Wednesday, July 23, 2008

Keep your effin' kids outta the street

Okay, I have 86 things I should be doing besides bitching on my blog, but there is something bothering me and I just need to whine.

Want to know what it shwas? I'll tell you. It's those stoopid dumb "Watch Out for My Kids Playing Where They Don't Belong" signs that people put in the street.

People! Watch your own kids! I'm so tired of driving down my own block, minding the traffic rules set forth by my city, and the ones generated by common sense, and happening upon one of these signs.

Now, I live in the suburbs, on a winding, tree-lined street by a lake. It is common knowledge that this sort of neighborhood usually is home to many young children.

Is there anybody who loves children more than I love children? I think not. I adore the little boogers, and if I ever ran over one with my car, there's no chance that I'd ever be able to stop crying for the rest of my life, regardless of whether the accident was caused my my negligence or somebody else's. I want children to have safe places to play and frolic and chase after balls and ride bikes and roller skate and shoot baskets and giggle and squeal and run in the sprinkler and swim and laugh.

These places are called parks, yards, driveways, beaches, pools, and recreation centers. NOT city streets.

Our city has beautiful parks and beaches. We have a YMCA. We have lovely, safe, car-free areas in which our citizens of all ages can freely and happily go about the business of play.

Streets are for cars. Streets are for driving. Streets are not for "kids at play."

I managed to keep my kids out of the street while they were going up, and I don't see why people think it's not their responsibility to keep their own kids out of the street.

Come to think of it, I think I'm going to make one that says, "Suburban, Middle-Aged Housewife at Play" and then take a lawn chair out there with a glass of iced tea and my knitting.

Tuesday, July 22, 2008

Hey, remember that time you slithered out of my vagina?

That's what I keep asking Rose, much to her dismay, because exactly 22 years ago today, Rose did, indeed, slither out of my vagina.

22 years! When Rose was born, I was 22. My daughter is now the age that I was when she was born. She is exactly half as old as I am. I am twice her age. Boggles the mind.

As much as I loved having that slithery, mashed-up, bruised and battered baby, then that wiseass little toddler/preschooler who was so stubborn she broke the wood frame of her bedroom door to get out of time out, then that first grader who hated "that Becky" and the middle schooler who made white-kid Snoop Dog videos, and the high school speech geek, I have to say I like 22-year-old adult Rose even better (most days). 22-year-old Rose is fun, smart, and sweet, and sometimes we even manage to have a conversation between rounds of Guitar Hero. She's very very good at that, too.

Happy Birthday my sweet little Wugglesby B. Bear. Your mama adores you.

Tuesday July 22, 2008

Hair, dresses, dancing, tequila, and other grownup prom festivities

Well, here they are, as promised, the photos from Claire's prom party. There were too many, so I put them in a little slideshow. Enjoy (or skip it, as you see fit)! Click here for raucous entertainment.

Friday, July 18, 2008

Back from the Grownup Lady Bizness Trip

I got back last night, just in time to go to Kelly's double-header. I'll have a post up soon, and it will be a post about a party, a party so spectacular that we were required to wear prom attire, and prom hair. There will be photos, and there will be movies. Meanwhile, here is what I learned at the trade show I went to:

People who own Christian bookstores have mirrors that do not give them an accurate reflection of what they look like in red pants.

Google Images is powered by God. When he wants you to see a particular photo, he puts it in your search results.

It is possible to be so busy and so tired that you never once, in the four nights you're there, turn on the TV in your hotel room.

Space issues may very well lead two lady authors to push and shove each other until somebody gets between them.

Chinese printers are very bold when they see something they would like to copy, and have no shame in coming by to try to photograph it, or asking if they can have one.

Orlando air goes beyond "humid" and is just pure "wet."

You can buy fabulous prizes for your booth drawing at Walgreen's, at midnight.

Twitter is a real link to the real world.

I am going to the Mill City Farmer's Market in the morning, and will try to post the photos from the very good party after that, while munching on locally grown organic produce.

Sunday, July 13, 2008

Wow. I suck at blogging.

Okay, but I have a good excuse for the suckage this time, and it's the same excuse I use every time I go a long time between posts. Life gets busy sometimes.

I have lots of stuff to blog about, but no time to do it, because I have to jump in the shower so I can get to the airport in time for my grown up lady business trip to Orlando. I'll be there until Thursday, but when I get back, remind me to tell you about:

That time my hard drive crashed and I was right in the middle of finishing up the new website that absolutely positively had to be finished before my trip. That time was yesterday.

The fabulously efficient and genius Mac Guy who fixed it. If any of your Mac stuff starts to make you cry, and you need to have that Mac repaired, and you happen to live in or near the Twin Cities of Minneapolis/St. Paul Minnesota, call Bob Grant at (612) 534-5829. Not only will he fix your stuff, recover your data, and help you stop with all the crying already, he will explain everything thoroughly. Incredibly thoroughly. And you will be entertained, and you will forever after back up all your shit more than once every three months, which you have known all along is what you NEED to do, dumbass.

Brunch at Crema Cafe, where they use all local organic stuff to make your breakfast, but they wash off any bugs and worms before they feed it to you. See, y'all can keep your organic produce. I like my vegetables sprayed with a little sumpthin'-sumpthin' that'll kill any creatures that might be tempted to take up residence on my food, thank you very much. But Crema Cafe was delicious, and we got to see Wendy and Amelia and Riley there.

My scab. You might remember that I took a nasty fall on the evening of June 21, and tore up my elbow. By "tore up" I mean "skinned it like a four-year-old does every week and doesn't even cry." The scab has finally fallen off, after being watched and analyzed and poked by my family of scab-pickers, who tried without success to persuade me to scratch that baby off. I had threatened to put the scab in the pepper grinder when it unaffixed itself, but guess what? It came off without me knowing it, and now it's lost! Somewhere in this house lurks my scab, and I am going to find it. Scab 1.1 formed underneath, and is now drying nicely on my elbow.

The news that some cousins are coming for a weekend in August! Oh boy! I very love these particular cousins! They are of the giggle-until-you-choke variety, and we are going to camp at the campground in St. Peter, and enjoy some of Southern Minnesota's finer entertainment establishments. I think it's time to determine, once and for all, who has the best burger in St. Peter—Patrick's, Hermie's, or my dad's special camping stove.

How Kelly's ex-boyfriend, Jimmy emailed her new boyfriend, Scott and inquired as to how it was that Scott thought it appropriate to "move in on Kelly" when he, Jimmy, was thinking he might want to date her again, maybe. And also how Kelly is really sweet sometimes, but also at other times, she is crazy. And also, if you "take a break, or whatever, she will totally go out with some other guy." We had such a laugh, and in case Jimmy happens to read my blog (doubt it): Hey Jimmy! You're a nice enough kid (well, were), but I like Scott better, and so does Kelly!

A very very fun party in celebration of the 40th birthday of one Claire from New Ulm, a party for which there was a requirement that attendees wear prom attire. Preferably eighties prom attire. Rose and I spent about thirty minutes at Goodwill, putting together our outfits. It's sad that I have no time or means to show you a photo or twenty-seven, because you cannot even imagine the fabulosity. There were no paddle shots this time, but there were snorkle shots and also the patented NoodleShot™. Pictures will definitely follow. And stories, too, one of them about a vibrator.

So, that website I mentioned is live. It's up. Done. Finished, at least enough to get by until I get back. I took it live just before I started this newsly little post. I emailed my boss and asked him to take a look and make sure I didn't accidentally use the effenheimer in a headline, but anything else is going to have to wait. So the dilemma is, do I take a two-hour nap, or do I just stay up? What's going to make me less hideous to be around later?

Friday, July 4, 2008

The week in review, and Happy Fourth and stuff

I had a couple of light days where work is concerned, so I scrounged up my two favorite little kids (who aren't all that little anymore) to hang out at my house and amuse me with their antics.

Monday night, my brother and sister-in-law met me at the gas station in Jordan, where I heaved their duffle bags into the trunk while JohnHenry and Sophie hopped into the car, JH calling shotgun, which he automatically gets because he's the only one big enough to hold his own against a deployed airbag. I always enjoy the looks from strangers when we make the switch like this. I'm sure we look like a very friendly divorced family, me playing the role of the mom who shares custody with her ex-husband and his pleasant new wife. Someday when we do this, we should start swearing at each other and threatening to go back to court.

1 a.m. seems to be the typical bedtime when the little kids come to visit. I don't know why that is, really, other than trying to keep them awake as long as possible in order to get the maximum amusement quantity out of them. Monday night we stayed up playing Wii, which they had played a little bit at friends' houses, but here they had it to themselves. Turns out that JohnHenry is a heckuva a baseball player, while Sophie excels in boxing.

Tuesday morning we slugged around and played more Wii, after a delicious breakfast of unibrow french toast—Sophie always draws a syrup face on hers, with a syrup unibrow. I had a meeting, so Rose and Kelly and Kelly's brand new boyfriend, Scott, took the kids to Davanni's for lunch. Once there, JohnHenry welcomed Scott to the Family of Awkwardness with questions like, "So…are you guys gonna have your first kiss right here at Davanni's?"

After I finished that meeting and did just a teeny bit of work, we headed off to the zoo with my mom and dad, aka Grandma and Grandpa.

The Minnesota Zoo has a new exhibit of Russian Grizzly Bears, which was our first reason for visiting. Now, any other zoo bear I've ever seen has been a huge snooze, lying on a rock in the sun, or hiding behind some grass. The sun bear will pace a little bit, but that's about it, so I expected the same kind of lethargy from the Grizzlies. Well, it turns out that these particular grizzly bears are big giant goofball showoffs! Really, they're more like guys in bear suits than boring ol' bears. They swam around in the fake lake that is directly in front of the viewing area, so you can see their underwater antics as well as their land antics. They chase each other around. They climb trees. They wrestle. They growl, and their area has microphones, so we can hear them. Really, if you're within driving distance, head out to the Minnesota Zoo to see Russia's Grizzly Coast. It includes wild boars and sea otters, but the real draw is those wacky bears!

The zoo was extra fun with Sophie, because the night before we went, we had a long discussion with her about how our family had adopted her as a baby monkey, and raised her as a human child. We told her we were really pleased with our experiment, that she was almost everything we'd dreamed of in a human girl. She can read and write. She can dress herself. Sometimes she even bathes without fussing about it, which is unheard of in the primate community. So at the zoo, we kept asking her to translate what the animals were trying to communicate to us. Especially the monkeys.

The other zoo highlight (for me, anyway) is the Meerkat exhibit, because I love those meerkats! They seem to be smaller than the ones on Meerkat Manor, and it's sort of hard to know what they're up to without Stockard Channing anthropomorphizing their every move, but they are so entertaining! And check this out—you can send your nephew and monkey/niece through a tunnel and into the Meerkat's habitat, to give the little rodents an up-close-and-personal look!

From there we headed to Kelly's softball game, so here's a picture to make up for all the impressive shots I missed at the tournament last weekend.

After all my bragging from last weekend, Kelly's team lost this game. Unfortunate for her, because we keep losers locked in the basement without food or water until they decide to be winners, and because of the holiday, she won't have another chance until Tuesday.

Good heavens, this is long. I'm going to just summarize the rest in the blogging style of Rosie O'Donnell:

we r we, these kids and me
salon only hair deep
hot dogs, burgers, picnic
heaving apples into the lake
One Demented Tooth, pushed out of the way by bigger, badder, bully tooth
will not budge
Instead, stays put and opens tiny Barbie pop bottles
This is my yellow

Thursday, July 3, 2008

Watermelon has Viagra-like effects

I was skeptical of the news that eating watermelon in large quantities can open your blood vessels and give you a four-hour erection, but I'm here to tell you, it's absolutely true!

I'm so glad to know where all those mystery boners originated. I've been baffled by them for years!

Thursday, July 3, 2008

Make fingers longer! Make look so better!

I just found this ad as I was paging through the latest version of SuperDuperShopperCouponDealzSav'r to grace the inside of my mailbox this week. As you can see, it's a perfect example of why knowing the mechanics of using Photoshop does not necessarily make you somebody who should use it.

Wednesday, July 2, 2008

Hoooo boy, do I appreciate having health insurance

Monday, June 30, 2008

Winnahs and Losahs

The littlest kid around here has suddenly become a good softball player! Kelly's team won the mid-season tournament over the weekend, and they did it without losing a single game. She played a mean second base.

Such a huge event, and I had no camera with me, which is causing me to be scorned at home. You know what, though? I have lots and lots and LOTS of pictures of Kelly playing softball. The only photo I missed today is the one where everybody on the team stands against the fence, wearing their champion medals. Snooze. How is that even interesting? Who wants to see that crap? I'll get the photo from one of the other 15 parents who took the same exact shot, anyway.

Here's what I'm not going to blog about…I'm not going to blog about the major retailer who ran an ad in their weekly circular for a toy that I very want, a game that is in short supply. I'm not going to blog about how I went to two different buildings with the logo that resembles archery practice equipment, and how I went to both of them between 8:00 and 8:06 a.m. on Sunday, and how neither of them had the advertised game, and how they weren't simply sold out to people who got there before I did, but that these particular establishments never had the game in the first place. Know why I'm not going to blog about it? Because that would be delivering exactly the result the toy manufacturer hoped to achieve with this stunt. If they get people buzzing about how much they want a particular item, yet cannot find that particular item, then the fervor spreads and even more people want it, because we stoooopid, greedy humans always want what we cannot have. I am more than happy to wait for it.

Meanwhile, I will continue to play hours of spastic Dance Dance Revolution, and now I do sets of weight exercises between songs. We're going to buy some of those weights that strap onto your wrists and ankles, too, and then Wii will be Fit as a fiddle in no time.

Sunday, June 29, 2008

US Women's Open, the prequel

Not a golf fan, here. However, I'm enjoying watching a little golf news these days because I can catch glimpses of my old stompin' grounds, Interlachen Country Club Golf Course in Edina, where the US Women's Open is currently taking place.

I grew up in Interlachen Park, the neighborhood that abuts the golf course. My parents still live there. We never belonged to the country club, since neither of my parents play golf, and we were too busy (and too classy) playing Pong and blowing up eggs in the microwave, anyway. Still, I was pretty familiar with the golf course because late at night, when our parents were asleep and we had to be quiet or make our noises elsewhere, we Interlachen Park kids would traipse around the golf courses (Meadowbrook abuts Interlachen Park to the East). It was always completely dark, so tripping and falling down was about the worst thing that ever happened to us.

Our favorite activity: Removing the flags from the holes and poking them into the ground somewhere around twenty or thirty yards away from the green.

Second favorite activity: Filling the holes with sand or dirt or eggs.

I'm sure that today's Interlachen Park youth have nowhere near the fun we did, on account of the invention of the pesky motion detector.

Being a kid today must suck.

Saturday, June 28, 2008

Addiction

Hello, my name is Suzi, and I'm an addict.

Remember that time a few weeks ago when I bought that Wii? Remember how I'm a 44-year-old mother of grown and almost-grown kids, and how I've never owned a video game before? Remember how I have been looking for Wii Fit, but can't find it?

Well. I still want Wii Fit, because Wii Fit is the whole reason I bought the Wii in the first place, but I'm content to wait until I can buy one from an actual store instead of a sleazy eBay seller, because you know why?

Dance Dance Revolution, that's why.

Yes, I realize I am about 4 years too late to imagine myself as trendy, but I'm telling you, it's the best game in the world. I'm playing in the morning. I'm playing during work hours. I'm playing in the middle of the night. And get this: it's EXERCISE, people!

I look like an epileptic spaz, stomping and shaking and tripping all over myself, but I don't care, because I sweat, and I'm talking the Kevin Garnett, dripping-off-the-chin kind of sweat, and I can keep that sweat up for hours.

The best part? I'm the mom, so I don't have to take turns. I am a little concerned that I might end up on YouTube, though.

Thursday, June 26, 2008

Demanding the finest

For me, a car is something I need to transport me from place to place. And that's all. I have no particular love for cars. In fact, I don't care about them enough to even have an opinion about what I drive, ordinarily.

When I buy a new car, I sort of wring my hands and fret about what might go wrong. Will it start when I need to go somewhere, even when it's cold? Will the brakes stop its forward motion when I expect them to? I much prefer the security of my same ol' car to the "excitement" of a new one.

I travel just enough that I probably drive four or five rental cars every year. Last week, I rented a car in Dallas. Like always, I reserved the smallest, cheapest, crappiest car I could find, and like always, they rental place "upgraded" me to something better.

By the time I had been in this car for ten minutes, I was calling The First Baseman to tell him about it, and that the next time I need a car, this is the one I want. I told him that I don't even care if we have to save up some extra money first, because this is the only time in my life I've ever felt this strongly about a particular car. Mine. I want it.

It's a smallish car, but not so tiny that it feels like it will fall apart if it's pelted with a snowball from just the right angle. It has a small engine and gets good gas mileage, yet it has enough kick to enter a highway at the normal speed limit. It has no blind spots. The headrests push down really far so I can see around them (I use my mirrors, but also glance over my shoulder when I'm changing lanes). Best of all, the blowy. I hate hate hate having air blowing on me, and this car's blowy things can be pointed so that they blow elsewhere, but not on me!

I don't need a new car yet (KG only has 83,000 miles), but when I do, I am going to buy that car I rented. I asked The First Baseman to start looking around, talking to people, and choosing a dealer. Oh, and devising a plan for paying for it, because I want it even if it's expensive.

I suppose you're wondering what fine car company makes this impressive automobile, hmm?

It turns out that my taste in cars is similar to my taste in food. Is there anything more delightful than a forty-nine-cent gas station hot dog? No, there is not, and this car is the automotive equivalent to that cheap delicacy.

It's Kia. My dream car is the Kia Optima, which turns out to be about the least expensive car on the market, and someday in the next few years, I will be driving one to the gas station to get a hot dog.

Monday, June 23, 2008

Party on the Prairie

Last week my sister-in-law, Missy, turned 40. That's pretty old. In order to console herself, she enlisted the support of her friends and relatives. She asked them to please show up in St. Peter, at Patrick's, and accompany her on a tour of southern Minnesota's finest drinking establishments. Many friends and relatives obliged, and whaddya know?! They managed to take some of the sting out of turning old overnight.

We assembled ourselves for a "before" photo just before leaving Patrick's. Notice how serene an sober everybody looks here:

One of the evening's first events was a sport my brother developed in honor of his wife's achievement of living 40 years without ever having stabbed him in the eye for his behavior. Van-Top Jousting is a sport of fools. Two idiots are pitted against each other. The venue: the roof of a rented 15-passenger van, the type used by most criminals. The weapon: Jousting poles, which are constructed by using shipping tape to adhere a wadded-up old sweater to the end of a hockey stick. One helmet is provided, for the smarter and stronger of the two fools. The object: Removed your opponent from the top of the 15-passenger van by any means necessary, such as poking, bonking, pushing, knocking, swiping, konking, checking, kicking, stomping, or frightening.

Another of the evening's events saw Missy opening The Box of Melissa that Eddie put together. It was really cool. He scrounged up some of Missy's favorite treasures, including one of those bladders-on-a-rope that goes around one's neck and holds, uh, water; a letter her brother Mike had written to her while she was away at college; A fabulous piece of crayon artwork created by my niece, Sophia, in honor of her mother's birthday; and this book, Married Love, which Mis considers her bible, especially this chapter on being contrary:

What what? A large zucchini and spray cheese? I don't get it.

At one point, a busload of St. Peterites rolled into New Ulm, pulling up to the same establishment where we happened to be. Many of them greeted my brother, and he them, with warm hugs and handshakes. He happens to know many of the characters who live in his city, because he happens to work for the newspaper. For some reason, these people seem to like him even though he photographs their house fires and writes stories about how they get all liquored up and urinate on the front steps of Patrick's. Oh, wait. That was a Gustie, not a townie. Anyway, Eddie tried to tell us that these people are "fans." These people are "attention seekers" with enormous hands.

Take a look at this photo and notice I sober I look:

Know why I look sober? Because I am sober. I was driving the jousting arena. Shortly after this photo was taken, it was time to leave, and it was also raining the kind of rain that sneaks up on you and makes you not have an umbrella, and so I ran to find the van and bring it around to the front door. In spite of the fact that I was one of a very, very low number of sober individuals, I still managed to be the one person who ended up bleeding. I bit it coming off a curb, and landed on my face in a 3-inch-deep puddle. Not fair. Funny, but not fair.

This was Rose's first real outing with her family that included consuming alcohol, and she thought it would be festive to have a shot with her uncle. Sort of like when she had a cigar with her grandfather on her 18th birthday. She asked around, and learned that the only shots that Eddie liked were girly ones, so she ordered up a couple of cherry bombs. I think they have Red Bull and cough syrup:

As the evening progressed, more and more of our group members started to look a full ten degrees more retarded than they do in their normal, everyday lives:

Take a look at the photo below. Are these people not the cutest couple? Now guess which one of them went home early on account of a babysitter with a curfew, and which one was dropped off at another rabble rouser's house, only to walk home at 2 a.m., darting behind trees and garbage cans to avoid being detected by the police, lest he have to put his own name in the Public Intoxication column of the newspaper.

Here's the five-minute warning, blown by my sister in sobriety, who drove the other vehicle:

Dear Bar Owner: You didn't really expect that a ginormous flip-flop placed in a reachable area would stay there, did you? As if!

Once or twice, a barbershop quartet broke out:

And here we have a photo I like to call, "You went to Armstrong? I WENT TO ARMSTRONG!!!!!!!"

Here's a sweet photo of three sisters. Well, one's a sister-in-law, but whatever:

Here is another "event." This event was supposed to be, "Kevin reads aloud from one of Missy's disgustingly trashy novels," but it was just too embarrassing, so he just whispered to Missy. Reading over his shoulder was Ben, who later summarized the chapter to all concerned.

For the past 10 years, my dad has been extolling the virtues of Hermie's. Hermie's sells booze and bait, and is rumored to have the best hamburger in St. Peter, which is hard for me to believe, having fallen in love with Patrick's burgers. Another item that sets Hermie's apart from the rest is The Paddle. Or maybe it's an oar. I don't really know the difference. Anyway, Hermie has superglued three shot glasses to this watercraft-propelling instrument, in order that three people may increase the bond they have with each other by enjoying a shot of something called Tequila Rose. Tequila Rose is some strawberry stuff that is evidently very tasty. The Paddle looks a little something like this:

Now, take a look at this professionally created collage of paddle pictures, and see if you notice anything about just WHO seems to enjoy the paddle the most. I'm not naming any names (Claire and Rose).

I'm not sure what was going on here, but I know for certain that it was NOT a lap dance, because gross!

Okay, almost done. Here is one of the many, many Charlie's Angels poses that was performed throughout the evening:

And here, the birthday girl wraps up the evening by finding a boat on the patio, in which to strike a pose:

And P.S. Heidi is the best hider-from-the-camera ever. Her name should be Hidey.

Good heavens, this post took forever to put together. You're getting it unedited.

Tuesday, June 17, 2008

The Redneckiest place in Minnesota

Tonight I went to JohnHenry's baseball game in Kasota, and on the way back to St. Peter, JohnHenry, in the navigator's seat, directed me down Rabbit Road, which turns out to be the Avenue of the Rednecks. In about two blocks, we saw (or should I say, "we seen…"):

A toothless redneck inside a smashed-up race car, being pulled by a tow truck.

A real junkyard. I mean for real, and not just a messy house we refer to as a real junkyard.

A sign that said, "Beware of vicious dogs" that was NOT at the real junkyard.

A dead, smooshed cat.

JohnHenry saw a Sasquatch, but Sophie and I missed it.

Meanwhile, back at the ranch, it's 2:30 a.m. and Rose and I are still up playing with our new Wii. Right now she's laying a hurt on a guy that looks sort of like Jesus in the boxing ring.

Monday, June 16, 2008

Up your nose wit' a rubber hose

Kelly and I have just returned from the ENT's office, where a doctor shoved a teeny camera up my child's nose in order to "have a look around." For some reason, this did not horrify my child. It horrified me, but not so much that I didn't remember to snap a sneaky picture of the festivities:

Of course, the teeny camera didn't find anything that looked like something that could cause Kelly's weird pain, so I am turning to you, my colleagues from the Google School of Medicine (where I earned my Ph. D. and currently conduct research on a variety of subjects), because conventional doctors have not been successful in identifying a cause, treating the symptoms or curing the ailment.

**If you want to skip the boring blah blah blah about my kid's health and get to the really important news, skip to the ** below.

Symptoms: For the past two months, Kelly has had pain in the area behind both ears, though the pain is more severe on the right than on the left. This pain waxes and wanes, and lessens with ibuprofen. On two or three occasions, the pain was severe enough that she missed school, but then again, she misses school for colds, sniffles, hangnails, stubbed toes, and particularly dastardly pimples.

Professional Opinions: The first doctor we saw diagnosed a throat infection. He said that the pain was referred pain from her tonsils, which were enlarged. A 10-day course of amoxicillin didn't have any effect on the symptoms.

The second doctor diagnosed TMJ syndrome, and said that the pain is referred pain from the temporal mandibular joint (jaw hinge), and is caused by gum chewing, clenching, or grinding teeth in sleep. Kelly doesn't chew gum very often, and doesn't clench or grind. I know, because I observe her sleeping almost daily, during her afterschool nap on the green couch. She talks in here sleep, but no grinding. That doctor prescribed two weeks of every-six-hour 800mg of ibuprofen. She has been following that regimen. The pain is reduced significantly as long as she takes the medication. When she skips a dose, the pain returns, which tells me that IF the pain is caused by inflammation, the inflammation is not being reduced by the ibuprofen.

Today's doctor, the first specialist we've seen, did a thorough hearing exam (perfect), a test for fluid (negative), and SnortCam™. He also jammed his hand into Kelly's mouth and felt her tonsils. That was a first! Her tonsils are enlarged, and he felt two swollen lymph glands in her neck, but was unconcerned since they weren't that abnormal. His opinion: muscle strain caused by exercise. My opinion: don't be silly; it's not strained muscles. She can point to the exact spot of the pain, which she identifies as "right in the Eustachian tubes." Maybe that's where the pain is, or maybe she just feels like that's where it is, but she knows what sore muscles feel like, and that's not it.

Okay, get to it, volunteer Internet medical professionals. Please post your diagnoses in the comments.

**My Wii is on a UPS truck, right now, cruising around the south suburbs, waiting for its turn to get out of the truck and into its new home in my family room. I feel like making a big Welcome Home banner to hang on the garage.

Tuesday, June 10, 2008

Gotta new toy

I have been a parent for nearly 22 years, and for those 22 years, I have managed to refrain from buying a single video game. Until now, anyway.

I just ordered a Wii, and Rose and I are heading out to one of the mart stores in a somewhat-nearby city, because rumor has it that they have Wii Fit in stock, and for only $89. I'll believe that when I see it, but it's worth twenty bucks in gas to find out.

I'm so looking forward to these games! I only want the kind where you have to stand up and actually move. I can play the sitting down kind of games on the computer.

So, all you Wii-ers, what's your favorite game? What do I need to buy next?

Thursday, June 5, 2008

Who just graduated from first grade? College?

It's just after midnight. Sophie's sleeping over, and she and Rose are engaged in an intense game of Quizzy's Word Challenge on Webkinz. Know what I'm talking about? Then you must have a seven-year-old. I don't know what I'm talking about, because I have a seven-year-old only when I can snag my niece for a visit, like right now.

There is a 15-year difference in age between these two, but you'd never know it by listening to them play a vocabulary game. One is as likely to come up with a word as the other. Although Sophie was not familiar with the word "flask," she gains points in coolness for wearing my Al Jefferson shirt.

Wednesday, June 4, 2008

Where is Dad's gun? I need to shoot that bird.

That is a text message I received from the recently returned oldest daughter. Don't worry, though. Nobody is going to shoot anything, or anybody, though we are all tempted.

Every year, a robin builds a nest under our deck. Every year, some soft baby birds bash their way out of some eggs and fly away. Every year, we say, ahhhhhh how sweet, and go about our lives.

This is our 16th summer in this house, and for some reason, this year's bird is more bird-brained than previous years' birds. It spends the day flapping and pecking and bonking into both the upstairs and downstairs sliding glass doors.

Evidently, it sees its reflection as another bird, and so it defends its territory and its nest against itself. What a dumbass. It's thought process goes a little something like this:

Hey! A bird!>Ouch that hurts!>Hey! Another bird!>Ouch! That hurts!>Hey! There's that bird again!>Ouch! That hurts!>Get away from my babies, bird!>Ouch! That hurts!

So how do I make it knock it off? It's really, really irritating, and distracting while I'm trying to work or nap or watch Dr. Phil, and no amount of whining and shouting quiiiiiit iiiiiiit seems to work any better than it did against my brother when we were kids.

Yesterday I went to The Wild Bird Store. That's a real store, folks. They sell birdhouses, birdfeeders, birdseed, bird-motif gifts, and stuff to seduce birds into visiting you. They also have a cat, which they should name Irony. I bought some decals of hawks and hummingbirds there, because the Birdmaster said that if the robin perceives that another breed of bird is there, it will respect its territory and step off.

This bird is not intimidated by bird decals of the hummingbird or hawk variety. It doesn't seem to be any more or less interested in its own reflection. It is also not afraid of our inflatable Crunch (Timberwolves mascot) punching bag, even though it has big, scary jack-o-lantern eyes. In fact, The First Baseman put Crunch outside on the deck last night, and now Crunch is covered in bird shit and his head is popped.

I could move the nest, but that's mean. I don't know if the bird would take care of the babies if I did that.

I could find Pat's gun and shoot it, but that's mean and I'd probably manage to shoot my leg instead.

I could just wait until it dies of internal injuries, or leaves because the babies are grown.

Or I could move.

Hey, maybe I should call 911!

Any other ideas?

Wednesday, June 4, 2008

Police Report: The HUH? edition

Shakopee

MAY 5

Animal complaint. A loose calf was reported in front of a house in the 12900 block of Marystown Road.

Huh?

MAY 6

Smell. A person in the 200 block of 4th Avenue W. reported smelling something hot in the area.

Huh?

Belle Plaine

MAY 2

Miscellaneous. A resident in the 24500 block of Keystone Lane reported having trouble with their teeth and grinding them.

Huh?

Dahlgren Township

MAY 22

Animal complaint. Someone reported a cow was stuck in mud up to its neck in the area of County Road 43 and Hampshire Boulevard.

Huh?

South Lake Minnetonka Police Department

MAY 16

Animal complaint. A resident reported three baby squirrels were following him around in his yard. The squirrels were relocated.

Seriously. Huh?

Property damage. "Pen scribbles" were found on a vehicle in the 1800 block of Sherren Avenue.

Huh?

MAY 26

Theft. A vehicle was jacked up and its tires were taken off in the 1800 block of Kenwood Drive.

Huh? Oh, jacked up as in, lifted up with a jack. Huh.

Tuesday, June 3, 2008

Lobama

Sunday, June 1, 2008

SO. PROUD. OF. THIS. GIRL.

President Peterson gave her a wink, as if to say, "Lost paperwork is not going to prevent a kid from graduation on MY watch." President Peterson, you are a gentleman and a scholar.

I'll never forget this day. Incredible.