, isn't it? I think maybe I need to go to clown college.

And then join the circus.

My Own Little Greenhouse Effect

It's a good thing I had a great day yesterday. Because today? Not so great.

You know those women you see at the gym who are working out so hard their shirts are drenched with sweat? You can even see sweat pattering on the treadmill as they are running? Their hair is slicked back and they wipe their faces with a towel constantly?

Yeah, that's not me.

Only, today, it is.

The air conditioning is out in my library. Not only is the air conditioning out, the system apparently thinks we are in the middle of a marrow-freezing blizzard because the heat seems to be on. When I got here this morning at 7:00 a.m, it was cool and pleasant outside. It was 86 degrees in the library. I opened the doors and windows and set up a little fan and the temperature dropped drastically. To 85.

And I just had a hot flash. Since your body temperature probably climbs to 120 degrees with a hot flash, that means my temperature is actually over 200 degrees. I may spontaneously combust at any second.

Y'all, my underwear is wet with sweat. This is not a good thing.

I have a vision today. Coincidentally, it's the same vision I had when we were standing out in the heat at our school field day. It's me lying on my bed on the cool sheets. In my underwear. With the overhead fan blowing on me. This vision is getting me through the day.

And just so you know, Tom. This is not an erotic image. Don't even think about coming in that bedroom unless you have an ice cold rag to lay on my forehead.

If I sit right here in front of the rotating fan and don't move, it's bearable. If I just sit right here...but I have a kindergarten class coming in. And I have to put out the books for the book exchange. And I really need to do some shelving.

Just a minute more in front of the fan. Just one more minute...

Summertime and The Livin' Is Easy

It feels like summer today. It's a beautiful, warm day and we have a day off school for election day. But that's not it. I think it's because I just spent the whole morning cleaning my house.


My house stays pretty clean, actually. With no pets and no small children, aside from the little tornado called Wes, who visits once in a while, the house stays pretty clean. But it's in the summer, when I am off school, that it is the cleanest. I woke up at 7:45 the morning inspired to vacuum and dust today. These are two jobs that I put off because with a fairly large house, they are pretty monumental jobs. But they had been put off long enough. Something had to be done. So I just spent four hours cleaning every reachable surface. I'd like to do the bathrooms too but my strength and dedication have evaporated. So I'll save those for Saturday.


My house is immaculate and smells like orange furniture polish. This is a lot how it smells and looks in the summer. So, with the lovely weather and the day off school, my subconscious is telling me it's summer. Almost.


A few more days of school, then I work a few extra days to take a complete inventory of the library media center, and then it really will be summer.


Wes will enjoy the pool this summer. He thought it was fun last year but he was just a little baby then. Now he's a big boy who will be two in the fall and he will run and play and splash. I'm looking forward to that. And I'll go to the farmer's market and get fresh tomatoes and slice them for dinner with corn on the cob and steaks on the grill. And I'll sleep late and read all the books I can possibly read. And the days will be warm and long and lazy.


But, until then. Today feels like summer. I think I'll make a grilled cheese sandwich, prop up my book behind my plate and just take as long as I want to eat lunch.


Because summer is a good time to do that.

Mom Etiquette or As I Like to Call It, Metiquette

I have completely forgotten my metiquette. I used to know metiquette. When I had my children with me and met other moms, I knew how to behave. No more. Once I entered grandmother (Mimi) territory, I completely forget any manners I used to have.

I took Wes to the park the other day. We were playing and having a great time running around and rolling the ball (bah! bah! God, what a genius he is.) to each other when another mom came over and sat down beside us in the grass. Her little boy ran over to Wes and they commenced a gabbling conversation that sounded like two Martians had finally, FINALLY managed to find each other on planet Earth and now they could proceed with the invasion. She smiled and said "How old is your little boy?" Now, I have to pause here to preen a little at her actually thinking Wes was my child. The fact that my sunglasses were covering the wrinkles around my eyes and my cellulite, spider veins and flabby thighs and stomach were obscured because I was sitting down, is completely irrelevant.

I answered "Oh, he's my grandson and he's 18 months old this month." "He's darling", she replied.

And here's where my metiquette fell completely apart. In hindsight, I should have asked about her child, told her he was just a DARLING child and chatted a little. But, in my defense, I am a Mimi now, not a Mom. All my friends are grandmothers. When we talk about our grandchildren and show each other pictures, we admire how fabulous they are and it's perfectly acceptable to say "I know! He is so gorgeous!". Because, after all, we didn't really make him. We can totally take credit for how fabulous he is because we didn't make him. His PARENTS made him. So it's OK to agree about his fabulousness. We completely understand each other. And, we know, even though we don't say it, that OUR grandchild is the most perfect, the most beautiful, the most angelic child on the face of the earth. Not their grandchild. And we all understand this. Each of our grandchildren is the most perfect one. Of course.

So, when she complimented my PERFECT grandson, I said "I know". I DID. I'm cringing now. But, at the time, it seemed perfectly logical. He is perfect, after all. For someone else to comment on it seemed perfectly natural. She was a kind, pleasant woman. She didn't stare at me incredulously. She didn't reach out and slap me for not complimenting her child. Maybe her child has a similar Mimi. She just smiled.

And took her child away to find a mom who knew her metiquette.

I Am SO Cool (Not)

There is only one thing wrong with working with elementary age kids for almost twenty years. Well, yeah, OK. There might be more than one. But one is all I can think of right now at my advanced age. At some point (probably about six months in) you lose your coolness quotient. The kids are talking about games, toys, actors, singers, bands - you have never even heard of. You become completely uncool. And you used to be cool. Really. In college you were cool. Really. Seriously.

I met with my technology club students last week and we were working on creating a silly, funny script for their last day of the news broadcast. We always have a funny newscast on the last day of school, just for fun. And I suggested that they say some actor was going to be a new teacher at our school next year. The girls squealed with excitement and suggested Nat Wolf.

In hindsight, I should have just said enthusiastically "Yeah! He would be perfect!". But I can't think that fast on my feet anymore. So, instead, I said "Who?"

Luckily the kids like me. I give them pizza and doughnuts and let them play on the computers. What's not to like? So they didn't roll their eyes. But it was close. They explained who he was. In a band. Acting in a movie. They talked slowly. They spoke loudly. Clearly, I was an ancient hag who had no grasp at all of current events.

I used to be cool. Really. Really I was.

Love That Muffin Top

I have a muffin top. OK, I'm lying. It's actually more like a cake top. You know how when you make a cake, sometimes it puffs up over the pan and you have this edge that kinda sticks out and you don't really know what to do with it when you frost the cake 'cause it would make the cake uneven, so you just eat it? Yes, you do. I know you do. Don't lie to me. I know I'm on a diet and supposed to be working on losing the cake top and thanks for reminding me of that, you are such a good friend.

Anyway, I have one. And if I wear pants that zip up snugly, like jeans, it sort of...protrudes over the waistband. Even with elastic jeans. There is some protrusion. But here's what is really painful. If you wear an under wire bra and sit in a chair that is sorta just the right angle, you can create a cake top that is not only protruding, but is actually smushed between the waistband of your jeans and the under wire of your bra. The two ungiving surfaces try unsuccessfully to meet in the middle but are deterred by the roll of above mentioned flesh.This is not pleasant. This is roughly akin to the pain you feel when you ram your toe into the coffee table as you are walking across the room, thinking yes, there is plenty of room between my toe and that coffee table. But there is not. And pain results. It's like that - only continuous.

If you are at work, there is nothing you can do. You just readjust and readjust and try to recline a little more or sit forward a little more which helps a little until you get in just that right position where smushing ensues and...ow. So, really the only thing to do is stand up because the cake top sucks back in somewhat when you are standing so you find work you can do standing up like shelving books but when you run out of books, at some point, you have to sit back down. But you endure.

And then when you get home and sit in your chair with a good book, you again have smushed cake top.

This is why, if someone were to pop into my home unexpectedly, they would observe me wrenching my bra off through the bottom of my top (yes, I have many unknown talents), undoing the zipper of my jeans and sighing in relief.

Or if I have a burst of energy, changing my jeans to a pair of elastic waist pants.

Is there anything more wonderful, more fabulous, more extraordinary than taking off a pair of jeans and slipping on a pair of loose pants with an elastic waist?

I didn't think so.