A Winter Memory

Found this in my documents - an essay I'd written in January 2001, before blogging, even THEN I was talking.

We have a snow day. Six to nine inches of snow is predicted. It’s likely freezing rain will come on it's heels and compact the snow back into the rock-hard, dangerous mass of immovable frustration that it was until just yesterday. Yesterday my trusty ice chopper and I finally removed the last stubborn strip of the stuff from the driveway and porch. It's become my hobby. If there were a USA Olympic Driveway Ice Removal team, I would be the captain and be on a Wheaties box.

The local radio station announced at 6:30am that school was called off. In what can only be described as a complete lapse of mental functioning, I thought "won't that be fun to have the kids home for a snow day!" I bounded happily into their room to tell them. They leaped joyously out of their beds, hugged me, hugged each other, hugged the baby, hugged the dog. We don’t have a dog, which demonstrates their level of elation. I cheerfully skipped downstairs to make a yummy breakfast of eggs, toast, and bacon while popping some pumpkin bread in the oven.

Then everything went straight downhill.

While making eggs & pumpkin bread I thought "I'll bet our toddler would enjoy squeezing all these egg shells". She enjoyed it immensely. I soon discovered that just enough egg white remains on the shell, sticks to the floor, and makes it impervious to a broom. It also causes every little tiny piece of shell to adhere to feet so they can travel to multiple other parts of the house. Did I mention a lapse in mental functioning?

The older children wasted no time and began fighting, slapping, and whining and cooked up a heady argument by 8am. I sent them outside. The toddler followed me around the house with her snow pants in hand whining to go out. "We can go outside just as soon as that pumpkin bread is done" was my lame response. Do you know how long pumpkin bread takes to cook when a crying, frustrated toddler is waiting?

Meanwhile, the older ones came back inside and begged me to play cards with them, play chutes & ladders (I hate that game), put in a movie, start the computer, get out the watercolor paints, make a cake, invite a friend over, take us to the Minnesota Zoo, go to the video store, take us to the bakery, how many days until we go to the Wisconsin Dells?, sharpen these colored pencils, How come I have to use scratch paper? Why can't I use paper from your printer?, How come you never take us anywhere?, put in my pigtails, watch this! watch this! no, wait, that wasn't right, Ok, NOW watch!, make her quit touching me, get me some ice water, can I cut the pumpkin bread?, make new play-dough, fix the hole in my jeans, Sister said she was going to stab me with a colored pencil, Why can't I cut the pumpkin bread?, play this card game I invented, teach me to sew, Sister was gonna stab me so I poked her in the eye, etc.

Twelve hours later when the pumpkin bread was done, I spent another 25 minutes dressing the toddler to go outside. She took a long hard look at the snowdrifts and started wailing "inside! inside!" The older ones took her in hand and I started up the snow thrower. No matter which way I pointed the chute, most of the stuff flew back in my face. My neighbor has one that throws the snow to South Dakota, mine manages a modest 6 inches or so. So every pass takes longer & longer because the snow you just plowed is now piled heavily in the next row.

The toddler cried to go in the backyard, so I started a path, and told her to follow. The protesting was amazing. Turns out she wanted me to carry her. Maybe I'm a bad mother but I refuse to carry a twenty-six-pound toddler wrapped like the Michelin Man through waist-high drifts just for amusement. Perhaps to make it back to the dugout after feeding the livestock in an 1890 blizzard, but not for mere fun. I finally persuaded her to go out the back door of the garage. There she found a wonderful puddle of thick lint from the dryer vent to stomp in. I was so happy to see her occupied.

Later the toddler fell into a blissful nap, and the older kids set off to play in the neighbors yard. I hope some other Mom volunteers to do hot chocolate duty. What I should have done this morning was immediately taken two extra-strength Tylenol and added Kahlua to my coffee. I'll have to remember that on our next snow day.

I get annoyed

Generally I like people, except out in public.

Why can't people figure out how to move in public places?

At somewhat crowded malls, or sporting venues, there is a flow. A flow moving into a seating area. A flow moving toward the concessions, a flow going up the stairs. And most decent folks understand the "driving on the right" idea works really well with foot traffic too.

But there's always those people who will stop right at the top of the stairs to scope out their next move. Or they'll stop ALL flow to talk to their kids. Please people, as on the highway, move over to the shoulder to take care of business. Or next time I'm going to plow into you full speed and knock your Mt. Dew out of your hand. And everyone behind me will applaud.

And some common folks just need a slap on the head.

At sporting events, like my daughter's volleyball tournament last weekend, there are precious few seats to watch the action. Generally most reasonable adults at these things understand this, and as soon as their darling's game is over, they vacate those places and let the next bunch of trapped parents in. And the exchange goes on. We're all in this together.

Last weekend a group of parents, and their kids, immediately grabbed the entire section, chairs and all, and plopped down all their gear, their coolers, their coats, their blankets, etc. Even though 4 other teams were playing and spectating on the same court. No one else had a chance. Most of us were left standing. At one point I'd had enough, and I moved their gear and gave myself a seat while my daughter played. If I made them mad, GOOD. It was a local team, but I won't say the town's name except that it rhymes with Chutchinson.

And I can talk in a catty way about hair for a minute?

Hey, other Mom's, remember when we were kids in the 60's and 70's and we laughed at all those weird old women still wearing beehive hairdos? Well, you and your bleached poodle perms and mall bangs have become those weird old women that kids laugh at. Your "do" may have been bitchin' in 1983 but it's well past its prime. You're probably a reasonably good looking 40-something woman under all that mess. So honey, get a good cut & color and lay off the tanning.

But could you please get out of my way, and move your tie-edged polar fleece Packers blanket so I can watch my kid play?

Thank you.

Olympics!

I love the Olympics - always have. I can't wait to clean up dinner and find a comfy spot on the couch for another evening of athletic excitement. We all sit and marvel at their bravery and remark how there isn't enough money in the world to get me to try speed skiing. I'd have a panic attack just standing at the top, let alone actually leaving the gate with skids on my feet. How do they do that without wetting their pants the entire trip down?

I would need to be greeted at the bottom with a straight jacket and Thorazine on IV.

Dr. Monkey has a really great summary of the Olympics here. In many ways, I echo his feelings.

I always cry with them too. Anyone else cry with Lindsey Vonn Tuesday night? Maybe it's because she's from my area. Or maybe it's just cuz I'm a big sap.

The coverage is lacking though. I remember plenty of personal stories in the 70's and 80's about athletes from around the world. We'd get caught up in the story of the Norwegian skier, the Chinese skater, the Russian luge guy. But now it's ALL AMERICA ALL THE TIME. And hello American fans, I think it's rude to chant USA! USA! when you are visiting another country. We aren't that much to cheer about right now, just sayin.

I'm hearing that CNBC and Canadian channels have better coverage, but sadly I get neither.

I've been singing "Shani, like a melody in my head . . . . " and it drives my kids nuts.

Score one for Mom!

Why don't the ice skaters wear uniforms? Personally I think figure skating is probably the most demanding sport in the winter Olympics. Ever tried to just skate a few laps? It's slap out exhausting. The fact that they make it look like butter is a testament to their skill. But all those sequins, feathers, netting, makeup, hair jewels, and pastels are distracting. And that's just the men! Any sport that involves costuming causes me serious mental pause.

What's better than SWAG?

There should be a graphic here but

blogspot isn't cooperating tonight.

I got a fabulous package of swag from my good friend Dr. Monkey! Can't tell you how an old-fashioned piece of personal snail-mail just lights up my day. THANK YOU Dr. Monkey.

First he sent me a book that's been on my "to-read" list: The Girl from Botany Bay, by Carolly Erickson. How did he know? I tell you that Dr. Monkey is a medical genius. This story will get anyone over their whining.

He also sent a CD I'm now addicted to - Normal as Blueberry Pie - Nellie McKay. My fav is a haunting version of an old cheesy Doris Day song The Black Hills of Dakota.

I owe that simian some good Minnesota swag, as soon as I find some!

So far, so good

So, here's what happened.

Apparently I had a virus called Anti-virus 2010. Some shitty programmer with nothing else to do but ruin folks' lives invented an insidious little program. It's a pop-up window, and when you hit CLOSE, it begins installation. THEN it overrides all your anti-virus and malware software. THEN it attaches itself to Google, and jumps into place trying to sell you bogus anti-virus software. Evidently, it will extricate itself after you buy his worthless product. In my book, that's called extortion.

I've instructed my kids to just close any pop ups, but that's no longer good advice. Now you have to go to the windows task manager and end the task.

So I hauled my CPU to my friend Scott Johnson at 2nd Chance Technology in Decorah, Iowa. scotterikjohnson@gmail.com. After about a day's notice, I dropped it off with him at 8pm and picked it up at 6am the next morning. He cleaned everything out and now I'm back in business. This guys ROCKS!!! And it's a long story why I was in Northeast Iowa, and not home in Minnesota.

But here's the weird thing - I can't seem to comment on anyone's blog!! Even though I'm signed in.

Am I Really Back?

Being exiled from Google was like a banishment. I think I'm back - at least for now.

More later.

Baffled

Hi folks, I'm still here. Posting at work which is a big no-no.
My home computer won't communicate with google - don't ask me why. I've tried everything. And without google connectivity, I can't access my blog either. So you'll have to live without me until I get this resolved.

PLEASE DON'T LEAVE ME!!!

I'll be back!