Frosty Eyes

Hockey has begun again.

The Captain came off the ice tonight and his eyes were damp - probably from watering because it was so cold. His eyelashes had frost on them. As his eyes watered, it froze on his eyelashes.

Someday, when he's choosing my nursing home, I hope he looks back on his youth and remembers that his mom (who abhors the cold), stood out there every Tuesday and Thursday night supporting him. In the cold. It better be a really nice nursing home.

Don't go through life without goals. ~Hockey Saying

Momma's Boy

In the car on the way to the barn today, the Diva was talking about horses (as usual!). She was telling us how a colt will just follow it's mother around for several months after it's birth. She said if you need to move the colt and the mother, the colt will never need a lead rope, it will just follow wherever you take it's mom. (I don't know if this is true since she knows WAY more about the horse world than I do - but it sounds reasonable and she usually knows what she is talking about when it comes to horses).

It was quiet for a minute, then the Captain said (in all seriousness) "That's just like me!" It was quite the funny moment coming from my mini-me.

You are my sonshine. ~Author Unknown

Deja Vu

Now the Diva has whatever the Captain had a few days ago.

The only difference is there were no dogs in her line of fire.

Keep your fingers crossed that it stops with her and doesn't continue on through the rest of the household.

It is sometimes as dangerous to be run into by a microbe as by a trolley car. ~J.J. Walsh

Pre-snow

To the mother in Walmart:

When there is a snow storm coming (again) and there are 10,000 people in Walmart because we might be snowed in for three months, it is probably not a good idea to let your toddler steer your shopping cart through the store.

If you do, however, insist on letting her do this, do NOT throw dirty glances at everyone YOUR toddler runs into with the cart.

Thank you.

Y'all ain't gonna believe this shit

I don't know who to attribute that to, but it's the punchline to this joke: How do rednecks start a fairy tale? I've always wanted to use it but never had an opportunity. Until now. Because really - y'all ain't gonna believe this shit.

Disclaimer: This is a story about vomit. It is detailed. If it will make you queasy or light-headed, PLEASE NAVIGATE AWAY FROM THIS PAGE. NOW.

I do not handle vomit well at all. My children's father is some sort of vomit super hero...I have actually witnessed him cupping his hands below our daughter's chin when she has announced she is going to be sick. As if he is going to catch whatever might come up. The mere thought of that makes ME queasy. I would be one of those people who would have navigated away when I read the disclaimer.

As stated in my earlier post, my son stayed home from school today because of an upset tummy. That boy can will himself not to throw up. Honestly, he can. The first time that child threw up was right before Christmas last year. He was 8 years old before that ever happened to him and it affected him in a deep negative manner.

His first wave of nausea came around 7:30 this morning during his shower. He called for me and I went in to the bathroom where I found him kneeling in front of the toilet, heaving. Just the motion - no sound, no vomit. He didn't want to go to school because he was afraid he might be sick there, so he hung out on the couch all day. Occasionally he would go in to the bathroom and call for me and we would repeat the scenario from this morning. He took sips of ginger ale and had a bit of chicken soup for lunch.

Dinner rolled around. We had a yummy mozzarella chicken so I cooked plain noodles to put it over, also knowing he might want something to eat. He said he was hungry so he did indeed have just a small plate of plain noodles. About 2 hours later he wanted some more plain noodles so I got him a small bowl. Then he wanted a fruit ice. No problem...and I'm happy that he wants to try to eat something.

Off and on through the day I would ask him how he was feeling and he would say he wasn't feeling too bad but he wasn't feeling great either. He carried a bucket with him everywhere...every trip to the bathroom (just in case he needed it on the way)...it was next to him on the couch, he put it on a chair next to him when he played on the computer for a bit. You get the idea.

Bedtime rolled around. He pulled his trashcan to the edge of his bed and placed the bucket on it so it was RIGHT THERE NEXT TO HIM.

P-Man and I watched some tv then started to get ready for bed ourselves. He headed outside with the dogs, I fed the cats and looked in on the kids who were both sound asleep. I went in to my bathroom and was in the process of washing my face when I heard the first whimper. This was no less than 2 minutes after I verified that both kids were fast asleep. I stopped what I was doing for a moment and said "Captain?" No reply. Thinking the dogs must have made the sound when they came into the bedroom, I ignored it. Then I heard it again and it was the unmistakable sound of my child whimpering. I open the door to see...vomit. Lots of it. On my bedroom floor. It took me a few seconds to realize it was still coming. With no god damned bucket in sight. In my panic to get him to the toilet, the next wave leaves a trail through my bathroom, even in the heating vent. By the time he gets to the toilet, he's done. Fantastic. The kid can actually will himself not to throw up for 14 hours while he is awake. Apparently he has not mastered controlling his will while he is asleep.

I turn on the shower and get him in there since it was, literally, everywhere. As he was in the shower, P-Man and I started the clean up process. (Thank god for him. I can honestly say I do not expect him to help with this part of the step-parenting. I mean, really...cleaning up vomit?)

I think we've done a pretty good job. I don't smell it in the bedroom or the bathroom. My son is again camped out on the couch (with the bucket once again next to him.), and I tell P-Man that I am going to stay out here with him until he's ready for bed. So I bring a quilt out and start to settle in when I smell P-Man's cologne. I assume it means he is trying to cover up a bad smell so I go back into our bedroom to ask him and he says he smelled something when he walked out of the bathroom into the bedroom.

We look all over and don't see anything that might be causing the smell. We've obviously missed something, but neither of us see where.

Until I see this:



That is our Hairless Chinese Crested. Complete with jammies...'cause, well, he's hairless. Except for those few scraggly tufts on his head and ears...and the end of his tail. He looks a bit like a troll doll but that's a post from another time.

Anyway, I see Harry (original, no?) perched proudly on our bed. Except that his hair is...well...sort of wet-ish and slicked down on the side of his head.

"Why is Harry's head all wet?" I ask P-Man. I already know, without a doubt, why.

"What do you mean, his head is wet?" P-Man responds.

In my head: "Oh no, oh no, no no no, oh please NO."

I bend forward to take a sniff as does P-Man. Oh. My. God. The Captain threw up on the dog.

So here we are at 2:00 AM. Clean bedroom, clean bathroom, clean dog. The captain fell asleep quickly on the couch and since I don't want to just leave him out here in the living room, here I am as well.

The fun never ends. But I wouldn't trade it for the world.

I think dogs are the most amazing creatures; they give unconditional love. For me they are the role model for being alive. ~Gilda Radner (even when they've been thrown up on)

Is this a problem?

My son is home with me today - an upset tummy kept him home.

He was settled on the couch playing with some matchbox cars when he said "Mom, do you know what all the rescue vehicles are doing?" When I replied that I did not, he informed me that they were boxing in all the photographers so Britney could get away.

I swear I don't know how he knows about all of that. Are the 3rd graders passing around copies of The Star and The National Enquirer at recess?


We can't quite decide if the world is growing worse, or if the reporters are just working harder. ~The Houghton Line, November 1965

Are these really necessary?

Maybe it's because she's becoming more aware of her surroundings, or maybe it's because she is now 12 and thus allowed to sit in the front seat of the car. Probably a combination of the two. Anyway, the other day, The Diva spotted these on a big ol' 4x4 truck in front of us.

Her: "What is that hanging off that truck?"

Me: (having already spotted them and begun praying she doesn't ask what they are) *blink* *blink* "What?"

Her: "That thing hanging off the back of that guys truck. That! That hangy thingy!"

Me: "Look! The lights are still on the tree in the town square!"

Her: "Mom."

Me: "Okay, okay...it is supposed to be a scrotum. Do you know what a scrotum is?"

Her: "Yes. Why does he need that on his truck?"

Me: "Good question."

So now I ask...are these really necessary? Maybe I should design some sort of breast that I can put over the headlights on my little SUV.

I'm no prude, but I guess I have a problem with having to explain to my 12 year old why someone would want that hanging off the back of their vehicle. I tried to not use words like Redneck, I really did.

Don't worry, it only seems kinky the first time. ~Author Unknown

Balance

I have been reading on quite a few blogs about the concept of choosing a word to focus on through the year.

Although I am a couple of days late posting this, I have decided on my word.

BALANCE

I want to achieve balance in many areas of my life, but mostly between work and home life.

Working from home actually makes this hard. The line between work and home is quite often blurred. Sometimes too much time is spent working just because "I can". It is not the same as leaving the office at 4:00PM with your work left on your desk to welcome you the next morning. My work is all right here, accessible at any time - day or night.

Internal balance as well. Working to become more centered and balanced is important to me.

So, BALANCE it is.

Cheers to a new year and another chance for us to get it right. ~Oprah Winfrey

Dude. Seriously.

Um, yeah. It snowed again yesterday. Like 15 inches or some such shit. (For those of you who have read 100 things about Tekfan...I wasn't kidding when I said I do not enjoy snow after Christmas).

The kiddos didn't have school today...and after we dug out and the weather cleared, we took a trip to WalMart for another tote to store Christmas decorations in. (Side note: Just how did we collect that much more Christmas stuff this year that warrants another whole tote - that is almost fully filled?!). Anyway, at intersections, I couldn't see past the ginormous snow banks to look for oncoming traffic. Much more of this and we will be tunneling to the grocery store until March or April.

So now all the decorations are packed away and the long winter months loom ahead. I need to make me some cash so I can spend weekends here:

That's actually P-Town, on the cape - which is no better weather wise than where I am, but it will have to do as an example of what warm weather looks like. And where I'd like to be.

Winter is nature's way of saying, "Up yours." ~Robert Byrne

ESP

My kids came home today after spending the weekend with their dad.

My son didn't look like himself to me. He insisted he felt all right, but I insisted on taking his temperature anyway. While it was only low grade, he did indeed have a fever. My daughter kept asking how I knew, and I just said I could tell by looking at him. Only another parent can understand this, I'm sure.

I prefer to think I am gifted in the area of ESP.

Genius is more often found in a cracked pot than in a whole one. ~E.B. White

HAPPY NEW YEAR!

A day in the life

There was a pile of leftover Christmas gifts on a small table. I decided to take care of them - throw out the boxes and trash, and put away whatever items were left, including a thermometer that needed it's batteries activated.

I took the thermometer in to the kitchen and set it on the counter. I went to the bottom "junk" drawer to find the little tiny screwdrivers. Asked P-Man if he knew where they were. While he was thinking, I decided to empty the junk drawer to see if I could find them. Once the drawer was empty I decided to throw away the "real" junk and organize the rest of it. Then I had to do the other drawers - which included the silverware and cooking utensil drawers - which entailed filling and running the dishwasher.

Then P-Man located the screwdrivers (in a completely different cabinet) and we proceeded to activate and hang the thermometer.

2 hours after starting the process.

And I wonder why I don't get more accomplished every day.

Small deeds done are better than great deeds planned. ~Peter Marshall

A bunch of hot air

My children have never used, or apparently even seen one of these:

P-Man has been talking about hot air popped corn for some time. He is not a fan of microwave popcorn, and corn popped on the stove, in oil, just didn't hold the same appeal for him as the air popped. So we gave him one of these for Christmas.

Tonight he used it, and the kids reacted in the same way I imagine they'd act if a space ship landed on the front lawn. They were jostling each other for viewing position and laughing hysterically when the popping started.

It amused me, horrified me, and made me feel really old all at the same time.

There are no seven wonders of the world in the eyes of a child. There are seven million. ~Walt Streightiff

Love

This piece originally appeared on Joe.My.God. It is fantastic, and although maybe a day or two late, I wanted to post it here.

Dance Of The Sugar Plum Lesbians

Grand Central Terminal functions as the mechanical heart of midtown New York City, pumping out several thousand workers and tourists on one beat, then sucking in several thousand more on the next.

The rhythms of the terminal are fascinating.

Beat. Four thousand, inbound from New Haven.

Beat. Three thousand, outbound to Westchester.

Worlds collide on the main floor.The tourists gawk up at the gloriously ornate ceiling and uselessly flash their digital cameras at objects hundreds of feet away.

The commuters rush up to the track displays to determine their track number, then dart across the terminal floor, dodging the milling tourists, heads down, like running backs heading for the end zone.

It's mesmerizing. It's majestic.

And sometimes, like tonight, it's magical.

I'm walking through the massive main room just as the holiday laser show begins on the ceiling. To the tune of Take The "A" Train, the laser depicts two trains arriving from different directions. The trains stop opposite each other, and a reindeer leaps out of each one and crosses over to the opposite train.

The laser traces the outline of one of the zodiac constellations painted on the ceiling, and the Cancer crab leaps to life and becomes the Crab Conductor, waddling down the center aisle of the car, punching the reindeers' ticket stubs with his claws.

I move over to the edge of the room, near the entrance for Track 25, so I can watch the reaction to the show.

As usual, I'm more entertained by watching the audience than by watching the actual show.At the ticket windows, standing in front of signs that say "Harlem Line" or "Hudson Line", commuters tilt their heads painfully back to view the show directly overhead. The tourists cluster in delighted circles, holding each others' elbows for balance as they nearly bend over backwards.

Some people move to the edges of the great hall, as I have, to remove themselves from the traffic flow while they watch. Among those that come to join me on the perimeter of the room is a lesbian couple. They stand quite close to me, the taller woman behind the shorter one, with her arms wrapped around her, supporting her a bit, as they both lean back on the marble wall.

The shorter woman is stout, with a large firm chest. Her hair is short and brushed back into what might have once been called a ducktail. She has an ornate tattoo on her left forearm, and she has a leather wallet protruding from the rear pocket of her jeans, attached to her leather belt by a short silver chain. She has more than a passing resemblence to Tony Danza, her big boobs nothwithstanding, so naturally (in my head) I name her Toni.

Toni's girlfriend is blond, her short ponytail dangles just above her collar. She is wearing long Christmas tree earrings which nearly brush her shoulders. Her lanky, sinewy limbs are bound in a tight running outfit, over which she is wearing a school athletic jacket. I imagine that she might be a coach at Yale or Harvard, perhaps a girls lacrosse coach, or maybe track and field.

Coach is squeezing Toni tightly and they bounce together to the music a bit. Coach looks over at me and catches me smiling. She nudges Toni, who looks over at me too, and we all grin goofily at each other for a moment.

Overhead, a new show begins. The familiar opening notes of Tchaikovsky's Dance Of The Sugar Plum Fairies ring out as the Empire State Building and the Chrysler Building sprout arms, bow to each other, and begin waltzing across the ceiling.

I look around the room and it's as if time was frozen for just a second, every person stopped in mid-stride, eyes cast upward, mouths open in silent joy.

Toni pushes away from Coach, turns around and delivers her a bow as deep and as elegant as the one just depicted overheard.

"Madame, may I please have this dance?" she asks Coach.

Coach looks around a bit awkwardly, "You are TOO much!" And she giggles.

"Madame, I must insist!" says Toni, as she takes Coach's hands into hers.

Coach relents and she and Toni begin a beautful, slow waltz, moving in half-time to the music. As you might have guessed already, Toni leads.

As they dance, their eyes remain locked on each other. Toni is giving Coach an intense look, her lips tightly curled into a satisfied smile. Coach is grinning from ear to ear, and again she giggles.

All around Coach and Toni, the tourists, the businessmen, the students, the conductors, even the guy with a broom, they're all watching. Some are expressionless, but more are smiling, and some of them...some of them are frantically fussing with their cameras, eager to capture this magical New York Moment.

Serendipity prevails, the tune ends, and Toni dips Coach backwards with a dramatic upsweep of her free arm as a firestorm of camera flashes erupt around them. Toni pulls Coach up and close to her, and they hug. There's another camera flash, and the crowd begins to move along.

Then.

"Hey, look!"

The laser show is being concluded with giant sprigs of mistletoe appearing over our heads. This time, it's Coach who bends down and plants a long tender kiss on Toni's non-lipsticked mouth. There's another flash of cameras from the delighted audience.

Toni takes Coach's hand, and they begin to move off towards the exit.

"Oh, don't stop!" says a disappointed woman, still rummaging for her camera.

Toni looks back over her shoulder and says, "I never will."

The mechanical heart of New York City, Grand Central Terminal, beats again, but this time I hear a different rhythm. This time I hear a double beat.

I hope I have given proper credit and linked appropriately.

Boxing Day

We took so much cardboard to the dump today, I can see why it is called Boxing Day. Oh, wait...I don't live in Canada...and that's not REALLY what Boxing Day is. But still, we took a ton.

Our Christmas was really good. When I put my kids to bed last night, I asked each of them what their favorite part of the day was, and The Captain in all of his charm said "Spending the day with our family." God, I love that kid!

We were all home together again today and spent the day relaxing, playing games, and making crafts. After the trip to the dump (and the side trip to WalMart to get some 1/2 off Christmas stuff for next year!).

364 days until Christmas! Don't you just hate people like me?

Christmas waves a magic wand over this world, and behold, everything is softer and more beautiful. ~Norman Vincent Peale

Hey Good Lookin'

The Diva's horse was very funny during her riding lesson on Monday. They have put a mirror up at the far end of the ring, and her horse had not been used in the ring since the mirror went up.

Sometimes my daughter has a hard time getting her horse to actually stay in the ring while they are riding. Not Monday. Her horse was VERY interested in the hunka hunka new horse that he kept seeing every time he approached the far end of the ring. It was hilarious.

They would ride toward that end, his ears would start to twitch, and he would head straight for the good lookin' horse in the mirror. She would steer him away and he would go fairly willingly, with just the tiniest backward glance at the new kid.

Narcissistic bastard.

Horses and children, I often think, have a lot of the good sense there is in the world. ~Josephine Demott Robinson

Wii Wii Wii all the way...

Santa is bringing a Wii for Christmas this year.

This weekend, my children went to their father's house to celebrate Christmas with him and his family. They called me yesterday morning to tell me what their father had gotten them. A Wii.

The conversation took place on my cell phone as P-Man and I were out doing errands.

"Hi Mom! Guess what Dad got us for Christmas?!"

"What , honey?"

"A Wii!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

"A Wii?" (with slightly less enthusiasm now) as I look over at P-Man who mouths the word FUCK. Yeah, my thoughts exactly.

I love Christmas. I was so excited to give them the Wii. We planned ahead, knowing they might be in short supply again this year, and we've had it hidden at P-Man's mother's house since late September or so. Excitement? Not so much now. I will probably hear something like "How come Santa didn't know Dad already got us one?".

Well, because Santa and Dad don't communicate well. Oh, we get along ok - we don't fight. But we don't go out of our way to keep each other informed either. In my defense, I have tried over the years but it's rather like banging my head against a brick wall. Since that gets old after a while, I have stopped. So I am mad at myself for not trying harder, and I am mad at him for not trying at all. Both of the kids also want Nintendo DS games systems. If we had communicated better, one of us could have gotten the Wii and one of us could have gotten the Nintendos.

I was pretty upset and P-Man tried so hard to make me feel better. When we got home he immediately got online ato see if there were any available Nintendos - supposedly there are some in stock at our local Walmart. He wanted to go purchase them right away, but I said no. Can you even imagine? Two Wiis, Nintendo's, AND iPods for each of them? Plus...all the "smaller" gifts and clothes, etc. No way. I wanted to return the Wii and get the Nintendos but he still wants to keep the Wii for all of us here. So we're leaving it as it is. Two Wiis - one at each house.

Now I know that in the whole scheme of things, this is a pretty good problem to have. We are so very fortunate to have the means to provide these types of things for our kids. There are kids who want a Wii and won't get one because there aren't any available. There are kids who won't get anything for Christmas. There are kids who are cold and hungry, right here in our country as I sit and type this in my warm house with my hot coffee on my desk. I know this.

But I'm still a little disappointed and some of the excitement is gone.

Open your presents at Christmastime but be thankful year round for the gifts you receive. ~Lorinda Ruth Lowen

Something new

Hey it's snowing here! Again. Clearly we're going to have a white Christmas so enough already.

I've been mulling over this post a little, because I'm not sure exactly how to word it.

I've been spending some time in my son's classroom this week. I really like most of the kids in there. Most. One little girl though. Oh. My. God. If I wouldn't be arrested and then probably sued, I would slap the living daylights out of her.

I am not a violent person. I rarely even kill bugs. That's mostly because I won't go near a lot of them, so that doesn't really prove my point so you'll have to just trust me on this one. I'm not violent. But I would like to shake her until her teeth rattle around in her head.

She is the mouthiest, brattiest, meanest, know-it-all little monster I have ever met. Ever.

There are tables in my son's classroom, as opposed to individual desks. Five children per table. There are five girls at the table the brat child sits at. That would be problem number one. Never, never put 5 females together without some sort of buffer, like a male. I don't care if they are 8 or 87. It doesn't work.

Project # 1. Snow scenes made with rice. First they pencil sketched a snow scene, then used glue to adhere white rice. Brat child drew a character from a video game (I don't know which one, or how it was considered snowy) then proceeded to ERASE THE DRAWINGS OF EVERY OTHER GIRL AT THE TABLE. Because they weren't good enough. When I asked her what she was doing, she replied that she has taken 3 years of art lessons and she was going to draw each other girl's picture for her because "they will look better that way." Since I couldn't respond with "Look here, shit head, leave them alone to do their own pictures", I said "Well, since these are going to be gifts for your parents, maybe they would like TO MAKE THEIR OWN." One little girl whispered thank you and said they had been trying to tell her that.

Project # 2. Work in teams to assemble a foam elf door hanger to give as gifts to other teachers in the school. They had a bag of materials and an instruction sheet, as well as the already done example hanging on the white board to go by. That group of girls was the last one done, mostly because the brat child would disassemble anything that any other child had done, and do it again on her own because "it looked better that way". After the elves were assembled, they were responsible for cleaning up their areas. She started to walk away because "another group needs her help". I told her she needed to help her group clean up before she decided to go "help" anyone else.

Project #3. A Picture find. Sort of like a "Where's Waldo?" with a list of items that needed to be located. A couple of the girls at her table had their hands up so I went over to see what they needed. They asked what a menorah is. As I was explaining it to them, the shit head actually told the teacher on me! "She's helping them, Mr. H" I give the man credit, he did not laugh at her (or kill her). He replied "That is what Mrs. T is here for, to help us with our projects." As I circulated around the room, I noticed her circling items on the papers belonging to some of the other girls at the table. The teacher also noticed and called her out on it.

Project #4. Scale drawings. Working in groups of two, the children had to take a section of a smaller drawing and transfer it on to a bigger piece of paper. Theoretically (!) when they put the large pieces together on the bulletin board, they will all match up and look exactly like the smaller picture. They did individual practice sheets before attempting the larger picture. Again, she was erasing everyone else's papers and DOING IT OVER FOR THEM! Again, I went over and said "Brat child (*name changed for privacy), they are not going to learn how to do this if you do it for them." The girl whose paper she was currently redoing said "That's what I keep telling her - she won't listen!".

My major my freshman year of college was Elementary Education. Funds were low, so I didn't return to college the next year - I found a job in a daycare. When I did return to college, I changed my major. After just one year of working with children, I knew that was not the job for me. I know some of you will say there is a difference...but not enough for me to ever even consider teaching. Thank God/Goddess there are people, like Mr. H., who are willing to take on the challenge - and are good at it.

Me? I'd be locked up in jail or in an asylum by now.

There are three good reasons to be a teacher - June, July, and August. ~Author Unknown

Ramdom thoughts Sunday

The Diva got her first ribbon for a show yesterday. It was a combination school/show and there were no placements, just participation ribbons. But still, she had to make it through the jump course cleanly to get a ribbon, and she did it! It has become an ornament on the tree - front and
center!

I stopped in at Walmart yesterday. I'm looking for a cheap tea kettle. The place was mobbed. I strolled through, nonchalantly, smug in my knowledge that not only am I done with shopping, I am done with wrapping. Yay, me! (Anyone who wants to can call me a bitch now).

We are in the middle of another snow storm.

The Year Without a Santa Clause is on again. Go Heat Misers!

I am on my second Bloody Mary. Yum.

My son says I am the best mom in the world because I made some of his favorite foods today. French toast, bruschetta, and corn chowder. Not all at once.

Christmas, children, is not a date. It is a state of mind. ~Mary Ellen Chase

Are you sure this isn't Monday?

Today started out bad, bad, bad.

It snowed - again - last night. We got about 4 or 5 more inches. School was not delayed or cancelled so I had two grumpy kids wondering why there was school when there was so much snow on the ground.

After they left, I decided to head out to do some errands. I wanted to brush off the car and get it started so it could warm up a little before I left. I could not find my keys anywhere. My keys are ALWAYS in the same place...along with my wallet and my phone. Those are the only three things I always take with me when I leave the house. Wallet? Check. Phone? Check. Keys? Nope.

I had to think about the last time I had my keys....Tuesday evening. Riding lessons. Ok...I got us home...so the keys are somewhere in this house. I replayed the events of the evening - stopped to take off boots in mudroom/laundry room; put dusty barn smelling coat in washer; threw away empty coffee cup. The obvious place to start was the mudroom. After I didn't find them there, the next thought was that I was going to have to go through the trash. I donned my latex gloves and ripped open the bag. There was my coffee cup from that night - no keys though. I checked under furniture and appliances (we have a cat who likes to take things and make them her own...but her normal M.O. is legos and beads...so I didn't really think she had taken the keys....). No keys...but several crumpled pieces of paper, two crinkle toys, 14 legos, and 23 beads were located.

I decided that I still needed to get on with my day, so I took the spare that P-Man keeps with his things.

I went to the redemption center with our returnable cans...and scanned the table as the guy counted up my returns...thinking maybe they keys had fallen in there. No such luck.

To get to my next stop, I needed to pass the Ford garage so I decided to swing in and see what the process is for getting a new key and fob made. They could do it today at 2:00, it will take about 20 minutes, and it will cost me about $60. Holy crap! I made the appointment and said "I'm going to keep looking so you may hear from me later, cancelling this!"

As I got in the car, P-Man called - like he usually does - to see how my day was going. I said "I'm pretty sure I know the answer to this but I'm going to ask just in case I'm wrong. Do you happen to know where my keys are?"

Crickets.

"Um, check my leather coat pocket."

"WHAT?"

"Um, yeah. I used your keys when we went to The Diva's concert the other night. I might have forgotten to put them back."

"Are you kidding me? Do you know what I've been through this morning?!!"

His response was that I should have called him first to see if he knew where they were before spending all that time looking. Here's the problem with that:

1. I refuse to be that kind of woman who calls her significant other the minute something goes wrong.

2. Tell me again why you even had my keys? And why I should automatically think that maybe you know where they are? Because you have your own stupid keys.

They were in his coat pocket, by the way.

Sometimes the best man for the job isn't. ~Author Unknown

Juice Hoppin' Bastards

I can't take credit for that title - it's from my friend, L-Weed.

George Mitchell's report is out - all 409 pages of it.

"I urge the (Major League Baseball) Commissioner to forego imposing baseball's rules on performance enhancing substances, except in those cases where he determines that necessary to maintain the integrity of the game," the report said.

"There need to be consequences as a result of wrongdoing," Conte said about the Mitchell report. "This report favors those who control the money in the world of baseball." (Victor Conte, BALCO owner/Adam Tanner, Reuters)

There's not much more I can say about this. I am very disappointed that it appears no sanctions will be imposed. At the very least, perhaps some of them have hurt their chances of getting into the hall of fame. Although I do not particularly care for Roger Clemens (loved him while he was in Boston...then he wanted to go home to Texas...via Toronto...via New York. Lame.), I do believe he has earned himself a spot in the hall of fame. Until I saw his name on that list. How can a player be inducted with the knowledge that his performance was enhanced?

Oh...and...one would think that Eric Gagne could have pitched a little better in Boston this year if he had really been juiced. Go figure.

Baseball is the only field of endeavor where a man can succeed three times out of ten and be considered a good performer. ~Ted Williams