Presenting........

The Boy with The Mullet.

Doesn't he have awesome hair? (Not to mention those cheeks!)

I feel the need to clarify in response to the comment from Not So Normal Mom on my last post. The Boy has a very definite sense of himself. It is not within my power to coerce The Boy to be anything he doesn't choose to be or do anything he doesn't choose to do.

I was shopping for clothes at T@rget one day when a mom I didn't know pointed out some shorts on the clearance rack. I said they were nice and the price was right, but The Boy wouldn't wear them.

She gasped. "It wouldn't occur to my daughter to have an opinion regarding her clothing," she stated.

The Boy does have an opinion. I don't buy clothes if he is not present. I have learned my lesson. He chooses his clothes and his shoes. We are proud that he has the presence of mind to have an opinion about what he wears, even though we are very tired of all variations of the color blue!

His hair? He has NEVER stated that he wants to wear it in a different style. Until Z told him it was girly.

Tonight he wants to keep his "hockey hair".

The Boy knows exactly who he is.

What he doesn't know is that he's a little less innocent now.

Ironic

Last night The Boy teared up and said, "Mommy, today Z said I have girly hair."

This after I wrote the post yesterday on his lovely hair.

This from a 4 year old boy that has always been proud of his "hockey hair".

This from a 4 year old boy that has never made fun of anything regarding the looks of another person, at least not in my presence.

The child that made the comment, Z, is probably the same age as The Boy. He has his head shaved, which is very common here. In my opinion, very few people in this world have such a perfectly shaped head that they can effectively carry this look off. Z is not one of those lucky few.

Being the snarky biznitch that I am, I thought of many remarks for The Boy to spew back. But none of them were very nice, and I don't want him to be that kind of child. So I told him to hold his head high and proclaim, "I have hockey hair because I am a hockey player!"

One of the things I hope to give The Boy is the confidence to celebrate what makes him different. Because he is different. He is adopted. He is Guatemalan. He is not as dark skinned as most from his origin, but he is darker and especially so in summer. He has a unique sense of style and must choose his own clothes and shoes. I want him to be proud of who he is and know that he doesn't have to be a carbon copy of everyone else.

Later, I did take a picture to post on here, which I will do from home tonight if I can figure out how to do it. I combed his hair to take it and he said, "I want to cut all this hair off" while holding the back.

It's only hair. But it's part of who he has become, and it made me sad that one comment from another child changed the way he feels about himself.

The Mullet Family

Today dd wrote a post that related to 80's fashion and a fabulous fringed leather jacket that she parted with this past weekend. She inspired today's 80's post here at Stiletto.

Ah, the mullet. Remember the mullet?

I love long hair on a man. I especially love long hair on my men. MFH used to have beautiful thick hair. Now? Not so much. It's thinning and kind of sliding back on the top of his head. Because of this, the mullet is the hairstyle that makes the most sense for him. That way he can keep it short on top where it's thin and long in the back the way I like it. I also have to mention that MFH is 6'4" tall, and has a long face that goes quite nicely with his long body, but is not conducive to a short hair style.

The Boy has a wonderful head of hair. It's a nice shade of brown with lots of curls. I can't bear to cut the curls down his back, so I don't. The mullet is perfect for him, too, because his hair gets all curly and wild around his face if we don't keep it trimmed.

Okay, I know you're snickering and picturing those wild permed and/or Joe Dirt mullets on guys that wear wife beater tank tops and live in trailer parks down south. (No offense if you know or are in any way related to one of those guys.) My men don't look like that. My men wear their hair styled. We don't spike it all up or anything like that.

Imagine our surprise when we found out the former resident hockey team referred to us as "The Mullet Family". HP was afraid to mention it because he thought it would hurt our feelings. We are made of steel at the Mullet Household. You can't be a wimp and pull off wearing a mullet in Montana in 2006!

For the record, I did a little google search on the mullet prior to writing this post. In the United States the mullet is particularly associated with fans of heavy metal music and ice hockey players.

'Nuff said.

The Most Relaxing Memorial Day Weekend Ever

Kickoff to summer, my ass.

It rained and snowed for almost 72 hours, and never topped 50 degrees all weekend. We had tentatively planned to go camping and fishing at the lake. Just so you don't think I am a prima donna wimp, I have camped in the rain many, many times in much less protection than the old, small motorhome we now own provides. It's one thing to go camping and have the weather go south on you. It's another thing to go out in the bad weather and know there's little chance it will improve. No thanks.

The last I don't know how many Memorial Day weekends have been planned for us with deaths in the family, family reunions, or other family obligations. This is the first in a long time that we were able to do what we wanted. Or at least not do what we didn't want to do.

And we did nothing.

Well, not nothing. We shopped a lot cause, you know, that's inside. We have an awesome dinosaur museum and planetarium that has just opened a new reptile exhibit and we spent a few hours there. And we rented movies for the first time in probably a year or more. I had never seen King Kong, not even the original. And, while it was a little longish, I enjoyed it. I didn't know it was a love story, and it even made me cry. I'm a sap that way.

The three day weekend is coming to an end, and so is the rainy weather.

Doesn't that just figure?

Molly Manhands

We are hiring at work. For some reason, we are always hiring. I think it's the leadership, or as Holly says, the lack thereof. I am fond of saying that we hire good people and make bad employees out of them. Sad but true. I've been here forever, but I am a bitch and everyone leaves me alone. Nobody else seems to stick around for long. But, I digress.

The other day an interviewee was at the front counter. I didn't know she was here to interview. She was beautiful and about 6 feet tall. With VERY full lips. Like Goldie Hahn in The First Wives Club. Remember? Only interviewee could talk without mumbling.

I was going about my business, when interviewee says to me "Do you work here?" Ummm, why yes, yes I do. That's why they let me go behind the counter and play with the money in the cash register. "Hi. I'm Molly." Hi, Molly, it's nice to meet you. "It's nice to meet you, too," she says, thrusting her hand forward.

Holy Moly, Molly! It was like shaking hands with my husband. I don't have anything against big hands, it just took me by surprise. I mean they were BIG. Manhands.

After she went upstairs to interview, Holly said, "Did you notice she didn't have a butt?" We giggled and gossiped, cause that's what we do. Snarky bitches.

I think I may have just discovered the reason we have a hard time keeping employees.

Just Say No

Ever since we decided to become parents, I have worried about raising The Boy "right". Knowing right from wrong. Making good choices. Being a good citizen. If the parents are good people, the child will be good people. Right?

From the very beginning I have whispered to him. "Don't do drugs." "Don't have sex." I did this at a wedding reception when he was just 16 months old and a friend overheard me. "Don't you think you might just be putting ideas into his head?" he asked. Hmmmmm, I never thought about that. "Maybe, but I am also sending the message that it's wrong."

I never experimented with illegal substances. I always joked that there were two men in the state of Montana who, like me, never used drugs and I married both of them. Of course I know that's not likely true. But, I know more people who have used than people who haven't used.

All three of my brothers experimented at one time in their lives. We were all raised by the same parents in the same way. What made the difference with me? Why was I able to just say no?

Part of my job is collecting on past due bills. I spoke with a man who fully intends to pay his bill. Someday. When he can. Can I just give him some time? He is flat broke because he is paying the legal fees for his son to try to keep him out of prison. His son is a 33 year old professional man who got messed up in the world of meth. How the hell does that happen?

It is probably the most widely used and abused drug in Montana.

Our state is waging a war on this drug. People have criticized this action saying we are minimizing the dangers of other drugs. But this is bad shit. It's easy to make, easy to get, and highly addictive. There are TV commercials. Full page newspaper ads. Billboards. Search Montana Meth Project and have a look. They are graphic, and, I hope, effective.

I worry. Rightly so. I am educating myself. Knowledge is power.

And, I will keep whispering to my son.

Rock Star Hair

I said I wasn't going to, but I did. I watched American Idol last night. I don't care who wins, but there was nothing else on to watch. At the end Daniel Powter was on singing his hit "Had a Bad Day". The Boy loves this song, so he stopped what he was doing to watch.

I love the piano and have always wanted to play it. I can't read music. I've tried. All those notes just swim around on the page and make no sense to me. Naturally I will make - er, encourage - the boy to learn to play.

"Do you want to learn to play the piano?"

"No," says The Boy. "I want to play the drums."

Actually that's okay, too. I love drums and I figure if he can learn to read music, he can learn to play many instruments.

When I dropped The Boy off at school today, one teacher told me that yesterday when The Boy woke up from his nap, he had what she called "Rock Star Hair". Apparently it was all stuck up like a mohawk. The boy has long, curly hair that hangs down to the middle of his back when it's wet.

A drummer with long hair. We may be able to bring back the 80's hair bands!

Boys will be Boys

We went to Big City, Montana over the weekend. My sister-in-law's father passed away and the funeral was Saturday. My brother and SIL have been married 34 years, so she is like a sister to me. Elder nephew came with his soon to be three year old son. Younger nephew also came with his wife and their very hyperactive dog child. They all now live in Iowa.

Elder nephew's son is very large. Not fat, large. Bigger than my 4 year old son by 1 inch and 6 pounds. He goes to preschool one day a week, where my nephew also volunteers on that day. The rest of the time he's home with dad. Nephew's wife is an M.D. I haven't been able to spend much time around them as a family unit. It was an interesting weekend.

The Boy plays hard. When it's nice outside, that's where we are. I've mentioned our backyard is filled with kid's toys - because I don't want to raise a couch potato, video game playing, TV watching kid. The Boy's legs always have bruises and he is usually sporting a bandaid somewhere.

Nephew's boy (NB) is different. He didn't know how to share at all. He wanted whatever The Boy had, even if he had one just like it. He really couldn't play either, and as the day wore on, it was easy to see why. Nephew was constantly following him around. "Be careful." "You are sweating so we need to go back inside now." "Don't step in that puddle." "Don't go on that slide, you may fall." Younger nephew confided to MFH that NB probably thinks his middle name is 'careful'. My nephews were not raised like that. I was around them when they were growing up.

NB seemed sad and nervous to me. Sure, he's smart. He can spell his name, count to 100, and say his ABC's.

But he can't play.

Boys will be boys......if you let them.

Scha-wing!

One night before HP left for home we were coming back from dinner out and MFH, HP and I were recalling the scene from Wayne's World where they are in the Pacer singing and head banging to Bohemian Rhapsody. We started doing it and The Boy, who is a true head banger, was delighted.

I know we shouldn't have, but we did. When we got home we watched the movie. Over the next few days the boy wanted to watch the movie repeatedly. Really he only wanted to watch that one car scene and then he would lose interest. And every night he listens to Bohemian Rhapsody before bed. He sings the song ALL.THE.TIME. It's driving us crazy.

About a week ago, he was playing when he thrust his hips outward and said, "Scha-wing!"

Dear G-d, I hope he doesn't do that at preschool.

A Beer Cooler?

Today I have another "end" to talk about.

The news reported last night that our beautiful, state of the art hockey arena has been sold.....to a beer distributor.

There's a lot of frozen floor space in that building, but would that be the most efficient way to keep beer cold???? Heh.

We're bummed. The Boy is passionate about hockey. I was counting on hockey being our ticket to keeping him out of trouble; keeping him focused on a goal; keeping him away from drugs and alcohol. He has no idea what is going on.

We've had a Junior A hockey team and kid's hockey leagues here for about 10 years now. A lot of these kids cut their teeth playing hockey and are now to an age and level of play to be taken seriously. It could have been their ticket to a college scholarship. Hockey is a long season - typically August to April - so it leaves little time to take part in any other sport. For many of them it would be too late to switch, and besides, a love of any sport can't just be transferred to something new. We have another ice rink, but it could never accomodate all the people in this valley that currently use the arena.

Is it possible that the beer distributor plans to go into the hockey business? Maybe. But, our Junior A players were told their team rights will be relinquished and they are free to seek out new teams at tryout camps this summer.

In totally related news, HP called and wants to apply to our university for the fall semester. It is one of the most highly regarded engineering schools in the country. We would be thrilled to have him back.

We may have found a way to keep The Boy focused via hockey after all.

And Ends

Yesterday's post was about something odd, so today I have ends.

Hockey Player left to go home. He was a good kid, and for our first year as surrogate parents, we couldn't have asked for a better experience. The Boy loves HP and I fully expected him to grieve, but he seems to understand. The Boy knows hockey season is over for our team, and that in three short months a new HP will come to live with us. And so it goes.

One thing I guess I didn't expect was for HP to become a member of our family. He asked if he could come back to visit this summer for a few weeks. We couldn't be happier about that. HP's career in junior hockey is over - he will be starting college in the fall, and hopefully playing college hockey. I wish him well, and hope all his dreams come true.

It's official - the preschool is rampant with Hand Foot and Mouth Disease. There is no treatment but as long as the kids have fever, are drooling, or are broken out with the rash, they should be at home. Last year we had to keep The Boy out for 5 full days per doctor's orders. The little boy that had the 'common cold virus'? Yeah, he is the origination of it all. And when the director had to call his dad on two consecutive days to come and take his child home, what she got was "I can't afford to keep missing work to take my child home." The director told him to find a new daycare.

Yeah, asswipe, it's hard for any of us to miss work. Unfortunately, I wouldn't have to if you had done the right thing and kept your kid home. It's all part of being a responsible parent.

The "responsible" gene is a funny one. Some of us got more than our fair share, and others of us got none.

Odd

A few weeks ago my boss purchased a spankin' new Landcruiser.

To say it's ugly would be an understatement.

It looks like a creamsicle. You know, those orange ice cream treats with vanilla in the middle?

According to a reliable employee, on Saturday the bossman was standing in the parking lot of our store staring at the new vehicle. You know, perusing it. Like you would BEFORE you bought the damn thing.

It is now sitting across from our store with for sale signs in the windows.

Do you think it depreciated much in value from four weeks ago when he drove it off the parking lot at the dealership?

WTF?

Sunshine On My Shoulders.....

The weather is just beautiful up here in my neck of the US. It is supposed to be 87 degrees today with full sun. Kind of hot for May, but later in the week the afternoon thunderstorms that are consistent with springtime in the Rockies will come rolling in. For now, I am loving this heat and the clear blue sky.

I was raised in a time when nobody wore sunscreen. I don't even know if there was such a thing. The girls of my generation smeared baby oil and cocoa butter on themselves trying to attract the rays of the sun. I didn't suntan back then, but began to be a worshipper in my 20's. I was a teacher and had nothing better to do than sit in the sun and read all summer long. Now I use a tanning bed to achieve my golden color. I go twice a week in the spring and then back off to once a week in the summer. I don't tan at all after summer is over, until spring rolls around again.

Next Tuesday I am having a biopsy.

Yeah.

If anyone knows of a proven, really good self tanning product please pass it on to me. Or let me know how you like that spray on tan that lasts about four weeks. I'm open to either.

In case you are wondering, The Boy is a sunscreen fanatic. He is a very fair skinned Guatemalan, so we do slather him up. If I forget? He'll remind me. Over and over again.

Contagious

Why would a parent bring their kid to daycare when he is covered in red spots? WTF??? If it is such an inconvenience to stay home with your sick kid, you need to rethink the whole parent thing.

On Saturday The Boy was miserable. High fever. Sore throat. We look inside his mouth and his throat is red, but no pus pockets, and a few red splotches on the roof of his mouth. We assumed those were from the cough drops. Strep maybe? Lots of Tylenol and he at least feels better. The fever broke sometime Saturday night. Sunday he was fine. The mouth splotches were still there but he did not complain about a sore throat. We had a good day.

Yesterday I took him to preschool and overheard a conversation between another parent and the director of the facility. The dad is holding his son, who is covered in spots. Yes, he took the boy to the doctor and it's just a common cold virus with a rash. He's okay to be in school. Ummmmm, I look but say nothing. It just sounded suspicious.

I pick The Boy up at night and he's in a good mood but has had a rough day. I tell them Saturday he was sick and maybe still isn't up to par. Director asked if he had spots in his mouth. I said yes. Then she tells me about the "virus". We left. We get home and the boy is just owly. The spots on his throat now look like blisters and he has spots on his knees and on his feet. I've seen this before. Google. Hand Foot and Mouth Disease.

Common cold virus, my ass.

Happy Mudder's Day, Mommy

The "secret surprise for Valentine's Day" turned out to be a picture of my son's smiling face outlined in glitter (that Miss Sherrie did) in the middle of a flower that he colored and cut out. It is glued to a clothes pin with a magnet on the back. Ta Da! A memo holder for the refrigerator. I love this kind of stuff. I'll keep it forever and remember how proud he was to give it to me.

TB - "Mommy, did you get me a present for Valentine's Day?"

Me - "Son, it's Mother's Day, not Valentine's Day."

TB - "Oh. Did you get me a present for Mudder's Day then?"

You can't blame the kid for trying.

The Circle of Life

I was the apple of his eye.

His first daughter, my sister, was stillborn at full gestation. After that followed two sons. He slid to the floor and cried the day I was born, happy to have a daughter. Sixteen months later, the baby of the family followed, another boy.

My daddy was a giant of a man. I can remember looking up at him and thinking he could do anything in the world. He took care of us. He worked hard to feed 6 mouths. Later in his life he apologized for being gone so much working when we were kids. I don't remember him being gone at all. I remember him being there for me whenever I needed him.

One of my earliest memories of my daddy involves me being a very upset little girl and running away from home. Daddy sat on the steps and watched me walk down the street. When I came back home crying "I didn't think you'd let me run away!", he said, "I wouldn't have let you go far." He snuggled me into his lap while I cried. And he cried with me.

My dad was born in 1926. He had an eighth grade education, but he was one of the smartest men I'll ever know. He eventually owned a very successful company. He invested well and built himself an empire. He never wanted to retire, because when people retire they have nothing to do and they die. When he sold his business he started dealing in antiques, so I guess he never really retired after all.

My dad was awesome on the dance floor. He and my mom were the couple that everyone else stopped to watch. They were as one, and floated along effortlessly in time to the music. I loved to watch them, and I loved to dance with him even though I did not inherit that gene at all.

My dad had congenital heart failure. He had two open heart surgeries. There were several times we should have lost him, but didn't. I love that we had those false alarms, because there was nothing left unfinished. Nothing left unsaid. We were able to gather around him as a family for a week when he was still feeling good. He later told my mom that it was the happiest time he could remember in his life.

My dad never got to meet my son. It is because of my dad that we were able to adopt him, able to pay the expenses involved in adoption. He was there for me in death, just as he was in life.

My dad died five years ago today.

I miss him.

Conversation

I had the following exchange with The Boy at dinner the other night.

TB - Mom, Miss Mae said I can't tell you about the surprise for Sunday.

Me - Well if Miss Mae told you to keep it a secret, you probably shouldn't tell me. Then it won't be a surprise.

TB - Yeah, it's a surprise for Sunday.

TB whispering - Mom, come closer. It's a secret so I have to whisper. I'm not supposed to tell you, but do you like pictures?

Me - Why, I love pictures. Pictures of you and pictures that you make!

TB grinning from ear to ear - Oh good!

It's so great to be his mom!

I'm Speechless

which doesn't happen often.

My jaw fell open and hung that way in stunned silence.

Chris was voted off of American Idol.

Damn.

I Guess I Am A Do

Tammie at Soul Gardening wrote a post yesterday saying she is a don't. By that she means someone who doesn't fret over their appearance.

I am a Do.

I have only ever left the house once without mascara and that was to go to the store for cranberry juice to alleviate UTI symptoms. I wore mascara even through an episode of pink eye two years ago.

I wear a dress or skirt to work at least 4 days out of 5. With hose. With heels. Having a run in my hose is very stressful for me. I have to carry a spare pair in my brief case. In the summer, with certain longer skirts, I will skip the hose sometimes but never the heels. While I do own a pair of birkenstocks, they are reserved to be worn kind of like slippers - around the house or on the patio watering flowers. I will obsess over a stain or mark of any kind that should appear on my clothes throughout the day. I am a bit OCD that way.

My hair is long and straight so it requires very little preparation. But still, if I am having a bad hair day for any reason, it bugs me.

I have my nails done because I like the look of long manicured nails and in spite of all the products I've tried over the years, my own are thin and brittle.

My dad, whom I will post about later in the week, insisted that I be dressed like a girl all the time. I did not own a pair of pants until I was a toddler. In elementary school I was not allowed to wear pants to school until the sixth grade, and I could never wear clothing that had been patched except on the weekends.

But.....I was raised with three brothers. I can cuss like a sailor. I rough house with The Boy. When he gets the hockey gear out, I play with him. We throw off the helmets and gloves and fight. We jump on the trampoline together. We kick the soccer ball around the yard. I can wield a mean lightsaber. I ride my own Harley Davidson and I can snowmobile with the best of men. So, I guess even though I do obsess about my appearance, I would not qualify as a girly-girl.

Thanks, Tammie, for giving me something to post about today!! ;)

Migrating South

We are the bad luck Schleprock of the computer world.

If it can go wrong, blow up, or melt down, it will happen here.

We lost internet connectivity for most of the day.

I am in Hell.

Save me.

Please.

"Good Girl"

Does anybody else follow Grey's Anatomy? I heart this show, but then I heart most shows that deal with medicine. I'm not sure why, other than maybe I was a brilliant doctor in a previous life.

Did anyone else catch the best line of the show EVER?? Dr. Alex is trying to examine a woman involved in a car accident.

Woman, with heavy southern drawl - "I'm not wearing any panties, and I don't know you well enough to let you see my 'good girl'."

Dr. Alex - "I need a chick over here!"

Priceless exchange.

Migrating

For the last few months I've been working with our software parent company to do a software migration. Same software, basically, new look. The software is my baby and it's just a lot of work to do these upgrades - oops! The sensitive people at parent company keep reminding me it's a migration. Bigger than an upgrade. Whatever. Plus, we are moving to a realtime VPN and adding a third store to the network that has done all of their transactions in longhand for forever. Big changes in store here!

Pet peeve - my boss. Not all the time, but today? Right off the bat. Parent company is coming from big town Montana, 150 miles away. They probably don't open until 9, get shit together, hit the road. Boss at 9:30, entering office and looking around -"How's the migration going?" Up yours, bossman. "Well, as you can see, it's 9:30. Said parent company called and they'll be hitting the road soon. We'll start at a reasonable hour, after lunch say. Mmmkay?" He has NO COMMON SENSE.

Pet peeve - my boss, again. He needs estrogen. Lots of it. The man also needs a fashion advisor. He wears long sleeves and cords ALL the time. And he complains that it's hot in here, so we use AC ALL the time. How stupid is that? If you know that you are warm blooded, dress accordingly. Don't make the rest of us suffer in sub zero temperatures when, for the first time in months, we could actually wear something other than a sweater. Dumb ass.

What's that? Why don't I get a new job? Because they pay me too much. I can't leave. Oh, and we have health insurance so I can insure MFH and The Boy. That's a big deal up here in the land of Line Your Own Pockets and Pay The Least You Can In Wages And Bitch About The Kind Of Help You Get For Said Lousy Pay, Plus Offer No Benefits.

Wish me luck this week. If the migration goes south (Heh - get it?), it could take all week. It would make for a veeerrryyy long week.

Puck Ho'

I've mentioned how The Boy loves hockey. I've mentioned how we have a 20 year old hockey player living with us. This is the first year we've been "billet" parents. Hockey player's parents pay us a small stipend to feed him and have him live here for the season. He has really become part of our family.

In turn, we hope The Boy grows up with a positive role model. Someone who's focused on a goal and walks the straight and narrow. All of these young men are talented hockey players. They are playing in this league hoping to be noticed so they can go on to play college hockey on a scholarship. They can't play in the league after they are 21 years old. Some even leave home while they are still in high school, as early as 15 years old. Yikes! (Yes, I am prepared to rent an apartment wherever.)

I guess I wasn't prepared for the girls. They are groupies. I fondly call them "Puck Ho's". Most of them are young. High school age or early college. They just coincidentally show up wherever the players happen to congregate. And, of course, they come to every game.

Enter "Melinda". Melinda is no young groupie. Melinda is in her late 20's. She stalks these boys. You might say she is the "Queen Puck Ho'". I don't get it. Yeah, these guys are hotties. But they are boys. Boys. Even more puzzling? Melinda is no slacker. She has it going on.

On the outside I can see why she'd go there. I just wonder what's going on inside. These are typical boys. They kiss and tell. She must know that. How sad.

Might as well face it, I'm addicted to.......

chewing tobacco.

I LOVE chewing tobacco. Yep, I was born and raised in Montana. I don't typically carry it in my back pocket like all the cowboys do, unless of course I am not carrying a purse or wearing a coat with pockets.

No, I don't spit. I never really perfected the whole act of spitting without looking like I was drooling down my chin. I "gut it" - the hockey team's term for swallowing. The boys were very impressed that I was not a spitter.

It was the one thing I promised to give up before The Boy came home to me. And I did, for two years. Oh, I cheated now and then. But one day I started again. I think here is where I should point out that I do not have an addictive personality. I smoked and gave it up easily. Of course cigarette smoke is just nasty, so that wasn't a hard one to eliminate. I never used illegal drugs of any kind. Never snorted the old nose spray. No antidepressants or sleeping pills here. Nothing. Just a little pinch between my cheek and gums.

I gave it up again a while back, and man I miss it. I am determined to quit for good this time for two reasons. The Boy, and I am rather fond of my lips. I've heard they can reconstruct new ones from the nether regions. But ewww, ya know?

Road Rage

I live in what could be considered a resort area. There is one ski hill about 20 minutes away and another ski resort about 45 minutes away. It is also a university town. We have been voted one of the most beautiful cities in America, and the fastest growing city in Montana. I have been here 16 years. In that time the population has probably doubled.

So has the traffic. See, this town was not designed to be inhabited by so many people. There were only four major routes to get around the town until a few years ago when they added one more. Because of the influx of people and because we have nine months of winter and three months of really bad skiing, the roads are under construction or repair for most of the spring and summer, and up until the first snowfall. Right now two of the major routes are under repair.

Monday night it took me 30 minutes to go approximately one mile. Okay, maybe two. I try. I really do. But then I think of all the things I could be doing other than sitting in traffic. And I think of the gas I am using as I wait. Expensive gas. And it makes me even more angry.

Patience is a virtue. Does anybody have any to spare????

"It was a good party, Gramma!"

The Boy's birthday bash was a success. The temperature reached into the 70's with no wind and a clear blue sky. Our backyard is equated to a S1x Fl@gs by our neighbors, so there was plenty to keep the little ones busy. To celebrate our son's Guatemalan heritage the kids break a pinata at the end, and that is always fun to see.

We usually invite anywhere from 30 to 50 people. This year we included the hockey team, who, on Friday night, won the division championship here and are headed to the National Championship Tournament. Good luck!!

We deep fried two turkeys, 10# of wings, and about 40# of fish. There was another table of finger foods and side dishes. We provide wine, beer, soda, and an open bar. We only do this once a year and we try to do it up right. When it was all said and done, there was no meat left and most of the other food was consumed as well. There were lots of adult beverages left in spite of the temperatures. It is a family affair, after all.

The Boy snuggled up in his gramma's arms and said, "It was a good party, gramma." It was a good party. (Translate: I had a lot of fun and no hangover.)

Yesterday MFH came home with an invitation to an annual Cinco De Mayo party. At his employer's house. BYOB and food.

I have a few cases of beer left, not to mention the makings for a pitcher of margaritas. I think I'll buy a can of bean dip and some chips and relax in the comfort of my own backyard.

Soft Touch

The Boy is all boy....most of the time. He's very much into hockey and all that is physical with that sport. He is athletic. He races around the yard in his monster truck, hitting and running over anything and everything that is in his way, including the poor old labrador. And me. He's all about bugs and worms. He stages battles with Darth Vader and his clonetroopers versus the Power Rangers. We've had enough lightsaber fights to last me a lifetime.

The boy is also in touch with his feminine side. If I leave a pair of shoes laying around, he's wearing them. At his Star Wars birthday party on Saturday, the pinata held some star wars character rings so we also included some princess rings for the girls that opened up to have lip gloss in them. He wanted one so I gave him one before the party. He has stuffed animal babies that he occasionally feeds but most of the time they just hang out in the baby doll crib left over from my childhood.

I figure all of these things are normal. Little boys need to learn to nurture just like little girls. They need to be sensitive as well as rough and tumble. From being around daycare for three years I know that little boys enjoy playing dress up as much as little girls. Even though MFH doesn't say anything, I think these things bother him just a little.

On Easter MFH took the boy to an egg hunt at a friend's house. After an hour or so, the boy was insisting it was time to come home to which MFH lifted the boy's shirt up and said, "When did you grow boobs?"