Happy Mother's Day, Wifers!

I'm one of those people who never really thought much about having kids.  I didn't particularly enjoy babysitting, nor was I that great at it (but I did like babysitting you, Jason and Little Julie!) and I didn't really aspire to be a mother at any point until I was pregnant with Oldest Daughter.  Honestly, that was kind of an oops after a night of drunken ribaldry with Current Husband, just before our first anniversary, but I sort of rolled with the punches.  And then she was born, and DAMN.  She was pretty cute.  And I loved holding her and taking pictures of her, and I GOT it.  I went on to be a mother of three, plus a sweet baby we would've called Adelaide that I miscarried, and even though I don't know how GOOD I am at it, I really get a kick out of my kids.  They are smart and funny and interesting people, sometimes in spite of me, and I am so incredibly blessed every day to have them in my life.  Even when I'm yelling at them for being late or not telling me about an event at school or not doing their homework, I still know.

My people.  First two rows. 

Always a fun ride.

Today was just awesome - I slept in shamefully late, and got gifts from my peeps:  A fleece sock monkey blanket from OD that she made herself, a free and complete cleaning of my office from The Son (which I desperately needed), and a metal Bloggess-like rooster from Youngest Daughter, and a Starbucks gift card from CH.  Best gifts ever.  CH took us all out for breakfast.  We came home and they helped clean the house for an hour, and then they let me direct all of them in gardening and yard work and fetched a few Blue Moons for me.  Our neighbors had us over for an awesomely delicious and fun meal, and then, there was pie.

Absolute bliss.

Who knew when I was 23 that this would be the type of perfect day I would crave, but so it is.

Happy Mother's Day, I hope your day was fantastic, whether you are a mother or you just have a great one!

If There's A Will.....

As part of my ongoing "Drive 100,000 Miles In My Own City" program, I picked Youngest Daughter up from a friend's house the other day to get her home and take Oldest Daughter to her next destination.  As I was driving down the street, an old Cadillac pulled out in front of me, and proceeded to drive about 10 mph. 

I don't want to tailgate.  I really don't.  But DAMN IT ALL if I don't have a schedule to keep, and if we are all following the speed limit it will make things so much easier.  I'm getting frustrated with the Caddy when they drift left into an imaginary turn lane in the middle of the two lane street.  Yay!  They are turning left!  OH SHIT!  BOO!!!  They are actually turning right into a driveway by swinging their big ass Caddy into the middle of the street first, with NO EFFING TURN SIGNAL, and right in front of me!  I hit the brakes, all was well.

YD:  "Mom, did you almost hit that car?"
ME:  "Yes.  And this is why when you drive you should ALWAYS use your turn signals!"
YD:  "I'm glad you didn't hit that car."
ME:  "Me too!"
YD:  (contemplative) "I mean, I don't even have a will, and I have $28 and a
        bunch of dolls that I will need to leave to people."
ME:  (shocked) "Did you say a will?"
YD:  "Yeah.  Those things that tell people when you die who gets what."
ME:  "Maybe you should write it down and get it notarized."
YD:  "What's notarized?"
ME:  "It's when someone has been trained by the government to know how to decide if a document has really been signed by the person who is listed as signing it.  And you have witnesses too, like some of your friends who can verify that you said what you did."
YD:  "I'm not sure which friends I would have sign it..."
ME:  "You'll want to be careful about that, because if they find out they're getting your Lalaloopsy dolls they might push you in front of a car."
YD:  "You know, I'm too young to be worrying about these things."
ME:  "Agreed."

I wonder who is getting the $28....

I'm Sorry, 1034 Hall Street

Can you believe Christmas is this weekend?  I. Can't. Wait.  Excited kids and good food and elastic waistband pants and sleeping in and staying up late and wine.  Yippee!

Like us, many of you might have celebrated some kind of Christmas last weekend.  The Son had a basketball tournament, so Current Husband's Dad and Stepmom and younger sister came down for the day to see it and have our Christmas.

The Son's first game was at 8:30.  Thrilled that I had to wait for CH's Dad to arrive, and thus could sleep a little later, I missed out on the first game.  They were supposed to arrive around 8:30 a.m., but that came and went and no Dad.  It was inching toward 9 a.m. when the phone rang - it was CH's stepmom, wanting Youngest Daughter to stand in the yard so they could remember where we live.  We moved a year ago, and they've been here once, but their Garmin was still programmed for the old house, which is about three blocks away.  The Stepmom was laughing so hard I could barely understand her; she said they had something to tell us.

They pulled up in front and walked in the house.  It turns out that CH's Dad really had to use the bathroom, but they were so close he figured he could wait.  By the time they pulled up to our house, he REALLY had to go, so he jumped out of the car, ran to the door, and rang the doorbell repeatedly.  He started yelling, "C'MON JULIE, OPEN UP, I REALLY HAVE TO GO!"  Then he gave up on my getting to the door on time and....

Oh Dear Lord.  He peed in the back yard. 

Just in time to figure out
that it wasn't our house.

They jumped back in the car and took off down the street, where they saw Youngest Daughter, turning blue and jumping up and down.  They came in the house, where The Dad told me his story, and pointed out that, according to the front of his jeans, he didn't even completely make it to the back yard.

People of 1034 Hall Street:
Let me take this opportunity to apologize.  I know it wasn't a pretty sight to look out of your kitchen window, take that first sip of coffee, and see a strange man pissing in your yard, but his prostrate is weak, as is his willpower to turn down pots full of coffee when driving three hours.  He means well.  And if, by chance, he happened to say our last name or address while wetting himself on your front step or back yard, please stop by and pick up your complimentary bottle of Gruet.

You Deserve It.

My Weekly Blog Post

I'm pretty sure if I keep up this level of productivity vis a vis the blog I am going to have to change the name to "A Week in the Wife", which not only gets away from the whole Beatles reference, but frankly sounds a little stagnant.  Nothing should spend a week in the wife.  Nothing.

I have a lot to cover.  First, lest I forget, I have two strong recommendations to pass along.  I just finished the book "The First Husband" by Laura Dave.

But you can't Click to Look Inside! because I am a vicious tease. 

But you CAN click here.

I cannot stop listening to the new Band of Skulls CD, particularly the track "Fires".  It's pretty White Stripey at the beginning, which is fine, but then they get more into their own stuff, which is good.

I attended a hooker convention in Nebraska last week, which was informative and entertaining, mostly because I spent two nights at my parents' cabin on the Elkhorn River.  You may recall that Mom broke her pelvis.  And I brought her puppy, aka The GD Dog, home for the month.  It was time to return The GD Dog to her rightful owner.  But since no visit with my family can go without a Deliveranace moment, I bring you what I now refer to as "The Reason I Won't Eat Beef Stew Again".

Let me preface this story with a few facts:

• My Auntie was visiting from Colorado, whom I haven't seen for a few years, so it was nice we could share this special moment. 
• Auntie was sleeping downstairs at the cabin, and I had the upstairs room to myself because it has these crazy submarine steps that are impossible to navigate.
• The cabin exactly fits the bill for a summertime retreat, except that the plumbing is marginal.  Very marginal.

I woke up the morning of the Hooker Convention, and navigated my way downstairs to brush my teeth.  Mom and Dad were gone because they took The GD Dog to get her spayed at 7 a.m.  I walked in the bathroom, and something was WRONG.  VERY VERY WRONG.  On  the floor, there was a suspicious brown pool of water.  By the toilet.  Oh Dear God No.  I opened the lid to the toilet, and sure enough, it was full to the brim with what looked like beef stew.  I became an instant vegetarian.

I will tell you that my family has a long and storied history with plugging toilets.  I don't know if it's something in our diets, or that we just need to buy places with better plumbing, but my people have plugged toilets at restaurants, funerals, and weddings.  Hand to God, it's true.  The toilets at this cabin are so bad that I won't let the kids eat fruit for days before we go, and I stop at a McDonald's just before the cabin and make all of the kids go to the bathroom, saying, "If you can't poop now, you might not get another chance until Sunday."

SO.  I see The Stew.  Apparently, I make a small moaning sound.  Auntie wakes up in the other room.  

AUNTIE:  "What!?!  What is going on!?!"
ME:  "Do NOT come in here."
AUNTIE:  "Why.  What have they done."
ME:  "Someone has poor digestion and we are going to suffer."
AUNTIE:  "I'm coming in there."
ME:  "You'll never get this image out of your head, I'm warning you."
AUNTIE:  (Comes in)  "Oh God."
ME:  "I told you.  I can't just leave it.  I have to plunge."
AUNTIE:  "I have to pee.  What am I going to do?"
ME:  "I can tell you that you aren't peeing in here unless it's in the sink."
AUNTIE:  "I can't take it.  I'm going in the yard."

And so she left and apparently peed in the yard.  I tried plunging and flushing.  I won't paint a picture for you, but let me just say that gallons of water and old towels with Welcome Friends-type geese on them died for my efforts.  I had to leave for my hooker show, so I scrubbed down with hydrochloric acid and hand sanitizer and prayer and made my way to the show.

Two hours later, Auntie and my mother walk into the hooker convention hall.

AUNTIE:  "Arrival from Shitsville!" she announces.
MOM:  "Your dad got Drano and some chemical that is hazardous and thought we should leave."
AUNTIE:  "The label on the chemical had a skull and crossbones and said DO NOT USE IN TOILETS OR IN COMBINATION WITH OTHER CHEMICALS so your dad thought we'd be safer here.  And they have working bathrooms."
MOM:  "But your dad took off in the middle of the morning without telling us, and we both had to go to the bathroom, so we had to use the outhouse."

(OH.  Did I mention that my parents' super-deluxe cabin comes outfitted with an outhouse behind the garage?  One with lighting and tile flooring?  Could this have maybe been the tip-off that the plumbing in the house isn't so good?  Auntie was not aware of this feature when she peed in the yard.  I didn't tell her, because our function in life is to entertain the neighbors.)

They soon left, bored with the hookers and their multiple bathroom trips over, and I made sure to use the bathroom before I left the hooker convention.  My friend Meem from high school brought a Starbucks Salted Caramel Mocha to me at the hooker event in the morning because she loves me, and I made sure to glug that down immediately so I wouldn't suffer the effects hours later when stuck in Shitsville.  When I arrived at the cabin, Dad told me he had fixed all of the plumbing issues and everyone was safe and that the hazardous chemical was not used, but I didn't go within 10 feet of that bathroom before I left.  I would rather pee in the yard.  I ate broth when I felt faint and that was it.

Auntie tells Dad how she feels about the bathrooms.

I'm sorry for traumatizing you people, but I think we can all agree that if there is one thing I will never do on this blog, it is to sugar-coat the facts.  I might embellish a million little pieces, but I won't sugar-coat.  Unless it is something I'm eating.  But NOT before I visit the cabin.

The Mystery of the Broken Pelvis

I was so obsessed with YD's ice cream the other day that I didn't even bother to put a Nancy Drew reference up.  Total slacker.  So that post is now "The Case of the Missing Nancy Drew Reference."

I actually thought about our favorite ginger bitch yesterday, because I got a call on my cell phone at work from my sister in Nebraska, who was driving to my mom's house because she got a call on her cell from my dad in Texas, who got a call on his cell phone from my mom, who had just tripped over a dog leash holder in her yard and broke her pelvis. 

Youngest Daughter and I are reading "The Bungalow Mystery", and in it, Nancy and her friend Helen Corning, who is engaged to Jim, were in a small boat when a storm hit and their boat crashed into some rocks and they went in the drink and had to kick off their sensible shoes and swim in their dresses to the shore, and then find help.  I was thinking about how resourceful you needed to be before cell phones.  Instead of blowing up Carson Drew or Mother Figure Housekeeper Hannah Gruen's respective cells, Nancy had to hike around and then break into a bungalow for hot chocolate and blankets and then take Helen Corning home (so she could write a letter to Jim about the incident) and drive home before anyone knew she almost died.  Whoa.

So.  Yesterday.  My mom broke her pelvis and it is extremely painful and of course I am terribly worried about her.  But in my family of origin, you deal with a crisis in one of three ways:

1. Get into a yelling match with another family member.
2. Drink heavily.
3. Make inappropriate jokes.

I usually go with #3, followed by #2, then #1.  Dad usually starts with #2, then #1, then #3. It's unfortunate, but something my family accepts about ourselves.  In the spirit of #3, allow me to recap yesterday's communications with my family.

THE SCENE:  Julie in Iowa, Natalie in Nebraska with Mom, Dad in Texas.  You should know that my parents are married, but occasionally live in different states.  It's for the best, really.

My cell phone rings at work.  I answer.
ME:  Hi!
NATALIE:  Hi.   Mom fell and probably broke something.  I'm driving over there now.
ME:  Did she call you?
NATALIE:  No.  She dragged herself into the house, and called Dad on his cell phone.  Then Dad called me on my cell phone, and then I called 911 and am driving over there now.
ME:  Why did she call Dad first?  He's in Texas!
NATALIE:  I'm not sure.  And I don't exactly know the address out there (it's a cabin on a river in the boonies) so I'm meeting the ambulance to lead them in.
ME:  Well don't call Dad to call Mom to call you to call me when you find out some info.  Call me directly.
NATALIE:  Okay.  911 hung up on me.  I think I made them mad.  Or they know Dad.
ME: Keep me updated.

*call ends*
(I'm guessing they know Dad.)

phone rings 20 minutes later
ME:  Hi.
NATALIE:  Okay, so I walk in the house, and all I see are her tennis shoes and the ends of her jeans on the floor. 
ME:  Oh my God.  Like the witch in The Wizard of Oz under the house?
NATALIE:  Yes.  And then I walk around the corner and she is curled on her side, smoking like crazy.
ME:  How did she get to her cigarettes?
NATALIE:  I'm guessing she dragged herself in the house, got her smokes, then called Dad.
ME:  Because she has priorities.  And she knew she couldn't smoke in the ambulance or the hospital, so she was smoking what was left in the pack as fast as she could?
NATALIE:  Exactly.
ME:  Okay, call me back from the hospital.
*call ends*

I call my Dad.
DAD:  What.
ME:  So what happened?
DAD:  She let out that Goddamned Dog and then tripped over the spike the leash is hooked on.
ME:  So it wasn't actually the dog.
DAD:  I knew that Goddamned Dog would break her hip.
ME:  But it's her pelvis.  And it wasn't the dog.
DAD:  I'm getting rid of that Goddamned Dog.
ME:  What is your plan?
DAD:  I guess I'm going to drive up there and get the Goddamned Dog and bring her back here. 
ME:  I meant regarding Mom.
DAD:  Well, I'm going to see if they can give her as much pain medication as possible, have them put a catheter in her, and put her in the back of the car to drive back to Texas.
*pause while I let this horrible plan sink in*
ME:  Um, Dad, I don't think they will release her with a broken pelvis to take a 20-hour car trip.
DAD:  Plus I will have to have that Goddamed Dog in the car. 
ME:  But I think it will be bad for her to take a 20-hour car trip with a BROKEN PELVIS.
DAD:  Someone has to take care of her, and I can't stay in Omaha for 4 weeks.
ME:  We'll figure something out.
DAD:  That Goddamned Dog.
Dad hangs up.

TEXT EXCHANGE WITH MY SISTER
ME:  Coming on Friday. Will take GD dog back with me.
NATALIE:  I go to Vegas Sat a.m. for work, can't change it. Dad says he's taking GD dog to kennel. He's pissed and told me to shoot her.
ME:  Who?
NATALIE:  The dog, not mom.
ME:  You never know.  Did u know he wants to fill her w/painkillers, catheter, drive her back to TX?
NATALIE:  Who?
ME:  Mom, not the dog.
NATALIE:  He always has great ideas.  Mom wants him to stay in TX.
ME:  He's probably already to Dallas.  Restraining order?
NATALIE:  Mom would have to file it.
ME:  Shit.
*end*

I'm pretty sure Nancy Drew would not have these issues with Carson Drew.  Mom is okay, but in pain.  They can't do surgery or a brace or screws or any of that, we are on the painkillers and patience program.  I am driving to Nebraska on Friday, because I am totally out of vacation at work, and I'm spending the weekend with her to convince her that staying in a Skilled Care Facility for one week does not mean we are having her committed.  I'm calling it "The Elvis Presley Resort and Spa for Pelvis Rehabilitation."    I keep saying, "Mom, if I had a broken pelvis, and someone offered to cook and clean for me in a place where I have the remote and can read books all day, I would totally take it.  Plus, you should take a deck of cards.  You could make a killing over there.  Probably pay for your whole hospital stay."

So far, she is not buying what I'm selling.  Wish me luck!