Experience the Blog Entries
Wednesday, August 22, 2007
What do you think?
If absence makes the heart grow fonder, why do we live with our lovers?
posted by Michelle @
4:46 PM
1 comments
Sunday, August 12, 2007
Why is it
as some people get older they try harder to forget what it was like to be young?
posted by Michelle @
7:23 PM
2 comments
Monday, May 14, 2007
Oh no you don't!
"I swear I'm going to call the health department
"Why?" "Because your room is a health hazard."
"What?"
"Your room, Son. You know, the one with pizza boxes, empty soda cans and clothes spread from one end to the other."
"It's not that bad."
"OMG, when was the last time you opened your eyes up there? I swear the EPA is going to fine us if you don't get it cleaned."
"Right. I'll clean it later."
"No. You will clean it now or else."
This was a week ago Saturday. Three days later his room was still a mess. Not as big a mess because he'd finally run out of clothes and brought his laundry down, thereby moving part of the mess to the laundry room.
On Wednesday I told him I was cancelling the high speed internet connection and having dial up service installed.
"Why?"
"Because if it takes longer to load websites, maybe you can clean your room while you wait."
"Mom."
"Oh and while we are discussing your chores, go mow the lawn."
"Okay. Just let me check my email."
"NO. You will mow the lawn right now."
"I thought you wanted me to clean my room?"
I swear some days. "You can clean your room after you mow the lawn and before you check your email."
Moments later, James headed outside and the mower went to work. Breathing a sigh of relief, I went back to work.
After coming back inside, taking a shower and climbing the stairs to the 'mess', James came back downstairs carrying a pile of dishes.
OMG, the boy wants to become a scientist, I swear. There were things growing on those plates the likes of which you only see in a Frankenstein movie. "I'm not washing those," I informed him.
"Why?"
"Because they are hairy. Plates aren't supposed to grow hair, son."
"Just soak them for awhile."
"No, you soak them for awhile."
"I have to clean my room, mom. Can't you do the dishes?"
"Look, son. You have two choices. You can wash those dishes or you can throw them in the trash and go to the store and buy me new ones." I could see the look on his face, so quickly added, "you will pay for them with your own money."
"Fine, I'll wash them." His idea of washing them was to run a sink of hot water and push all the dishes into it. As he headed back up the stairs, I shouted.
"Don't you dare turn on that computer until your room is finished."
"Sure, mom," he mumbled.
Later that night as I got ready for bed, I asked James if he'd finished cleaning his room. "No, but I'm working on it."
"You better get it done, son."
"I will."
Thursday and Friday came and went with little progress on the room. Although the dishes had finally soaked long enough to actually wash and put them away.
Saturday morning dawned bright and cheery. As James headed out the door to work I reminded him we were having dinner at Renae's and that before he went to bed I was inspecting his room to make sure it was finally clean.
"Sure."
"I'm serious, son."
"Yep."
"I'm going to cancel your x-box live subscription if you don't get that room clean."
"Right."
"Seriously."
"Sure, mom."
That was the longest conversation we'd had that early in the morning in months. James is not a morning person.
Late Saturday afternoon James arrived home from work with one of his buddies in tow. When I left for Renae's I told James he had one hour to work on his room and get to Renae's before dinner. I also invited his friend to join us.
Surprisingly, it only took two text messages to remind him he was expected for dinner before James showed up at Renae's.
Apparently the gang (three of James' friends) had decided to stay at our house while we were gone, playing xbox and eating pizza.
I think on the way home James must have texted the rest of the gang to let them know he was heading their direction because shortly after we got home several more guys showed up. I lost count after five.
About an hour after getting home, I was enjoying my new Il Divo DVD when a herd of elephants charged down the stairs and out the back door. As I screamed for them to stop and explain themselves, I was told they had mud to deal with.
Boy's, I swear.
What I didn't know was the mud wasn't in the backyard, no, this mud required trucks. Lots and lots of trucks. As engines roared and tires squealed, I'm sure the neighbors thought we were being invaded.
The boys took off for the woods. Don't ask me why, I really don't understand it.
While the boys were gone there was a knock on my door.
I knew it wasn't the boys, because the boys don't knock.
I hit the pause button and yelled, "come in."
Nothing.
Pushing up from the couch, I headed to the front door at the same time yelling, "it's okay, come in."
Still nothing.
At this point I looked at the clock to confirm it was too late for the Fuller Brush guy to be knocking. It was. Reaching the knob, I opened the door to find two young ladies standing in the doorway.
"Is James home?"
"No. He and the gang had mud to deal with."
Both girls laughed. Apparently they understood the mud thing. Someday I might get them to explain it to me.
"Would you like to come in and wait?"
"Sure." The young ladies walked in and headed to the back of the house. It seems they know where the stairs to Frankensteins lab are.
"I wouldn't go up there if I was you," I warned. "It's been condemned."
Again they both laughed. "He still hasn't cleaned it?"
"He is male, what do you think?" I tried to smile while stepping in front of the stairwell.
"It's okay, Mama. Hoppe, we've seen it before."
"And you came back?"
More laughter.
"So remind me of your names, please. I'm old and can't remember."
They told me their names and which of the young men out mudding belonged to them. After a couple minutes they both looked a little uncomfortable. I was still standing firmly at the bottom of the stairs, blocking access to the 'mess'.
"The boys should be back soon, would you like to watch Il Divo with me?"
"Who is that?"
"Never mind." I stepped out of the way and allowed them to climb the stairs. "Remember I warned you," I called up as they reached the landing.
"It's fine Mama Hoppe, really."
I had just settled back on the couch, hit the play button on the DVD when I heard a voice from the doorway leading to the back of the house.
"Mama Hoppe?"
"Yes."
"Where are the trash bags?" Hitting pause again I turned to look at the young lady.
"Why?"
"Because I can't find any upstairs."
"Please don't tell me you are cleaning his room." OMG, what were mothers teaching their daughters these days?
"It's okay. I don't mind, really."
"But, if you clean it for him, he'll never learn to do it himself," I tried to explain.
More laughing followed this. "Can I have a couple of trash bags."
Apparently, side stepping is one of the classes offered at the local high school.
As I handed her trash bags, I tried again to help her see reason. "Aren't you Matts girlfriend?"
"Yes."
"You don't think Matt will get jealous if you clean James' room?"
"No," laughing, " he won't mind, he helped make the mess."
There you have it. James had called in a favor. Told the boys since they'd help make the mess their girlfriends needed to come clean it up. I gave up trying to figure out teenagers and went back to wathcing my DVD.
Several trips downstairs were made by the ladies.
Trash bags were carried to the back door and again I was asked a question. "Where is the trash can?"
That's it. "You're not going to take the trash out to the cans. The boys can do it when they get back."
"I don't mind, really."
"Well I do. James will take the trash out to the cans. Period. End of discussion."
I think Matt's girlfriend realized I was serious, because she dropped the bags and headed back upstairs.
Soon dishes were being piled on the counter and once again a pile of dirty clothes graced the laundry room floor.
The sound of roaring engines and screeching brakes rattled the windows of the house.
The boys had returned!!
As they filed through the door I told James the girls were upstairs.
"Really?"
"Yes. They are cleaning your room."
All the boys stopped in their tracks. It was very apparent to me the fact the girls had arrived and were cleaning the room didn't surprise them, thereby confirming my belief the trip to find mud was just an excuse to get out of the way so the girls could clean without expecting assistance from the guys.
I don't know whether to applaud my son for getting his room clean without having to lift a finger himself or weep because women's lib failed.
posted by Michelle @
10:35 AM
5 comments
Friday, May 11, 2007
I've been tagged - again
Morning everyone,
Friend and fellow author Roxy Harte has tagged me, so I went over to her blog and found her info. Therefore, without further ado, I give you eight things about Roxy Harte:
1. I'm a second degree blackbelt in Okinawan Shorin-ryu and I owned and operated a Martial Arts school that averaged 250 students for almost twelve years... I retired in 2002.
2. I'm a real estate agent, although I really, really want to be a FULL-TIME author, so please buy Sacred Revelations...it comes out Tuesday from LSB!!
3. I read tarot, scrye, and love to find magic in my day to day...
4. I teach yoga (and also Reiki) part-time.
5. I meditate twice a day.
6. I love dogs and cats...and usually don't mind too much if strays follow me home. Currently sharing my life are Petey, a five old mutt; Blackie, our eleven year old cat who takes me for walks; and Kitten, obviously the baby. Kitten started out life as Belle, then after two weeks of living with us and still fairly feral, she became Nala, now, after a year, we call her Kitten for nice and Demon Cat the other 99.9% of the time.
7. I have three daughters and two grand-daughters.
8. I met my husband at the Ohio Rennaisance Festival where I was ale-wenching at the time and I married him three months later.
Thanks Roxy for sharing with us this morning.
posted by Michelle @
6:16 AM
5 comments
Wednesday, May 02, 2007
Ouch
“Ouch!”
Damn, that hurt.
I didn't taste blood. Maybe it wasn't as bad as it felt.
Lifting a napkin to my lips I stuck out my tongue and pressed it softly to the cloth.
Good Lord, that's a lot of blood.
Holding the napkin to my lips, I walked into the bathroom, flipped on the light switch and looked at my damaged tongue in the mirror.
Wow, that is a lot of blood. It looks like my teeth went right through the thing.
As I headed to the kitchen for some ice, I wondered if they stitched tongues and decided no matter what I wasn't going to the hospital.
Grabbing the ice tray I ditched the bloody napkin for a paper towel, wrapped the ice into the middle and pressed it to my tongue. Remembering my first aid class I tried to apply pressure to stop the bleeding.
Yep, right. I don't think the pressure technique is for tongues.
I sat down on the couch, ice pressed as firmly as it would go to the hole in my tongue, feet lazily stretched on the ottoman, and eyes looking at the plate of food I'd only just started to eat when Renae walked through the door.
"Hi mom."
"Hs," I mumbled around the wad of blood soaked paper towel in my mouth.
"What are you doing?" Renae looked at me a little funny.
"Thry ing ta sop..."
"Mom, try taking the rag outta your mouth."
Such a wonderful, smart daughter I have. Removing the pressure from my tongue, I answered quickly. "I'm trying to stop the bleeding." Quick as could be I pressed the ice to my tongue once again.
"Why is your tongue bleeding?"
Instead of risking my hard won effort to stop the bleeding, to answer a question that usually only has one answer, I pointed to the plate of food.
Renae looked at the plate, "no thanks I'm not hungry." Sitting in the chair opposite me, she looked at me expectantly, "so why is your tongue bleeding?"
"I bt ..."
"Mom, the rag."
Oh for pity sakes. "I bit it."
"Ouch."
Wow, such sympathy.
Renae continued. "How?"
"With my teeth."
"No kidding, but how."
"Trying to eat."
Renae gave me a look of concern. As if I were a child who hasn't learned to chew its food yet.
"Don't give me that look," I admonished. "It's because I'm trying to train the left side of my mouth to chew."
"What?"
"The left side of my mouth."
"Why does the left side of your mouth need trained?"
"Because I never chew on the left side. It has to do with being right handed and having the right side of my body the dominant side."
"Okay." Renae thinks I have marbles for brains. I can tell by that look.
"It's simple really," I tried to explain. "Because I always chew on the right side of my mouth, my tongue is skinnier on that side.”
“Really?”
“Yes and because it gets more exercise it doesn’t get in the way when I eat. Because I never use the left side it’s fatter."
Now she's laughing at me.
"Damnit, it's true." I stuck my tongue out so she could see for herself how fat the left side was. "See. Fat."
"Mom, it called swelling. You've bitten a hole in your tongue, so of course it's going to swell."
"It was fat before I bit it. It's the lazy side of my tongue and didn't even know enough to get outta the way of my damn teeth. Serves it right, getting bit."
"Now you're just being silly."
"No. I'm in pain. My tongue is bleeding and I'm hungry. Now I'm going to have to chew on the right side again and my lazy left side is going to think it won the war and go back to being a couch potato."
"Why is it so important that you chew on both sides of your mouth? Did you read an article at the doctor’s office or something?"
"No, I didn't read an article. The doctor said since I’ve done so well losing weight, I might try adding a little more exercise to my routine.
“And you decided to start with your fat tongue?”
“Hey, only the left side is fat.”
“Right. So what did the doctor think of this plan?”
“I didn’t tell her. I just said, I’d come up with a plan to get more exercise.”
Reaching for my plate of food, Renae picked up the fork, “looks good.”
As I watched her eat my dinner, I stuck the ice back on my tongue and applied pressure. Wow, tongues bleed a lot.
posted by Michelle @
6:39 PM
5 comments
Tuesday, February 20, 2007
Road Trip!!
It was a dark and stormy night. The wind howled through skeletal branches as lightening slashed the sky like a knife ...
Cut!
Okay was that too much?
How about this:
It was a dark night with some rain, a little lightening here and there and I think that noise is the sound of passing wind. (There are no skeletal branches or knives in this version.)
Better?
Okay, okay here's the real one:
It was the friggin crack before dawn when my mother arrived with her three dogs and a trunk full of junk for our trip to Idaho. It was raining and there was a puddle at the curb that I had to jump over to get my suitcase in the trunk.
Mom's dogs were barking excitedly because they knew something was up. They didn't have a clue what and I'm sure if they could have understood we were about to embark on a ten hour drive to Idaho, they'd have demanded we take them back home.
You might be wondering why we were traveling with the dogs. Well, grab a glass of wine and I'll tell you why.
Got the wine?
Good.
It's simple really. We traveled with the dogs because my mother doesn't trust anyone to take care of her animals, so the only way to get her to go anywhere overnight is to take the animals with us. This is the reason she had never been to my sister's house in Idaho.
This trip was a spur-of-the-moment kind of thing and since James couldn't miss school I figured it would be a good time to drag mom over the mountains, dogs in tow. Actually, we didn't tow them, they rode in the back seat ~smiles~.
It wasn't very long before I remembered why I don't like traveling with animals. It has something to do with needing to stop a lot so they can do 'the potty' thing. The difference between 'potty' breaks with dogs and kids -- a friggin leash.
Have you ever tried to keep two animals on one side of the car while attaching a leash to the collar of the third dog with your mother standing beside you repeating over and over again, "get back." As if the dogs care that she wants them to sit nicely and wait their turn.
Apparently, my mothers biggest fear is one of the dogs will escape the car while we are not looking and run off. As if! These dogs are spoiled. Totally and completely spoiled!
That didn't stop my mother from repeating over and over again. "Get back."
Even when the doors were closed and locked, the car was traveling at eighty miles an hour (65 if a police officer is reading this ~smiles~) and the window was only open a half an inch, mom continued to tell the dogs to 'get back.'
We were about three hours into the trip when the dogs decided to take a nap. Color me thrilled.
Oh never mind.
Is it really necessary to wake a sleeping dog just to make sure they are sleeping?
"Can you see Candy?" Mom asked me as I concentrated on the mountain road. (Candy is one of the dogs.)
"No."
A look of terror crossed my mothers face as she tried to turn in her seat to see if Candy was still in the back seat. "Candy," she said in a rather loud voice. "Candy, where are you?"
"Mom, their sleeping. I'm sure Candy is behind your seat."
"Can you see her? Candy, answer me this minute."
"Mom, where do you think she went? The doors are locked and there is no way she could have gotten out."
Thankfully, Candy popped up, wagging her tail, probably thinking she was going to get fed and Mom was able to tell her once again to 'get back' because of course now she wanted to sit in the front seat. After all she was awake and she'd been called, there must be a reason. Right?
Dogs are like kids.
Fighting over the window.
Pushing each other off the seat.
Refusing to share the water bowl, (no my kids didn't have a water bowl, but they did have sippy cups, same difference).
Constantly trying to climb in the front seat.
Playing with the window locks.
Whining because --
She's touching me.
I have to go potty.
I'm hungry.
Are we there yet?
Someone do me a favor, please. The next time I say 'road trip' remind me of this post.
posted by Michelle @
4:09 PM
2 comments
Sunday, January 28, 2007
Good morning everyone,
I'd like to take a moment to be serious. I know, it's not like me, but I have a friend who is doing something so selfless and worthwhile and I think it's important to spread the news.
Erin, http://erintheinnocent.blogspot.com/ is going to participate in the Weekend To End Breast Cancer. At the moment she is holding a raffle for some great books donated by several authors, so go take a quick look see.
Michelle
posted by Michelle @
10:20 AM
2 comments