THE BEST CAT VIDEO YOU’LL EVER SEE

Yip yips meet the telephone

My favorite muppets of all time. Even my 70 yr old father has been known to say “yipyipyipyip uhuh uhuh”

If you’re interested, email me at rootietoot AT gmail DOT com. I’ll continue posting here for a bit, but the real meat (haw) will be over there.

If I want you to see it, I’ll give you the new address. If I don’t, I won’t.

*EDIT* I don’t keep email addresses. I won’t be sending you chain letters saying if you love Jesus you’ll send it on to 10 people and be blessed. I won’t be sending you heart-wrenching photos of fallen heroes, or recipes for bean dip. I absolutely will NOT send you chatty little cutesy anything. Other than to divulge the address of the new blog, I will NOT be writing you. Period. Get over it.

I’m thinking it’s time for the blog to move. Again. When I figure out a name and address I’ll let you know.

Last night, #4 slept in his new clothes for school. He wanted to save time getting ready this morning. Not that he needed to, he bounced out of bed at 5:30, and ping-ponged around the house, checking, double and triple checking his bookbag to make sure paper and colored pencils were in there. #2 and 3 were the same way, all ready with new pants and shirts, stacks of notebooks and paper, shouting “HAVE YOU SEEN MY SCHEDULE? I CAN’T FIND MY SCHEDULE!”

I asked about breakfast, #4 said he’d eat at school (Mom, their biscuits are Really Really Good), the other 2 planned a stop at Chik-Fil-A. Ok fine, it’s your money. #2 said he’d like a lunch, #3 said no lunch for him. I think, actually, he goes to the lunchroom and trolls for food, or his multitudinous girlfriends buy a lunch, eat the grapes, and give him the rest. He tends toward low blood sugar so if he passes out in Shop class it’s not because I didn’t try to feed him.

The bus got #4 at 6:30, reliable Ms Teresa is willing to stop at the driveway and honk if he’s late getting out. We try not to let that happen, but sometimes it just can’t be helped.

I am HAPPY! My kids, they are gone for the day and I can get a Dunkin Donuts bagel without being guilted into sharing. I can put something away and there it stays. The kitchen will remain clean until I fix supper! Wow!

That’s not to say I’m playing hooky or being all self indulgent, oh no. I had physical therapy this morning-the final evaluation before they loose me into the world. Her assessment: “You seem to have an easier time of laying on your back and waving you leg in the air, but the underlying issue that brought you here is unresolved.” Yah think? Exercise *won’t* grow new cartilege or reduce bone spurs? She recommended I find a different orthopedist, one with a more aggressive approach to treatment. I can do that.

I’m doing that most onerous of laundry chores: SD’s shirts. Ugh. Washing and all is fine, it’s the IRONING! Ugh. But I am going to because I am a Good Wife, and he is a Good husband who deserves many clean and pressed shirts hanging in his closet. You can bet I’m going to bitch about it, tho. Frequently and often.

I’ll buy some groceries- Bi-Lo has sirloin roasts and ground chuck for BOGO. Maybe not today. Leslie the Physical Terrorist worked me over, to see what I could do, and movement is, shall we say, rawther limited for the time being. Maybe tomorrow.

#4 will get home around 2:30, and I must sit and listen to him, hear all about his day and his new books and who sits next to him. I expect this information will be given in one breathless sentence, running on for 10 minutes or so until he finally turns blue and falls over. Once recovered he’ll ask for a glass of koolaid and some peanut butter crackers. Then he’ll want to play with The Kid Across The Street ™ only he’ll probably have homework which will cause much angst and droopy shoulders. The wailing will commence, as will the anguished cries of “I NEVER GET TO DO ANYTHING FUN MY LIFE IS MISERABLE!” which is when I tell him to get used to it, it only gets worse as he gets older. Poor kid, 8 years old and it’s all downhill from here.

Yeah, August 1 seems early to me, too.

However, they have off a week in October, November, 2 weeks in December, a week in February, March then schools out 3rd week of May. It’s Year-’Round School here. The week in October is vital, because it’s Fair Week, and when peanuts and cotton are harvested. Statesboro is still country enough that many of the high school students work their daddy’s farms and have to be off during harvest. I don’t have a problem with that. It’s probably what #3 will be doing. The school tends to look the other way during the fall, as long as the student’s grades are good.

Fair Week is the Social Event of the Season, starting with a HUGE parade, and then the Fair itself, straight out of National Geographic with pig and cattle contests, pickle competitions, Coconut Cake Bake-Offs, the whole nine yards. Also a carnival for the kids- ferris wheel, games of chance, opportunity for girls to scream and press up close to their feller.

The parade itself is worth the trip if you want to see a Jen-You-Wine Southern Style Festival. Yes indeed, there’s the Antique John Deere Club, the Antique Allis-Chalmers Club, and the Antique Massey-Ferguson Club. Then there’s the Contemporary John Deere Club, Allis Chalmers CLub and Massey Ferguson Club. You’ve never seen such a conflagration of farm equipment.All driven, of course, by every politician between Savannah-Macon-Athens-Waycross. There’s the Beauty Princesses, from Teeny-Tiny Miss CottonBoll (18 mos-2 yrs) to (no joke) Miss Turpentine, who could go on to Miss Georgia and ultimately Miss America. We have Miss Peanut,Miss Boll Weevil, Little Miss Southeast Bulloch County, Northwest Bulloch County, and Statesboro. There’s the cast of whatever play is being held at the Emma Kelley Theater. This year I believe it’s “A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Forum”. The students of all 3 Dance Academies will be parading with tutus and sparkle wands- except for the ones who are riding the front of their cousin’s four-wheeler as Young Miss Natural Gas. All bands are present: Portal High, all 20 of them; Southeast Bulloch High, larger at about 30 members; Statesboro High, still more at 75 members; and Metter High with their enormous percussion section and 3 instruments. Georgia Southern University Band thrills with the skill of the majorettes and shiny horns.

Everyone who isn’t in the parade goes to watch. Blankets are packed, and boxes of chicken aquired from Bi-Lo or Popeye’s, dogs are leashed and places are claimed early under trees and in the shade of buildings. The whole thing lasts over an hour. I have the great advantage of Little Martha. The top goes down, the dogs get on the dashboard and slobber on the windshield, and we all hoot and shake politicians hands. Since 2008 is an election year you can bet they’ll be out in force.

I promise, come October, I’ll take pictures.

It is why Summer is short.

So we got the gameroom cleaned, mopped and unsticky and all games paired with their boxes. #4’s room is cleaned, dusted and rearranged, everyone helped, good boys that they are, and now I have Free Time.

So, in the interest of nothing really, I typed the word “strange” into google images, to see what happens. Here’s what happened:

A strange attractor, something like a fractal in that it has to do with math. they lost me after that.

A strange cloud

John Woodville Strange

Allen Strange

A strange picture of puppies

And this wasn’t in Google, but in my own files. It’s an extra special message to someone who knows who he is.

I think I might be sad this morning. I try hard to not look too deeply into emotion, because it usually gets me into trouble. I start thinking too much, which leads to dissatisfaction which leads to angst, then everyone’s unhappy cuz if mama ain’t happy, ain’t nobody happy.

It’s the last day of Summer Vacation. Kids went to Open House at their schools, I met #4’s teacher and saw all the new textbooks and boxes of pencils and listened to the soothing music she had playing in the background. She told me her credentials (Master’s working on PhD) and I told her mine (Housewife, available for any and all purposes). #4 trolled the room, looking at the books in the baskets at the reading corner (Look Mom! Roald Dahl! Star Trek!) and rearranging the supply baskets on the desks, making clever little sculptures out of erasers and sponges. I’m happy, because he loves school. I’m sad, because he’s not my baby anymore. I’m happy because his teacher seems competent, and sad, because he’ll be learning stuff in 3rd grade that I didn’t start until 5th and 6th, stuff like Euclidian geometry and composition. “Oh yes,” she assured me,”3rd grade is definitely old enough to know how to write an essay.” She asked if he was in the gifted program. No, I answered, he keeps falling a hair short of the requirements, tho he gets tested every year. “Don’t worry about that. He’ll get plenty in the regular class, I’ll see to that.” That was nice to know. Last Spring he was a little put out that he didn’t get to do the Quest stuff like his friend Kevin The Smartest Kid In Second Grade.

Today, I’m enlisting everyone to help get the gameroom cleaned up. They’ve been using it all summer and it needs an overhaul. If all 3 help it won’t take 30 minutes.

Today, we’re getting in the pool and making the most of it.

Today, I might take them to lunch somewhere. Last Hurrah kinda thing.

Today, I’m going to try hard not to dwell on the scary fact that I have 3 kids who can drive. Who own their own cars/truck. 3 of them. Driving. I thank the God Above that we live in Statesboro and not Atlanta, or (even worse) Savannah. Savannah drivers are scary bad. Statesboro drivers are just slow. Why be in a hurry when you’re only 10 minutes from one side of town to the other? My mouth dries up thinking about 3 of my children on the road. No wrecks or tickets so far, Thank God. #3’s truck absolutely will NOT go faster than 60mph, downhill with a tailwind. I know he won’t be racing. #2 came home talking about racing someone for $500. He has a car that could do it, but Sweet Daddio ripped him a new one over that, loudly informing him of the legal and insurance consequences if he ever got caught, then forcefully informing him of the personal consequences after he (Sweet Daddio) got out of jail for ripping #2 a new one. So he promised not to. #1 is on his own. He don’t live here no more and I think he’s happy with his new digs and doesn’t want to risk losing independence, plus he’s not the type to race or whatever. It’s scary riding with him, because it feels like he’s not paying attention to what he’s doing, but he’s never had a wreck or anything so I guess he’s paying more attention than it seems.

So I’m sad. My children, they’re all leaving me! Except #4. I have a couple of years yet before he quits sitting in my lap. I’m going to enjoy them.

I am looking forward to having my days alone again, to not making sure everyone knows where I’m going and when I’ll be back. 90% of the time I’ll be right here, but just having the option is cheering.

But, I’m also sad about it. No more little boys in this house. No more anyone holding my hand in the parking lot. 3rd, 10th and 12th grade. *sigh* In 2 short years, the amount of time we’ve lived here in Statesboro, there will be only 1 child in the house. There will be 3 (!) extra bedrooms. A pound of meat will make a meal. We can eat dinner out for under $30. Laundry…wow. It might get lonely. I won’t think about that.

Cheaper Than Therapy: Sometimes You Just Gotta Say….

You know, I hate confrontation. I’d rather have a root canal than get into an argument with someone. Everything becomes internalized, what if I’m wrong and they’re right? What if they believe my different opinion is automatic disapproval of them and all they are? What if they hate me?

Thing is, I have strong opinions. When I have an opinion about anything, it is based on a combination of research and gut feeling. I guess I’m just a girl that way, going on feelings. There are lots of things out there that I feel very strongly about. Stuff like abortion, religion and faith, child rearing, economics, drugs…same things everyone else has strong feelings about.

Only, I won’t go into them. Because of confrontation. It seems like whenever I do, someone jumps up who’s louder and more forceful than me, and I back down just to make them be quiet. I really don’t like that about myself. I wish I had a thicker skin, or armor, or credentials.

I’m not as nice as I seem. Someone will say something that I disagree with vehemently, because I know they’re absolutely wrong and might even burn in hell one day for that attitude. I’ll stay quiet, tho, because the fuss just isn’t worth it.

As a consequence, I’m fairly sure everyone thinks I’m this sweet tempered, mild mannered Southern Belle, kind of a Melanie Hamilton type that everyone loves but no one fears.

One day, I’m gonna blow, and it won’t be pretty. One day i’m going to get in someone’s face and say “YOU ARE WRONG NOW GO SIT DOWN”. Then, 10 minutes later, the magnitude of the act will sink in and I’ll just curl up and die.

In the meantime, don’t think for a minute that I don’t have opinions, strong and well formed ones.

Tea, anyone?