Warning: This post will probably make my mother happy, make my friends wonder if I've signed back on the Catholic bandwagon and is generally sappy and not at all like myself.
I find myself in an unusual situation. A neighbor of mine as I was growing up has a son who got into some serious trouble a few years ago. What I know is what was written in the local paper. I assure you, the coverage was not pretty. I haven't thought about it in a few years until yesterday my father called to tell me his parents have the opportunity to write a letter pleading his case. My father, being the helpful guy that he is (quite neighborly!), volunteered the best letter writer he knows to assist (that's me, in case you were confused). I wasn't really sure how I felt about this. Certainly I'm not the greatest writer in the world (clearly evidenced by my "average" rating) but I suppose in a pinch I'm better than most.
Typically I turn on my letter writing skills when I'm pissed over a consumer injustice or want to send a funny letter to a friend, but this situation is unique. I'm faced with a bit of an ethical dilemma. Do you help someone who is incarcerated? Did he do it? Absolutely - no question. But I certainly didn't know why. Part of me hoped that his mother would lose my email address or feel uncomfortable sending me the email. I figured if I didn't receive the email I was off the hook. I asked a few co-workers what they would do. For sure it was a sticky one and they all agreed that if I was uncomfortable I should just look it over, correct the grammar and send it back.
This morning I woke up early, husband and I had breakfast on the balcony, I read about a friend going into labor last night and decided I would clean the house and we could go for a walk later to enjoy the nice day. Then I checked my email and there it was. With a huge sigh I started reading. Then I had questions so I called and talked to his parents. As I was awkwardly talking to them and asking all sorts of personal questions to understand the sequence of events, I had visions of them doing their nightly walks at dusk around the block with the dog and I was thinking about the little kid I used to see on the bus when we were in elementary school and then I started to feel really bad.
Shit it sucks to have a conscience sometimes.
And so I spent my afternoon writing, editing and trying my best to plead this kid's case. I kept thinking that his entire life was flushed down the toilet because he was injured on the job and became addicted to pain killers. I started thinking about how that could happen to anyone. I was pissed because when the kid was sent to jail before sentencing he managed to find drugs (allegedly from a guard) and did some more unfortunate stuff while all hopped up. On top of all of these things they didn't acknowledge that he was an addict (which should have been considered as a factor in sentencing) and it was his first offense to which they showed zero leniency (gave him consecutive sentences instead of concurrent). I felt angry that so many things had gone wrong for a guy that probably should have led a fairly uneventful normal life.
The only good thing that's come out of this is that he's clean and he's a model prisoner. The guards like him and is apparently asked frequently how a guy like him managed to get himself locked-up. Who knows what will happen if he gets out. I guess everyone deserves a second chance and a fair break. Will I feel bad if he spirals out of control again, yes. Would I feel worse if he could have gotten out to lead a productive life and he didn't because I didn't help, absolutely. I guess it's not my place to choose. Who knows, maybe someday the tables will be turned and someone will help me. I have to believe that things happen for a reason because if they don't, then that's just shit.
I don't know if his mother will like my letter or not. If she does, I sure hope it's good enough. I tried my best. I read it to my husband, I almost cried. I hope that's a good sign.
Showing posts with label childhood. Show all posts
Showing posts with label childhood. Show all posts
Saturday, April 19, 2008
Tuesday, March 11, 2008
Telemart, Telemart, Tel, Tel, Telemart, Telemart!
Back in the days of my misspent pre-teen youth, my girlfriends and I kept ourselves busy with all sorts of things after our parents went to bed. It was too soon to swill our parents liquor cabinets, we weren't old enough to care about boys and we were finished with dolls. We had to find something to do with endless hours of sobriety. The telephone was just such a vehicle to provide hours of free entertainment.
During the great pre-caller ID era (and it's evil predecessor *69), you could actually call people and they didn't know it was you unless you chose to tell them. We would dial numbers at random and annoy people well into the wee hours of the morning.
Of course this gets old at some point and you start looking to up your game. The answer to our prayers was public access television. Back in the late 80's there was a show on PCTV called Telemart. It was basically the bargain basement version of QVC. The show started out with a little jingle that went something like this....(sing it to any tune, it really doesn't matter - it was that bad)
"Telemart, Telemart, Tel, Tel, Telemart, Telemart!" and then it cut to a woman who would hawk crap to poor unsuspecting people with unfulfilled lives with nothing better to do than watch public access TV. I'm not really sure who ordered the decorative plastic Santa toilet paper holder but someone must have because she was a regular on PCTV.
While I describe it as similar to QVC, it differed in a few critical areas:
1. The wide range of pleasant and convincing descriptive adjectives used to highlight product features. QVC did a decent job convincing people that their stuff was nice. On Telemart her grasp of the language went as far as "beyouteful". That was it.
2. The spectacular quality of production. QVC had a nice studio, they had more than one camera and clearly had someone who knew how to work all the crap in the studio. Telemart had one camera that someone borrowed from weird Uncle Merv set up on a tripod. Typically this was aimed directly at the Telemart lady from one angle and she sat behind a folding table that had a dirty bed sheet hung on the wall behind her. Nothing says classy like a modified double wide that was last used to hide kidnapped children.
3. The quality of the on air talent. QVC had attractive plastic looking people with nice manicures, recent make-up application and somewhat attractive clothing. God help me if I can remember her name but the Telemart lady had a face that only radio could love. She sort of resembled your bizarre-o neighbor that rarely left the house and always shuffled out to get the mail in a wacky print house dress.
4. Talking to the public. QVC takes a caller now and again as testimony to the fantastic quality and desirability of their products ("Hey Betty from Oklahoma! Tell us about how much you love the thirty-five "Never Water Decorative Plastic House Plants" you bought last week!). Magically the customer voice would just come out of your television and the on air talent would smile and chat with them right there on camera. The Telemart lady had a old rotary phone that sat on the folding table. It would ring, she would answer (wearing her trusty headset) and she would take calls from people. At best this was confusing because you could only hear her end of the conversation. Riveting television I say.
It is this last point with which we had hours of unending joy. Seriously, did they not think that every bored pre-teen was going to call in and prank this poor woman? We would dial, watch the phone ring, hear her answer (see her answer) and then proceed to ask a million questions about whatever piece of crap she happened to be selling that evening. We would speak to her in a crazy falsetto voice (noooo, that shouldn't have been any kind of tip off that I wasn't really Cathy who had questions about the Bedazzler decorated toilet seat cover...)
Me: "Hi Telemart lady, can you tell me if those are real crystals?"
Telemart Lady: "Hi Cathy, I'm not real sure but they sure are beyouteful."
Me: "Ok, can you describe the fabric?"
Telemart Lady: "It's a beyouteful blue."
Me: "Ok, do you think it would fit a really oval shaped toilet seat not just the regular sort of round kind?"
Telemart Lady: "Well it's kind of stretchy so I think it will look beyouteful on your toilet."
Me: "Are you sure you don't know what those bedazzler things are made of?"
You get the picture.
I really feel badly for the kids nowadays. Thanks to technology you just can't get away with anything. No wonder kids are out there smoking crack and having babies. Where's the Telemart Lady when you need her to save our children from the hard life of the streets?
During the great pre-caller ID era (and it's evil predecessor *69), you could actually call people and they didn't know it was you unless you chose to tell them. We would dial numbers at random and annoy people well into the wee hours of the morning.
Of course this gets old at some point and you start looking to up your game. The answer to our prayers was public access television. Back in the late 80's there was a show on PCTV called Telemart. It was basically the bargain basement version of QVC. The show started out with a little jingle that went something like this....(sing it to any tune, it really doesn't matter - it was that bad)
"Telemart, Telemart, Tel, Tel, Telemart, Telemart!" and then it cut to a woman who would hawk crap to poor unsuspecting people with unfulfilled lives with nothing better to do than watch public access TV. I'm not really sure who ordered the decorative plastic Santa toilet paper holder but someone must have because she was a regular on PCTV.
While I describe it as similar to QVC, it differed in a few critical areas:
1. The wide range of pleasant and convincing descriptive adjectives used to highlight product features. QVC did a decent job convincing people that their stuff was nice. On Telemart her grasp of the language went as far as "beyouteful". That was it.
2. The spectacular quality of production. QVC had a nice studio, they had more than one camera and clearly had someone who knew how to work all the crap in the studio. Telemart had one camera that someone borrowed from weird Uncle Merv set up on a tripod. Typically this was aimed directly at the Telemart lady from one angle and she sat behind a folding table that had a dirty bed sheet hung on the wall behind her. Nothing says classy like a modified double wide that was last used to hide kidnapped children.
3. The quality of the on air talent. QVC had attractive plastic looking people with nice manicures, recent make-up application and somewhat attractive clothing. God help me if I can remember her name but the Telemart lady had a face that only radio could love. She sort of resembled your bizarre-o neighbor that rarely left the house and always shuffled out to get the mail in a wacky print house dress.
4. Talking to the public. QVC takes a caller now and again as testimony to the fantastic quality and desirability of their products ("Hey Betty from Oklahoma! Tell us about how much you love the thirty-five "Never Water Decorative Plastic House Plants" you bought last week!). Magically the customer voice would just come out of your television and the on air talent would smile and chat with them right there on camera. The Telemart lady had a old rotary phone that sat on the folding table. It would ring, she would answer (wearing her trusty headset) and she would take calls from people. At best this was confusing because you could only hear her end of the conversation. Riveting television I say.
It is this last point with which we had hours of unending joy. Seriously, did they not think that every bored pre-teen was going to call in and prank this poor woman? We would dial, watch the phone ring, hear her answer (see her answer) and then proceed to ask a million questions about whatever piece of crap she happened to be selling that evening. We would speak to her in a crazy falsetto voice (noooo, that shouldn't have been any kind of tip off that I wasn't really Cathy who had questions about the Bedazzler decorated toilet seat cover...)
Me: "Hi Telemart lady, can you tell me if those are real crystals?"
Telemart Lady: "Hi Cathy, I'm not real sure but they sure are beyouteful."
Me: "Ok, can you describe the fabric?"
Telemart Lady: "It's a beyouteful blue."
Me: "Ok, do you think it would fit a really oval shaped toilet seat not just the regular sort of round kind?"
Telemart Lady: "Well it's kind of stretchy so I think it will look beyouteful on your toilet."
Me: "Are you sure you don't know what those bedazzler things are made of?"
You get the picture.
I really feel badly for the kids nowadays. Thanks to technology you just can't get away with anything. No wonder kids are out there smoking crack and having babies. Where's the Telemart Lady when you need her to save our children from the hard life of the streets?
Tuesday, February 5, 2008
Ode to Aunt Flo
I have a friend who is somewhat unconventional. This is exemplified by her tampon poem. Yes, she wrote a poem about a tampon. It was a really sad poem (and not sad pathetic, sad like “sniff, sniff, I feel bad for that little tampon”). There was a line about how the little wad of cotton must be sad since it will never be anything fun like an oxford shirt. Weird? Maybe, but I suppose she has a point. If you were a wad of cotton this might be the least desirable product you could aspire to be.
I started thinking about tampons today thanks to my work husband. He was looking for whiteout. He didn’t have any and wanted me to go through the desk drawers of our co-worker to find some.
Work Husband: “Will you go look for whiteout for me, I would do it myself but I wasn’t sure if there were girly things in there”
I was confused. Girly things…like collections of googly eye stickers and pencils with heart shaped erasers?
Me: “Huh?”
Work Husband: “I know she has a huge drawer of supplies but I don’t want to go through her drawers. I thought maybe you could do it for me”.
Now I realize that he feels I am the better choice to forage through her drawers because I am female and “girly things” are man code for MENSTRUAL PRODUCTS. (Sorry, I felt the need to capitalize it for impact.)
Me: “Go look yourself and if you find the tampon drawer it’s ok, they don’t bite.”
10 minutes later
Work Husband: “She didn’t have any whiteout but the tampons are in the middle drawer”
Me: “Great and if you need some more, mine are in the bottom left”
What is it with men and their goofy behavior about feminine products? I blame 6th grade. That was the year they took all the boys into one room and the girls into another to have “the talk”. From that point forward it became a weird girl secret. We watched Julie’s Story, a movie about our grand entrance into womanhood. Sadly IMDB offers little information on this cinematic gem. It was apparently released in 1984, described as follows:
“Julie gets her first period in her dance class and tells her best friend and their teacher. The teacher informs Julie of what to do during her period. This is an informative piece for pubescent girls who have or will begin to menstruate.”
Frankly that’s more than I actually remember about the movie. Since we weren’t the steroid/growth hormone infused pre-pubescents of today, 99% of us hadn’t even gotten our periods at this point. And if someone did have it, they certainly weren’t broadcasting it. I mean c’mon, who is going to own up to something as corny as “experiencing womanhood”. No one is that stupid.
Oh wait, I was wrong.
Before I tell you what was actually said, you need context - an understanding of the individual if you will. I share this strictly for illustrative purposes. (and maybe because it's a little funny)
Movie Day – Sometime in 1986
She was escorted out of the class movie to the nurses office (you know the kind of movie I mean - old projection machine, big ass spools, cool click, click, click noise, back when the teacher needed a PhD in AV to make the damn thing work). She had been absently twirling her hair around her finger, intently watching a badly narrated film about ancient Egypt when she started crying. As it turns out her finger had become hopelessly knotted in her hair and now she couldn’t get it out. So there she sat crying with her limp hand dangling from her ratty hair. They ended up having to cut out.
Context my friend. And now we continue…
Back to Julie’s Story. We had just sat through a terrifying 30 minutes where they told us some day soon we’re going to start unexpectedly bleeding for no good reason which only happens to girls and we could talk to our mothers about it because they too bleed unexpectedly for no good reason.
There was now a very uncomfortable silence as we sat staring at the ceiling while biting our fingernails praying that they would let us leave in time to hide our sample pack of feminine products from the boys. Out of the silence comes a whiny voice…and I preface this by saying that I can’t remember if there was an actual question posed to us or if this was just unsolicited commentary.
“Ummm, I have a little bit of something that comes out of the hole sometimes but I’m not sure if that’s it. It’s kind of white. I didn’t tell my mother.”
Sweet Jesus! What is wrong with her? This resulted in nervous tittering in the room for which we were promptly reprimanded and sent on our way. (I should mention that years later she was still the girl that had a little bit of something coming out of THAT hole.)
Life went on after Julie, "it" eventually came, it still comes and my work husband has figured out that it's just his luck that I share the same cycle with his real wife. Unfortunate...for him.
I started thinking about tampons today thanks to my work husband. He was looking for whiteout. He didn’t have any and wanted me to go through the desk drawers of our co-worker to find some.
Work Husband: “Will you go look for whiteout for me, I would do it myself but I wasn’t sure if there were girly things in there”
I was confused. Girly things…like collections of googly eye stickers and pencils with heart shaped erasers?
Me: “Huh?”
Work Husband: “I know she has a huge drawer of supplies but I don’t want to go through her drawers. I thought maybe you could do it for me”.
Now I realize that he feels I am the better choice to forage through her drawers because I am female and “girly things” are man code for MENSTRUAL PRODUCTS. (Sorry, I felt the need to capitalize it for impact.)
Me: “Go look yourself and if you find the tampon drawer it’s ok, they don’t bite.”
10 minutes later
Work Husband: “She didn’t have any whiteout but the tampons are in the middle drawer”
Me: “Great and if you need some more, mine are in the bottom left”
What is it with men and their goofy behavior about feminine products? I blame 6th grade. That was the year they took all the boys into one room and the girls into another to have “the talk”. From that point forward it became a weird girl secret. We watched Julie’s Story, a movie about our grand entrance into womanhood. Sadly IMDB offers little information on this cinematic gem. It was apparently released in 1984, described as follows:
“Julie gets her first period in her dance class and tells her best friend and their teacher. The teacher informs Julie of what to do during her period. This is an informative piece for pubescent girls who have or will begin to menstruate.”
Frankly that’s more than I actually remember about the movie. Since we weren’t the steroid/growth hormone infused pre-pubescents of today, 99% of us hadn’t even gotten our periods at this point. And if someone did have it, they certainly weren’t broadcasting it. I mean c’mon, who is going to own up to something as corny as “experiencing womanhood”. No one is that stupid.
Oh wait, I was wrong.
Before I tell you what was actually said, you need context - an understanding of the individual if you will. I share this strictly for illustrative purposes. (and maybe because it's a little funny)
Movie Day – Sometime in 1986
She was escorted out of the class movie to the nurses office (you know the kind of movie I mean - old projection machine, big ass spools, cool click, click, click noise, back when the teacher needed a PhD in AV to make the damn thing work). She had been absently twirling her hair around her finger, intently watching a badly narrated film about ancient Egypt when she started crying. As it turns out her finger had become hopelessly knotted in her hair and now she couldn’t get it out. So there she sat crying with her limp hand dangling from her ratty hair. They ended up having to cut out.
Context my friend. And now we continue…
Back to Julie’s Story. We had just sat through a terrifying 30 minutes where they told us some day soon we’re going to start unexpectedly bleeding for no good reason which only happens to girls and we could talk to our mothers about it because they too bleed unexpectedly for no good reason.
There was now a very uncomfortable silence as we sat staring at the ceiling while biting our fingernails praying that they would let us leave in time to hide our sample pack of feminine products from the boys. Out of the silence comes a whiny voice…and I preface this by saying that I can’t remember if there was an actual question posed to us or if this was just unsolicited commentary.
“Ummm, I have a little bit of something that comes out of the hole sometimes but I’m not sure if that’s it. It’s kind of white. I didn’t tell my mother.”
Sweet Jesus! What is wrong with her? This resulted in nervous tittering in the room for which we were promptly reprimanded and sent on our way. (I should mention that years later she was still the girl that had a little bit of something coming out of THAT hole.)
Life went on after Julie, "it" eventually came, it still comes and my work husband has figured out that it's just his luck that I share the same cycle with his real wife. Unfortunate...for him.
Monday, December 24, 2007
Merry Christmas and all that stuff....
Our Christmas weekend has been fairly eventful thanks to a wedding on Saturday night. Early in the evening I realized that I was going to be our designated driver. My husband started pounding Manhattans like they were going out of style. He attempted to dip one of the bridesmaids. At least she landed on top of him when they hit the ground. He doesn't get that sloshed too often so I don't mind having to pour him into bed and stuff Advil down his throat. Lord knows he's taken care of me when the tables have been turned. It was nice to have something like a wedding to break up the holidays. Took my mind off my unfinished shopping and lack of gift giving ideas.
I started thinking about how much cooler Christmas was when I was younger. People say it's sort of fun again once you have kids. My cousin's wife came to dinner tonight and said to me, "don't do it". I knew exactly what she was talking about. She probably had spent all day trying to get kids, who were all cracked out on Christmas cookies and soda, into nice clothes to shuttle them from house to house visiting family. Watching kids around Santa reminds you a bit of watching junkies. The crazed eyes and jerky movements, they could be easily confused with meth heads.
You try to recall that feeling you had. I remember, but it's impossible to recreate those feelings again.
We watched a Christmas Story about 10,592 times. That movie never gets old. "What does mommy's little piggy do?" Then there's the onslaught of claymation. That stuff is cool. You knew it was getting close to presents from the fat man when the Rudolph claymation came on.
I was always totally psyched by all the Christmas decorations in the house. In my 6 year old brain it was a winter wonderland. I used to love driving around looking at all the houses with lights. (This was pre-lazy man decorating. You couldn't just plug in a giant snow globe and call your house decorated. It involved ladders and lights and at least a few close brushes with death to make your house look good.)
That feeling you would get on Christmas eve, there's nothing like it - all you wanted to do was fall asleep so you could wake up but you were so hopped up on Christmas cookies and soda that falling asleep seemed impossible. The best was sneaking downstairs in the morning to check out the tree just to make sure you actually got gifts. The best gift ever was the Barbie Dream House. It was fully assembled under the tree that morning, I don't think I was ever so excited.
Then there was the post present opening delirium. You couldn't even decide what to play with first. So we would just sit there and organize the loot in a futile attempt to make sense of the mess.
When I got older it was a nice time to see all my friends. When we were in college we would all meet on Christmas eve at my friend's house to help her mom wrap presents. She would bribe us with bottles of champagne and we would hang out for hours.
These days there doesn't seem to be much to say about the holidays. They're a bit of a pain in the rear. Sure it's nice to see friends and family. It's great to have a week off work. But shopping for gifts is tough when everyone in our family is at the point where no one needs anything. I boycotted shopping at the mall a few years ago after an unfortunate incident over a parking space. I took my business online. This has been pretty successful but I got lazy this year and waited too long. Perhaps that's why I'm such a Grinch this year, I spent time in the mall yesterday. It was horrifying. This year my sister and I (and respective spouses) decided that we weren't going to exchange gifts but instead come up with an activity the four of us could do together. The only catch, it has to be something that costs less than $30 per person. Sure, there are plenty of things you can do for $30 bucks but there is some creative competition here so you can't just get movie tickets and call it a day. I won't talk about our gift yet on the off chance that they read this before tomorrow morning.
My mother, the church lady, would argue that Christmas is about celebrating the birth of our Lord, but from where I stand it seems more about eating cookies and tolerating your neighbor's bad taste in lawn ornamentation. This is why I'm a huge fan of Thanksgiving. It's a no-strings-attached holiday - eat some turkey, hang out, fall asleep, life is good. Christmas seems too high stress with little reward. Perhaps that will be my excuse to have a few kids, so I can enjoy the fun Christmas stuff again. Do you think they'll be damaged goods when they realize I gave birth so I could watch Charlie Brown's Christmas again?
I leave you with the Mommom quote of the day...
Dad: Mom, I'm going to paint that cane for you.
(Perhaps you recall my earlier post about the sawed off snow shovel with a rubber stopper on the end that she's using as a cane these days?)
Mommom: No you will not, it's fine the way it is. It's nice now and if you paint it I can't take it to a restaurant anymore.
(Yes, I frequently see people trolling around the Max & Erma's with a sawed off shovel...makes perfect sense.)
I started thinking about how much cooler Christmas was when I was younger. People say it's sort of fun again once you have kids. My cousin's wife came to dinner tonight and said to me, "don't do it". I knew exactly what she was talking about. She probably had spent all day trying to get kids, who were all cracked out on Christmas cookies and soda, into nice clothes to shuttle them from house to house visiting family. Watching kids around Santa reminds you a bit of watching junkies. The crazed eyes and jerky movements, they could be easily confused with meth heads.
You try to recall that feeling you had. I remember, but it's impossible to recreate those feelings again.
We watched a Christmas Story about 10,592 times. That movie never gets old. "What does mommy's little piggy do?" Then there's the onslaught of claymation. That stuff is cool. You knew it was getting close to presents from the fat man when the Rudolph claymation came on.
I was always totally psyched by all the Christmas decorations in the house. In my 6 year old brain it was a winter wonderland. I used to love driving around looking at all the houses with lights. (This was pre-lazy man decorating. You couldn't just plug in a giant snow globe and call your house decorated. It involved ladders and lights and at least a few close brushes with death to make your house look good.)
That feeling you would get on Christmas eve, there's nothing like it - all you wanted to do was fall asleep so you could wake up but you were so hopped up on Christmas cookies and soda that falling asleep seemed impossible. The best was sneaking downstairs in the morning to check out the tree just to make sure you actually got gifts. The best gift ever was the Barbie Dream House. It was fully assembled under the tree that morning, I don't think I was ever so excited.
Then there was the post present opening delirium. You couldn't even decide what to play with first. So we would just sit there and organize the loot in a futile attempt to make sense of the mess.
When I got older it was a nice time to see all my friends. When we were in college we would all meet on Christmas eve at my friend's house to help her mom wrap presents. She would bribe us with bottles of champagne and we would hang out for hours.
These days there doesn't seem to be much to say about the holidays. They're a bit of a pain in the rear. Sure it's nice to see friends and family. It's great to have a week off work. But shopping for gifts is tough when everyone in our family is at the point where no one needs anything. I boycotted shopping at the mall a few years ago after an unfortunate incident over a parking space. I took my business online. This has been pretty successful but I got lazy this year and waited too long. Perhaps that's why I'm such a Grinch this year, I spent time in the mall yesterday. It was horrifying. This year my sister and I (and respective spouses) decided that we weren't going to exchange gifts but instead come up with an activity the four of us could do together. The only catch, it has to be something that costs less than $30 per person. Sure, there are plenty of things you can do for $30 bucks but there is some creative competition here so you can't just get movie tickets and call it a day. I won't talk about our gift yet on the off chance that they read this before tomorrow morning.
My mother, the church lady, would argue that Christmas is about celebrating the birth of our Lord, but from where I stand it seems more about eating cookies and tolerating your neighbor's bad taste in lawn ornamentation. This is why I'm a huge fan of Thanksgiving. It's a no-strings-attached holiday - eat some turkey, hang out, fall asleep, life is good. Christmas seems too high stress with little reward. Perhaps that will be my excuse to have a few kids, so I can enjoy the fun Christmas stuff again. Do you think they'll be damaged goods when they realize I gave birth so I could watch Charlie Brown's Christmas again?
I leave you with the Mommom quote of the day...
Dad: Mom, I'm going to paint that cane for you.
(Perhaps you recall my earlier post about the sawed off snow shovel with a rubber stopper on the end that she's using as a cane these days?)
Mommom: No you will not, it's fine the way it is. It's nice now and if you paint it I can't take it to a restaurant anymore.
(Yes, I frequently see people trolling around the Max & Erma's with a sawed off shovel...makes perfect sense.)
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